This weekend all I did was study. Like, really study. Not just say I was studying to avoid doing laundry. I logged in so many hours studying, and even less hours than usual sleeping, that Sunday afternoon Ethel told me I looked horrible. Only love can be that brutally honest. Hubs also had to learn to find the bags under my eyes sexy. Or at least he better 'cause they ain't goin' anywhere anytime soon. And those vows he took? Yeah, he's totally stuck with me AND my bags. (Am I the only one that hears that evil laughter?)
Sunday night I was working on a paper where I had to diagnose case studies as either deviant, dysfunctional, or dangerous behavior. One of the case studies was of someone who had dropped out of college.
My answer:
Dropping out of college would be a good decision if you were dead or shot in the head. Or if you were assaulted by your pud-ass teacher. Or you were in an abnormal psych class that asked stupid questions. But not just to be famous.
The Proofreading Hubs told me that was not an appropriate answer. I rewrote it. But frankly, I liked my answer and I may or may not have thrown a little temper fit before I rewrote it.
That's Me
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Friday, January 27, 2012
Stress Management
I'm sitting here writing a very long paper on stress management. This is the third paper on this topic that I've had to write in the last year. It's a common theme with the psych instructors. Makes sense.
But of course I'm too goody-goody to recycle my papers. 'Cause that would be wrong. I think.
And I've had the same professor for Psychology, Developmental Psychology, and now Abnormal Psychology. I just know she has my papers in frames in her office & she admires them every day, so of course she would know if I didn't write a new one each semester. There are other psych teachers at my school, so I know what is happening. Each semester I sign up for a class & she says, "Oh, let me have her! Please please please! She's my favorite!"
Yup.
I have no problem filling out the section titled "Ten Stressors" where I have to name & describe them. Heck, I could come up with 100 in 30 seconds. Unfortunately they have to be general stressors, not names of people. I'm sure she would have gotten a kick out of my description of a few of the people-stressors in my life, so sucks to be her 'cause now she'll never get to read that.
I have no problem writing about the section titled "Ten Stress Reactions" or the section about stress-related thoughts that make it more difficult to work through a stress. Please! I'm a master at all of those.
What I find funny, and completely ironic, is that I have to write about successful stress management. As someone who takes migraine & anxiety medications. And has Shingles for the 6th time...which is an illness that can be brought on by stress.
Hmm...I do believe I'd do better reading the other students' papers to get coping tips than writing my own. Maybe I'll just send her the link to my blog & she'll give me a medical excuse to not finish this paper.
But of course I'm too goody-goody to recycle my papers. 'Cause that would be wrong. I think.
And I've had the same professor for Psychology, Developmental Psychology, and now Abnormal Psychology. I just know she has my papers in frames in her office & she admires them every day, so of course she would know if I didn't write a new one each semester. There are other psych teachers at my school, so I know what is happening. Each semester I sign up for a class & she says, "Oh, let me have her! Please please please! She's my favorite!"
Yup.
I have no problem filling out the section titled "Ten Stressors" where I have to name & describe them. Heck, I could come up with 100 in 30 seconds. Unfortunately they have to be general stressors, not names of people. I'm sure she would have gotten a kick out of my description of a few of the people-stressors in my life, so sucks to be her 'cause now she'll never get to read that.
I have no problem writing about the section titled "Ten Stress Reactions" or the section about stress-related thoughts that make it more difficult to work through a stress. Please! I'm a master at all of those.
What I find funny, and completely ironic, is that I have to write about successful stress management. As someone who takes migraine & anxiety medications. And has Shingles for the 6th time...which is an illness that can be brought on by stress.
Hmm...I do believe I'd do better reading the other students' papers to get coping tips than writing my own. Maybe I'll just send her the link to my blog & she'll give me a medical excuse to not finish this paper.
"Hey, Eddi Girl, you know I'm just a phone call away."
I know, baby, but unfortunately I can't list Gerard Butler as a coping method. I asked.
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Just Call Him Penguin
I'm in Anatomy & Physiology this semester. It's a version of the class for like, smart people or something. Don't know how I got into it. Apparently this is taught at a faster pace than other A&P classes & 50% of the students fail the first time they take it. Uh...the first time they take it.
That means they are taking it again.
'Cause it's so hard they didn't pass the first time.
In case you needed help with that.
What is so horrible about having your wife or mother write on your body with a black Sharpie? Seriously, it's in the name of science, people. Do they not want me to pass this course? If I get any questions wrong, they will have to carry on their conscious forever, the fact that they could have prevented it. Forever, I say!
It's not like I'm asking for a scalpel so I can research more in depth on them. That's what cadavers are for. Geez, people. Just lay down in your shorts or bloomers & let me write on you.
It's one thing to see it on paper in a text book but entirely another to see it on a moving person. And to see it on several moving people...yeah, that's totally an A student's thinking right there. I've got all sorts of different shaped models right here in my home, just taunting me.
If they'd only let me mark them with black Sharpie. Oh, well, I do know where they sleep.
Last night I had Boy Teenager in my hands & was forcing convincing him that he wanted to be marked up. As he was fending me off stating his reasons he didn't want to be written on, I was asking if he knew where this or this was. "Guess what your buccal is." "How 'bout the brachial?" He was pretty good & even while he struggled to get free had his mind on other things, he was able to get some of the answers correct. He was thisclose to not being able to get away from me seeing my side of things when I said the magic word that changed the course of the night.
Perineal. He asked me what it was.
Ahem, well...dear son, it's the space between your scrotum & your anus. Short & to the point is the only way to say something like that. And that is exactly the point when he shot straight up out of my arms like he had a jet pack on. Straight towards the ceiling, up over my head, his legs spinning in circles the entire time he was in the air, did a complete flip in the air, landed on his feet, and since his legs were already spinning he hit the ground literally running. It was awesome to see. Took my breath away it was so amazing.
But aha, I'm taller than him & I have Monkey Arms, so I was able to grab him again. The closest thing to me was not a Sharpie. It was Icy Hot.
As I squirted the Icy Hot onto my hand, I held onto Man Child who was squirming away from me...which might I add that it's not easy to hold onto a wiry teenager who knows more wrestling moves than I do while squeezing a tube of thick goo onto my hand; props to me for that right there...I have to preface the rest of this story with when you have Icy Hot on your hand & a boy that deserves punishing for a reason you have yet to name, you just reach for whatever is closest.
I got his left gluteal.
Don't worry. It was nothing kinky, he was dressed. Wait...does that make it better or worse that I somehow got Icy Hot on his butt cheek?
Either way, I can tell you from the look on Son's face that Icy Hot on the butt cheek is not enjoyable. But it sure was for all of us standing in the kitchen watching him. The best part was watching him waddle into the bathroom, holding his sweat pants out from his butt, for a shower.
Just to prove I'm not a completely horrible Mother, I didn't take pictures. Even though I wanted to. I really, really wanted to. But I didn't
Monday, January 23, 2012
Scary Movies
It's Monday & by 10:30 this morning I had already managed to drop my laptop onto the floor, get 4 answers wrong out 54 wrong on my practice test, and empty all that was left in a bottle of Dayquil. Since I'm now pretending that I don't have a massive test in an hour & that I have all the time in the world, I'm letting my mind wander.
Scary movies. They all have the same attack zones. And I think these attack zone are ridiculous. Someone needs to consult me on where a monster should attack 'cause I have a great idea.
We've all seen the closet attack zone. The bad guy hides in the girls' closet & jumps out when she's least expecting it. Have you ever seen a teenage girl's closet? My Girl Teenager's closet is so full of stuff (nicely hung & color coded, 'cause she got that from her mama) that if you attempted to stand in it, your ass would end up with a bra hanging off of it or a pair of jeans landing on your head. Assuming you got into the closet & got the door shut, you'd never make it out alive. The 57 pairs of shoes lining the floor (by type & color, of course) would trip you & you'd end up with a concussion after hitting the wall.
And it's always a girl's closet 'cause you'd never even attempt a boy's closet. Have you ever smelled a boy's closet? You'd never make it out alive from the aromas. My boys don't even have a closet because what's the point? They don't need a separate space just to throw things on the floor.
There's the kitchen attack zone. The monster watches outside while you make Jiffy Pop on the stove. Come on! Who makes Jiffy Pop anymore? And there's a simple solution...close your damn curtains!
Then there's the shower attack zone. The unsuspecting victim is taking a shower when the monster throws back the shower curtain. Really? Have you ever gotten shampoo in your eye? Squirt some of that toxic stuff in his eyes & you can run away while he stands there bent over rubbing his eyes. You'll have at least half an hour to get away.
I have a much better idea for scary movie attack zones.
Have you ever accidentally (either for real accidentally or "accidentally"--or is that just my house?) opened the door on someone using the toilet? 'Cause dang, the look on a person's face when the door is flung open & they're quietly sitting there doing their business...ah, I get tears just thinking about it...
If you want to scare someone, wait till they're on the toilet. They will not only lose their thinking ability causing them to forget to defend themselves, but what would they defend themselves with? There's only one option that comes to my mind & I wouldn't want that flung at me but if their aim is off, they're just left with dirty hands.
Okay, directors, feel free to take my idea. You can mail me my cut of the movie proceeds.
Scary movies. They all have the same attack zones. And I think these attack zone are ridiculous. Someone needs to consult me on where a monster should attack 'cause I have a great idea.
We've all seen the closet attack zone. The bad guy hides in the girls' closet & jumps out when she's least expecting it. Have you ever seen a teenage girl's closet? My Girl Teenager's closet is so full of stuff (nicely hung & color coded, 'cause she got that from her mama) that if you attempted to stand in it, your ass would end up with a bra hanging off of it or a pair of jeans landing on your head. Assuming you got into the closet & got the door shut, you'd never make it out alive. The 57 pairs of shoes lining the floor (by type & color, of course) would trip you & you'd end up with a concussion after hitting the wall.
And it's always a girl's closet 'cause you'd never even attempt a boy's closet. Have you ever smelled a boy's closet? You'd never make it out alive from the aromas. My boys don't even have a closet because what's the point? They don't need a separate space just to throw things on the floor.
There's the kitchen attack zone. The monster watches outside while you make Jiffy Pop on the stove. Come on! Who makes Jiffy Pop anymore? And there's a simple solution...close your damn curtains!
Then there's the shower attack zone. The unsuspecting victim is taking a shower when the monster throws back the shower curtain. Really? Have you ever gotten shampoo in your eye? Squirt some of that toxic stuff in his eyes & you can run away while he stands there bent over rubbing his eyes. You'll have at least half an hour to get away.
I have a much better idea for scary movie attack zones.
Have you ever accidentally (either for real accidentally or "accidentally"--or is that just my house?) opened the door on someone using the toilet? 'Cause dang, the look on a person's face when the door is flung open & they're quietly sitting there doing their business...ah, I get tears just thinking about it...
If you want to scare someone, wait till they're on the toilet. They will not only lose their thinking ability causing them to forget to defend themselves, but what would they defend themselves with? There's only one option that comes to my mind & I wouldn't want that flung at me but if their aim is off, they're just left with dirty hands.
Okay, directors, feel free to take my idea. You can mail me my cut of the movie proceeds.
Watson + Toy + Pillow = My Fun
One day I played a game with Watson...
And now he sees a pillow & thinks we are playing the game again...
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Hockey Masks & Breastfeeding Teenagers. What a Night
Last night I had Girl Teenager & her friend, who is another one of those children that calls me Mom but I didn't have to give birth to, & The Preteen on my bed with me watching American Idol. I love the auditions! We placed bets on which men would be criers & which women would be yellers & cuss at the camera. It was fun.
I was doing homework at the same time which meant I had a lot of highlighters with me. I had Girl Teenager's Friend laying on my lap (is that normal?) & highlighters. I really needed an excuse to stop reading but no one would give me one.
Hmm...sick of homework, highlighters available, distracted children...bad combo for someone with my thought process.
I started out by just tracing the part in Friend's hair with my yellow highlighter. That turned into:
Of course I laughed so hard that I had tears running down my face. And then I got tackled & am still sporting some pink & green highlighter on my left cheek. I guess I deserved that for getting so intimate with this dear sweet child of mine.
Then Cameron Diaz & I took my oldest 2, The Teenagers, to see a movie. It was a horror movie & Cameron Diaz...who I cannot stand, by the way...not that I'd ever met her before this...was all, "Oh, come on, Mom! Let the kids see it."
So we go into this horror movie, only to find out we were not going to be watching the movie. We were part of it. Those guys that walk around with flashlights to see if you have a ticket had us follow them to the screen. Then they pushed us in. The Teenagers & Ms. Diaz were all, "So cool!!" I was all, "Wha...wait...wha...?"
We had to find our way out of a scene from Saw. The room was all dirty cement & there was a dirty bath tub at the end of it. As the kids went towards it, I was telling them, "No! I've seen this movie. Don't go to the bath tub."
As they got near it a wall opened up & men in hockey masks came at us with chain saws. These hockey-masked men are chasing us around saying they wanted our heads. I like my head & I like it on my body, gosh darn it.
I have the strangest dreams. And I have been terrified of hockey masks my entire life, since before I even heard of Jason. And I've never seen the movie because there is no way I want to see a movie with something I'm so terrified of...just like I have never seen The Birds ('cause, yo, birds scare the poo out of me) & I cover my eyes when there are clowns around...or sporks.
Moral of this story? Do not color on anyone's face because you will have a scary dream about Cameron Diaz. And people trying to kill you. I don't know which was worse--a man threatening to cut my head off or her being in my dream.
I was doing homework at the same time which meant I had a lot of highlighters with me. I had Girl Teenager's Friend laying on my lap (is that normal?) & highlighters. I really needed an excuse to stop reading but no one would give me one.
Hmm...sick of homework, highlighters available, distracted children...bad combo for someone with my thought process.
I started out by just tracing the part in Friend's hair with my yellow highlighter. That turned into:
Teen girls are scary enough...she doesn't need to make the face.
We had a mishap right before I took this picture. I went to sit up & Girl Teenager's Friend started saying something at the same time. When there is a child in your lap & you need to sit up...make sure their mouth is not open.
There was a muffled, "mummflig" & I realized that when you are...ahem...not small in certain areas...you need to make sure there is not a big teenage head on your lap when you lean forward to sit up. My boob went right into her open mouth. Straight in. Like I was giving her a snack.
We were both so shocked that it took a second before we both jumped back. And then laughed hysterically. Girl Teenager had a look on her face that was somewhere between shock & horror & not knowing whether to laugh or run away.
I breastfed my babies & toddlers. But a 15 year old...that was a first. Not something I plan to ever do again. And I'm sure Girl Teenager's Friend is scarred forever. The poor child has to live with the memory of a near-lesbian experience with her Mom.
Of course I laughed so hard that I had tears running down my face. And then I got tackled & am still sporting some pink & green highlighter on my left cheek. I guess I deserved that for getting so intimate with this dear sweet child of mine.So we go into this horror movie, only to find out we were not going to be watching the movie. We were part of it. Those guys that walk around with flashlights to see if you have a ticket had us follow them to the screen. Then they pushed us in. The Teenagers & Ms. Diaz were all, "So cool!!" I was all, "Wha...wait...wha...?"
We had to find our way out of a scene from Saw. The room was all dirty cement & there was a dirty bath tub at the end of it. As the kids went towards it, I was telling them, "No! I've seen this movie. Don't go to the bath tub."
As they got near it a wall opened up & men in hockey masks came at us with chain saws. These hockey-masked men are chasing us around saying they wanted our heads. I like my head & I like it on my body, gosh darn it.
I have the strangest dreams. And I have been terrified of hockey masks my entire life, since before I even heard of Jason. And I've never seen the movie because there is no way I want to see a movie with something I'm so terrified of...just like I have never seen The Birds ('cause, yo, birds scare the poo out of me) & I cover my eyes when there are clowns around...or sporks.
Moral of this story? Do not color on anyone's face because you will have a scary dream about Cameron Diaz. And people trying to kill you. I don't know which was worse--a man threatening to cut my head off or her being in my dream.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
More Mr. Watson
Watson started this new thing. 
He gets so excited when he sees his toys now that he jumps up on his hind legs & bounces across the room to his toy. He looks just like Tigger.
It takes me forever to be able to get Watson on video because as soon as he sees me with it in my hand, he stops & just looks at me. Just like taking a sick child to the doctor; as soon as they see the waiting room, they're no longer lethargic & wimpy looking but running around & bright eyed. I would like to just strap a video camera to his back so we can catch all that he does during the day.
Here's a couple videos of Watson playing. Enjoy!
"Wait for it..." He lays there for a bit storing up energy for the big move that is The Tigger Walk.
At 0:56 he does The Tigger Walk.
And Watson being goofy ol' Watson. "It's my toy & I'll lay on it if I want to."
P.S. Why is it I never have an accent until I'm in a video. For some people the camera adds 10 pounds...for me it adds an accent that I know I do not normally have.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
This Day Totally Sucked
I am sitting here typing one handed. It sucks. Why am I typing one handed, you ask? Well, just you wait, 'cause I'm about to tell you. But first, a story. A story about my day. Get the tissues 'cause it's a tear jerker.
This morning I get a text from a friend asking me what my schedule is this semester. I had signed up for the classes I wanted & among those were 2 of the same class but at different times. One was the perfect hours for me, the other was second choice if I didn't get the perfect hours. The semester started today. I forgot to look to see which class I got into over the weekend. It's a good thing I have friends who are interested in things I do because she remembered about my schedule being available this weekend & I didn't.
I looked & saw I didn't get into the perfect hours one. I got into the second choice one. Whatever. Fine. Except that it started today, when it was originally going to be on Tuesdays & Thursdays. I had big plans to get things done today before the school week started...tomorrow.
I had to get my books together & do 36 hours worth of things in 8 hours. It sucked.
I had the wrong book for my class. Got to school early, returned it. Had to figure out where my class was, in a part of the building I'd never been in. Got there just in time. Whew.
Sat down. Nausea. Room spinning. Seeing spots. Massive stabbing pain behind one eye. Ah, lovely. Mr. Migraine has such great timing for his visit. In a bright room full of loud people making loud noises. And my Imitrex is in the truck...about 6,982 miles away. And class is starting right this second. That sucked.
So I text hubby (shh...Miss Professor has no idea I was texting in class, don't tell). Due to my squinty, pounding eyes not being able to see too clearly, & the auto correct that hates me, the following is the conversation between hubby & me after telling him I had a migraine & there was no time to go get my medication from the truck during our 10 minute break because I was parked all the way by the book store & I was on the other side of the building (holy run-on sentence, Batman):
Me: It took me 15 min to get here from boon store
Me: I'll just bark on my neigh or
ICE: Lol
Me: You laugh cuz you're glad you're not my neighbor
Me: Or cuz I wrote bark instead of bard?
Me: Bard!
Me: Bard!!
Me: Good lord. B.a.r.f.
Me: I hate migraines & my phone Hayes me
Me: *hates
Me: Sigh. I'm oit
Me: Out!!
ICE: Lmao
Me: My phone has a migraine apparently
Me: The chic behind me has clicked her pen nonstop for the last hour. Get bail money
ICE: Lmao oh boy. Pick u up at [jail]?
Me: Yes
Me: I'm using my one call for Gerard. So this is your warning.
ICE: Ouch lol
Which leads me to class time. So during class this chic behind me clicked her pen, as you see in my text to hubby. I despise unnecessary noises. And pen clicking? I will stab someone in the eyeballs with their own toe nails over that. She sat directly behind me in a room of about 50 people. And clicked. The room was a large lecture room & it echoed. It was lovely. People were giving her looks. People were sighing. People were showing obvious signs of agitation: rubbing their necks, holding their temples, shifting in their seats, holding their shoulders.
And for once when I say "people were" I actually mean "people were" & not just "I was".
This chic was obnoxious. I hope she got a cramp in her thumb. She clicked for 1 1/2 hours nonstop. Did I mention I had a migraine?? I literally sat on my hands to prevent myself from turning around, grabbing that damn pen, and shoving it up her nostril.
1 1/2 hours. Nonstop. With a migraine. It sucked.
The fact that she is still alive makes me a saint. Amen.
During class Miss Professor apologized for using the word "scrotum" & blushed when she said "anus". We are nursing students. She is teaching an anatomy class. These words are going to come up. And this isn't her first class on this subject. Not only does she teach this subject a couple time a week (and for a couple years now), she also had to take this class herself a few years ago when she went through school to become a chiropractor. So you'd think body parts aren't really an issue for her. Pretty funny to watch an anatomy instructor blush over body parts. That didn't suck.
So after all that I get my Imitrex, it kicks in, and I decide I'm hungry. Not too uncommon for me to be hungry.
I drive to Taco Bell. I go inside 'cause I hate eating Taco Bell while driving. That was my first mistake. I get my order & sit down. That was my second mistake. As I'm pulling my chair up to the table, my middle finger gets sliced & diced by something on the chair. As I'm swaying from the dizziness going on in my head & blood is dripping into my other hand, I think, "Whoa. That's never happened."
My finger got cut so deep I knew I needed to go to the ER & my third mistake was telling hubby because then he drove to get me & take me to the ER himself. So while I'm waiting for him, I'm sitting in Taco Bell telling a supervisor how to fill out an incident report because she was toostupid high not educated on the proper procedures in these situations to know how to fill out a paper asking for my name & number & where my owie is/how I got it. As I'm showing this 40 year old manager how to fill out a form that my 8 year old could fill out, I start to finally eat, 15 minutes after getting my food.
It. Was. Cold. That's just literally insult to injury. Do. Not. Mess. With my food. They caused me to have to wait to eat & it was cold.
There will be hell to pay.
At the hospital I see that my manicure...which I just got on Friday...is scratched & the skin on that finger is pulled back. Oh, no they di'n't! First my food, then my manicure? There are certain things you don't mess with: the way my towels are folded & stored, the order the clothes are hung in all my closets, my food, and my nails. There are more, but those make me sound neurotic enough. My manicure is not to be messed with unless you're suicidal.
There will be more than hell to pay now. Someone's goin' down.
And now I'm sitting here with a doctored, bandaged, throbbing middle finger on my right hand & a tetanus shotted, aching left arm.
That's why I'm typing one handed. And it sucks.
This morning I get a text from a friend asking me what my schedule is this semester. I had signed up for the classes I wanted & among those were 2 of the same class but at different times. One was the perfect hours for me, the other was second choice if I didn't get the perfect hours. The semester started today. I forgot to look to see which class I got into over the weekend. It's a good thing I have friends who are interested in things I do because she remembered about my schedule being available this weekend & I didn't.
I looked & saw I didn't get into the perfect hours one. I got into the second choice one. Whatever. Fine. Except that it started today, when it was originally going to be on Tuesdays & Thursdays. I had big plans to get things done today before the school week started...tomorrow.
I had to get my books together & do 36 hours worth of things in 8 hours. It sucked.
I had the wrong book for my class. Got to school early, returned it. Had to figure out where my class was, in a part of the building I'd never been in. Got there just in time. Whew.
Sat down. Nausea. Room spinning. Seeing spots. Massive stabbing pain behind one eye. Ah, lovely. Mr. Migraine has such great timing for his visit. In a bright room full of loud people making loud noises. And my Imitrex is in the truck...about 6,982 miles away. And class is starting right this second. That sucked.
So I text hubby (shh...Miss Professor has no idea I was texting in class, don't tell). Due to my squinty, pounding eyes not being able to see too clearly, & the auto correct that hates me, the following is the conversation between hubby & me after telling him I had a migraine & there was no time to go get my medication from the truck during our 10 minute break because I was parked all the way by the book store & I was on the other side of the building (holy run-on sentence, Batman):
Me: It took me 15 min to get here from boon store
Me: I'll just bark on my neigh or
ICE: Lol
Me: You laugh cuz you're glad you're not my neighbor
Me: Or cuz I wrote bark instead of bard?
Me: Bard!
Me: Bard!!
Me: Good lord. B.a.r.f.
Me: I hate migraines & my phone Hayes me
Me: *hates
Me: Sigh. I'm oit
Me: Out!!
ICE: Lmao
Me: My phone has a migraine apparently
Me: The chic behind me has clicked her pen nonstop for the last hour. Get bail money
ICE: Lmao oh boy. Pick u up at [jail]?
Me: Yes
Me: I'm using my one call for Gerard. So this is your warning.
ICE: Ouch lol
Which leads me to class time. So during class this chic behind me clicked her pen, as you see in my text to hubby. I despise unnecessary noises. And pen clicking? I will stab someone in the eyeballs with their own toe nails over that. She sat directly behind me in a room of about 50 people. And clicked. The room was a large lecture room & it echoed. It was lovely. People were giving her looks. People were sighing. People were showing obvious signs of agitation: rubbing their necks, holding their temples, shifting in their seats, holding their shoulders.
And for once when I say "people were" I actually mean "people were" & not just "I was".
This chic was obnoxious. I hope she got a cramp in her thumb. She clicked for 1 1/2 hours nonstop. Did I mention I had a migraine?? I literally sat on my hands to prevent myself from turning around, grabbing that damn pen, and shoving it up her nostril.
1 1/2 hours. Nonstop. With a migraine. It sucked.
The fact that she is still alive makes me a saint. Amen.
Oops...wrong kind of Saint...
Yup. A saint. For not shanking her ass.
During class Miss Professor apologized for using the word "scrotum" & blushed when she said "anus". We are nursing students. She is teaching an anatomy class. These words are going to come up. And this isn't her first class on this subject. Not only does she teach this subject a couple time a week (and for a couple years now), she also had to take this class herself a few years ago when she went through school to become a chiropractor. So you'd think body parts aren't really an issue for her. Pretty funny to watch an anatomy instructor blush over body parts. That didn't suck.
This is what my teacher looked like. Without the fur or paws or whiskers.
So after all that I get my Imitrex, it kicks in, and I decide I'm hungry. Not too uncommon for me to be hungry.
I drive to Taco Bell. I go inside 'cause I hate eating Taco Bell while driving. That was my first mistake. I get my order & sit down. That was my second mistake. As I'm pulling my chair up to the table, my middle finger gets sliced & diced by something on the chair. As I'm swaying from the dizziness going on in my head & blood is dripping into my other hand, I think, "Whoa. That's never happened."
My finger got cut so deep I knew I needed to go to the ER & my third mistake was telling hubby because then he drove to get me & take me to the ER himself. So while I'm waiting for him, I'm sitting in Taco Bell telling a supervisor how to fill out an incident report because she was too
It. Was. Cold. That's just literally insult to injury. Do. Not. Mess. With my food. They caused me to have to wait to eat & it was cold.
There will be hell to pay.
At the hospital I see that my manicure...which I just got on Friday...is scratched & the skin on that finger is pulled back. Oh, no they di'n't! First my food, then my manicure? There are certain things you don't mess with: the way my towels are folded & stored, the order the clothes are hung in all my closets, my food, and my nails. There are more, but those make me sound neurotic enough. My manicure is not to be messed with unless you're suicidal.
There will be more than hell to pay now. Someone's goin' down.
And now I'm sitting here with a doctored, bandaged, throbbing middle finger on my right hand & a tetanus shotted, aching left arm.
That's why I'm typing one handed. And it sucks.
Friday, January 13, 2012
Polar Bears in 8-Day Russia...Why Not?
Normally a snow storm is nothing to write home about here in Wisconsin. That's like saying the sun is shining in Florida. Except this year. We are having the driest winter ever. I think Georgia has gotten more snow than we have...that's sad (and may or may not be true). BUT...it's finally winter because there is snow covering everything. Not just patches of it like the last time it snowed, but actual real live snow the kids can play in.
It snowed here all day yesterday. Hubby was at work & asked me, via chat, how much snow we'd gotten. Since cubicles don't come with windows, he didn't even know how much snow he'd gotten where his office is.
Now not only am I the most amazing, awesome, loving wife & mother, but I'm also the Rain Man of snow? I can just look outside & know exactly how many snow flakes have fallen or how many inches are sitting in the driveway? Why has no one told me I had this ability until now? I could have impressedbored people at parties by looking out the window & muttering in a monotone, "6,703 flakes over 13 square inches equals 1.27 inches of snow."
It snowed here all day yesterday. Hubby was at work & asked me, via chat, how much snow we'd gotten. Since cubicles don't come with windows, he didn't even know how much snow he'd gotten where his office is.
Now not only am I the most amazing, awesome, loving wife & mother, but I'm also the Rain Man of snow? I can just look outside & know exactly how many snow flakes have fallen or how many inches are sitting in the driveway? Why has no one told me I had this ability until now? I could have impressed
Source "Really, Eddi? Counting flakes? No, baby, you don't have to do anything to impress me; you've already got my heart." Yeah, you wish Gerard would talk to you like that.
Obviously I'm not actually a Rain Man of Snow (wouldn't that just be a Snow Man?) 'cause I have no idea what I'm talking about. Please, no one email me to say how off my math is or something 'cause really...I didn't do any math to get those numbers. I can totally see my math genius hubby Googling (he loves Google, my little computer programmer man) how many flakes fall in Wisconsin over how many hours dividing that by how many square inches are in the total square feet of Wisconsin multiplying that by my little math I made up, subtracting a piece of pi, factoring in for meltage, and algebraing a totally different number than what I got.
So instead of saying all that stupidity to hubby, the following occurred:
ICE: wow, how much do we have?
me: 15'
ICE: LMAO
so we're in Alaska now?
me: russia
Sent at 3:07 PM on Thursday
ICE: doesn't look like its stopping any time soon
me: it snows 24/7 here in russia
i got you a new pet--a polar bear
he's on the porch
ICE: well its a good things there 8 days in a week in russia
me: how do they get an extra day?
they have the same hours we do
Sent at 3:09 PM on Thursday
me: hey! how do we get 8 days here in russia
Sent at 3:17 PM on Thursday
ICE: because they're higher up on the globe so they spin faster
therefore they get 8 days in a week
me: i see
ICE: people at the north pole get 14
me: okay...so russia has 8 days & north pole has 14...just like band guys get laid more?
Sent at 3:22 PM on Thursday
Monday, January 9, 2012
A New Test
We're chilling on the couch & hubby decides to educate Ethel & me on witches. Not fun "here, little girl, eat my poison apple witches" 'cause that would just be weird if hubby knew more about fairy tales than we do. He was talking about the olden day witches that got killed by Puritans or Quakers or whatever they were. The witch killer people in the town named after cigarettes.
He said, "They would throw the accused into a lake with a rock around them as a test. If they popped back up out of the water, they weren't witches. If they didn't, they were. Obviously they were all witches."
Personally, I would think if a chic with a rock around her neck can pop back up out of the water, I'm shooting the bitch 'cause that's just freaky. I'm not even going to stand around waiting to congratulate her ass for getting out of that mess. I'm shooting then running, 'cause if all my horror movie watching has taught me anything it's that the freaks don't die the first time you shoot them.
And I'm not gonna be like the stupid women in scary movies that stand there gasping for breath, all, "whew that fight is over even though there's 45 minutes left in this movie" while the monster is waking up behind their backs & they don't see it coming. I'm running & screaming before the witch hits the ground.
I said, "I like the test idea. I'm going to tie a brick around you & throw you in the river. If you make it out of the water, you don't love me."
Hubby said, "Wow. That's a complete lose-lose."
Not that I would actually do it. That's just way too much work. Get a brick, get a rope, drive to the river, get hubby out of the car, make him stand still while I tie it...totally exhausting, not worth it.
I'd rather test his love by putting on a pair of Mom Jeans & telling him he has to take me to dinner like that. Where all his coworkers that I haven't met yet will be.
I can hear him gagging now.
Thursday, January 5, 2012
Hubby May Never Let Me Write Again After This One
There's this game going around The Facebook where you look up the top song from the month you were born. These are the simple rules to the game:
(1) find the top song from the week you were born.
(2) look it up on youtube.com
(3) post it without shame on facebook.
Not too hard, right?
My song is Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough by Michael Jackson.
Not really the lyrics I was hoping for. I figured it would be a song about a couple who just got the most awesome, beautiful, amazing, breath-taking gift they'd ever gotten & would cherish it forever, but whatever.
Apparently I'm a glutton for punishment because I didn't stop there. Any guesses what I looked for next? Yeah, I totally looked to see what the top song was the month I was conceived...
Do Ya Think I'm Sexy? by Rod Stewart. Seriously.
Good grief, the vision of my father using bedroom eyes while singing that to my Mother is not what I needed first thing in the morning. <shudder>
And since I can't be the only one with the heeby jeebies & I'm just that kind of person... <giggle>...Can you see where I'm going with this?
This is what my Mother #2 may have been serenading her sexy husband before (or after?) they conceived my hubby. I'm sure she was using her bedroom eyes...
I just gave hubby another reason to hate Grease & I'll probably never be allowed to sing Summer Nights in the car again, but knowing he'll be gagging as he reads this makes it so worth it.
And the month hubby was born, Hot Stuff by Donna Summer:
I'll go with that.
If you don't hear from me for a while, just assume I'm trying to revive the hubs.
(1) find the top song from the week you were born.
(2) look it up on youtube.com
(3) post it without shame on facebook.
Not too hard, right?
My song is Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough by Michael Jackson.
Not really the lyrics I was hoping for. I figured it would be a song about a couple who just got the most awesome, beautiful, amazing, breath-taking gift they'd ever gotten & would cherish it forever, but whatever.
Apparently I'm a glutton for punishment because I didn't stop there. Any guesses what I looked for next? Yeah, I totally looked to see what the top song was the month I was conceived...
Do Ya Think I'm Sexy? by Rod Stewart. Seriously.
Good grief, the vision of my father using bedroom eyes while singing that to my Mother is not what I needed first thing in the morning. <shudder>
And since I can't be the only one with the heeby jeebies & I'm just that kind of person... <giggle>...Can you see where I'm going with this?
This is what my Mother #2 may have been serenading her sexy husband before (or after?) they conceived my hubby. I'm sure she was using her bedroom eyes...
I just gave hubby another reason to hate Grease & I'll probably never be allowed to sing Summer Nights in the car again, but knowing he'll be gagging as he reads this makes it so worth it.
And the month hubby was born, Hot Stuff by Donna Summer:
I'll go with that.
If you don't hear from me for a while, just assume I'm trying to revive the hubs.
The Last of the Teacher Saga (I Hope)
This post was written on 12/21/11 and got set aside. I have gotten emails, posts on The Facebook, and texts asking me for an update to The Jerk Teacher Saga. I had no idea so many people were interested in what took place. Many people told me that The Jerk Teacher Saga had replaced their soap opera & they are now going through withdrawals. Hubby even got a text from his old boss wanting to know the scoop. That's big, ya'll. His ex-boss reads my blog. That almost makes me famous. Famous!
This morning I was finishing the final bits of my final speech for my final class with Mr. Poopy Pants when I noticed that I can't log into his class any longer. It showed that I *was* enrolled in that class but had been dropped.
Okay, pure panic ensued. This is the last day of a class with a teacher who has been unbearable & I'm finding out I'm dropped? I stared at the screen. Then threw up. That's pretty much the only way to respond to something like that, I think. I had just gone through an entire semester, suffering all sorts of rudeness, and now it ends with me having done it for nothing? Yeah, throwing up was what came naturally at that point.
Then I called hubby who was at the gym & not near his phone. Then I called my Mom who was at work & not near her phone. Then I texted Ethel (*names have been changed to protect the innocent...but every Lucy must have an Ethel). Then I may or may not have called hubby & my Mom each 40 more times. Because after throwing up, that's the second best way to respond to panic. Which, by the way, if you call your Mother every 30 seconds for several minutes, you will cause Mother to panic. Which means Mother will leave work & come to your house expecting you to be on fire or throwing up. I wasn't on fire, but 1 outta 2 ain't bad.
After talking to those 3 people, I decided I was calm enough to call the school. I called the main number & got the stupidest air-headiest person I have ever talked to in my life. I explained what I saw when I logged into BlackBoard & that I needed to speak to someone who could help me figure out why. She said, and I quote, "Well, I don't know anything about BlackBoard. You have to call the teacher." Dingbat, his direct contact info is on BlackBoard...and I can't access it! That's why I'm calling you...connect me, woman. Your job is to answer phone, connect with appropriate person. You answered, now connect. Kthanksbye.
So instead of understanding that, she asks me why I am going on BlackBoard in the first place. "Um...to see my grades & assignments." She then says, "But if it's not an online course, why would you go online for assignments?"
"Because the class is in a classroom & the assignments are posted online to access later." I was failing to see what this had to do with connecting me with someone who could tell me what was going on. Or why this was her business. If I want to just sit & stare at the wonder that is BlackBoard, I believe that's my right as a paying student. Now connect me, lady.
Her answer, "I don't understand. If it's a class, you need to contact the teacher."
When I yelled, "I can only contact the teacher through you because I can't access his info!" my Mom gave me the Eddi, Calm Down Look. Even at 32 I still get that look & I still know to do as she says. So I hung up on her. Not my Mom. 'Cause you can't hang up on someone sitting next to you. I hung up on the dingbat. 'Cause that was the only way to calm down.
So I went to school. Long story short...he did it to mess with me. Isn't that the funniest joke ever? Aren't you just peeing your pants while you roll around laughing?
Neither was I.
After having his little talk with the dean over all the stuff I have told her about him, he was quite a different man in the classroom today. Very quiet, very humble. He did make some passive-aggressive parting shots but I smiled at him the entire time, as if I didn't have a clue he was talking about me. He told the class that he had been dealing with a "passive-aggressive student all week via email, a student who had a question but wouldn't just come to my office to talk to me face to face." He went on to say that email is a passive-aggressive way to hide behind words.
Um...first off, no, email is a convenient form of communication between busy people. It had nothing to do with passive-aggressive. It had to do with me wanting written proof of what he'd said because every other discriminating, insulting, condescending word from him had been verbal. Second, who here is being passive-aggressive? My emails were asking questions & pointing out inconsistencies. I didn't stand in front of a room full of students & accuse him of something, giving him no way to defend himself.
It was really hard to keep the smirk off my face as he told the entire class that his boss had been discussing matters with him that a student had brought up. He did mention a few of the "matters" & I knew it was part of my 5-pageball buster evaluation that he was talking about. He then said that since a critical eval had been turned in, he also appreciated complimentary ones. Good luck on that, buddy.
This morning I was finishing the final bits of my final speech for my final class with Mr. Poopy Pants when I noticed that I can't log into his class any longer. It showed that I *was* enrolled in that class but had been dropped.
Okay, pure panic ensued. This is the last day of a class with a teacher who has been unbearable & I'm finding out I'm dropped? I stared at the screen. Then threw up. That's pretty much the only way to respond to something like that, I think. I had just gone through an entire semester, suffering all sorts of rudeness, and now it ends with me having done it for nothing? Yeah, throwing up was what came naturally at that point.
Then I called hubby who was at the gym & not near his phone. Then I called my Mom who was at work & not near her phone. Then I texted Ethel (*names have been changed to protect the innocent...but every Lucy must have an Ethel). Then I may or may not have called hubby & my Mom each 40 more times. Because after throwing up, that's the second best way to respond to panic. Which, by the way, if you call your Mother every 30 seconds for several minutes, you will cause Mother to panic. Which means Mother will leave work & come to your house expecting you to be on fire or throwing up. I wasn't on fire, but 1 outta 2 ain't bad.
After talking to those 3 people, I decided I was calm enough to call the school. I called the main number & got the stupidest air-headiest person I have ever talked to in my life. I explained what I saw when I logged into BlackBoard & that I needed to speak to someone who could help me figure out why. She said, and I quote, "Well, I don't know anything about BlackBoard. You have to call the teacher." Dingbat, his direct contact info is on BlackBoard...and I can't access it! That's why I'm calling you...connect me, woman. Your job is to answer phone, connect with appropriate person. You answered, now connect. Kthanksbye.
So instead of understanding that, she asks me why I am going on BlackBoard in the first place. "Um...to see my grades & assignments." She then says, "But if it's not an online course, why would you go online for assignments?"
"Because the class is in a classroom & the assignments are posted online to access later." I was failing to see what this had to do with connecting me with someone who could tell me what was going on. Or why this was her business. If I want to just sit & stare at the wonder that is BlackBoard, I believe that's my right as a paying student. Now connect me, lady.
Her answer, "I don't understand. If it's a class, you need to contact the teacher."
When I yelled, "I can only contact the teacher through you because I can't access his info!" my Mom gave me the Eddi, Calm Down Look. Even at 32 I still get that look & I still know to do as she says. So I hung up on her. Not my Mom. 'Cause you can't hang up on someone sitting next to you. I hung up on the dingbat. 'Cause that was the only way to calm down.
So I went to school. Long story short...he did it to mess with me. Isn't that the funniest joke ever? Aren't you just peeing your pants while you roll around laughing?
Neither was I.
After having his little talk with the dean over all the stuff I have told her about him, he was quite a different man in the classroom today. Very quiet, very humble. He did make some passive-aggressive parting shots but I smiled at him the entire time, as if I didn't have a clue he was talking about me. He told the class that he had been dealing with a "passive-aggressive student all week via email, a student who had a question but wouldn't just come to my office to talk to me face to face." He went on to say that email is a passive-aggressive way to hide behind words.
Um...first off, no, email is a convenient form of communication between busy people. It had nothing to do with passive-aggressive. It had to do with me wanting written proof of what he'd said because every other discriminating, insulting, condescending word from him had been verbal. Second, who here is being passive-aggressive? My emails were asking questions & pointing out inconsistencies. I didn't stand in front of a room full of students & accuse him of something, giving him no way to defend himself.
It was really hard to keep the smirk off my face as he told the entire class that his boss had been discussing matters with him that a student had brought up. He did mention a few of the "matters" & I knew it was part of my 5-page
I was the only one that got the memo that it was okay to use a country song after all. If you forgot about the country song tidbit, feel free to read it again. I'm the only one that uses BlackBoard, and he knew this because everyone told him this at the beginning of the semester. The best part was that a guy who was very angry over the no country music thing, was going to do a country song anyway. I thought that was so awesome of that guy, I would have cheered if I could have. But I thought that might be a bit much.
The week before, this guy was very angry & had asked Mr. Excuses for a reason. Instead of a reason, he got, "I'm sure if you go back in your history, you will find that country is not the only music you ever listened to. Go way, way back if you have to. There is a song somewhere that is not country." This unhappy redneck replied with, "I guess there's the ABC song." Mr. BoogerButt said, "Then do the ABC song."
Seriously? Seriously.
The week before, this guy was very angry & had asked Mr. Excuses for a reason. Instead of a reason, he got, "I'm sure if you go back in your history, you will find that country is not the only music you ever listened to. Go way, way back if you have to. There is a song somewhere that is not country." This unhappy redneck replied with, "I guess there's the ABC song." Mr. BoogerButt said, "Then do the ABC song."
Seriously? Seriously.
After explaining what his memo had said, Teacher NoGood went on to explain that it had been brought to his attention that he hadn't thoroughly explained his decision to not use country music. That it wasn't about his distaste for the genre that led him to that decision. It's the fact that someone could go to their car, turn on a country station, and pick a song claiming it's "their" song. He wanted to avoid that. Okay, great, but what is stopping people from turning the dial to 104.7 & picking a pop song & doing the same damn thing? Try again, Mr. Brainless, 'cause that "reason" is not gonna fly. I'm thankful the dean talked to the teacher about his reasoning, but he had 7 days to come up with a good reason. He could have done way better than that. If he was having trouble coming up with something, he could have emailed me & I would have been happy to help (am I the only one that hears that evil laugh? Oh...it is me.)
Of course, he is up against a thinker & wasn't expecting that. Yeah, my Mama only raised one dummy & it wasn't me. Teehee, I stole that one from my Great Gram. But seriously. I'm no dummy. And I ain't no sheeple either.
One day during class, Mr. AssForBrain announced out of the blue that he got an amazing text & he doesn't know if he should tell us about it. Of course a bunch of nosey students ask him what it is. He hems & haws, the class begs, this goes on for a little while until he says "My wife just said she's pregnant."
I came home & said, "Wow, what a crappy way to tell your husband that you're pregnant. What's up with that? Well, guess my gaydar is off 'cause he's not gay after all. Or else he's great at pretending that he's straight 'cause he had sex with a girl at least once."
A couple weeks later, I find out that Mr. PooHead wanted to date a friend of mine. A gay friend of mine. There is no wife. To prove things, my friend had an entire conversation via text with Teacher Idiot, in front of me. Yup, the dude is gay. Not even kinda gay. He's really, truly gay.
My hubby works with a friend of his. There is a baby on the way, but it's with a surrogate. Yay for him. Congratulations on becoming a father. Why hide how the baby came about? Why say anything at all about who is carrying the baby? Say, "I'm going to be a Dad!" If people assume that means you're married or heterosexual, let them. Although in this day & age, does anyone really assume about relationships anymore?
And why would we care? It's not like any student is going to say, "Yo, dude, are you gay? 'Cause if you are, man, I can't participate in this class." It's not like being married would endure him to the class since 1) no one besides me is married in that class & he obviously doesn't like me 2) more than half the class doesn't like him & there was no fixing that.
A teacher lying to an entire class about something so unimportant? Makes me question everything about him. Why lie? Why cover up who you really are? Why make it an issue at all? Sexual orientation has nothing to do with being a teacher or a student & has no place in the classroom. I go to each one of my classes with the intent to learn the subject I paid for, not about the personal life of my instructors or even the students. Unless we start talking outside of class & have exchanged phone numbers for non-class purposes, I do not want to know anything personal about you. This isn't just about gay teachers. This is about any teacher. If I know your sexual orientation because you made an extra effort to make sure I know it, you've crossed the lines. There are lines between students & teachers for a reason. Let's not cross those boundaries by any means, especially not lying.
My hubby works with a friend of his. There is a baby on the way, but it's with a surrogate. Yay for him. Congratulations on becoming a father. Why hide how the baby came about? Why say anything at all about who is carrying the baby? Say, "I'm going to be a Dad!" If people assume that means you're married or heterosexual, let them. Although in this day & age, does anyone really assume about relationships anymore?
And why would we care? It's not like any student is going to say, "Yo, dude, are you gay? 'Cause if you are, man, I can't participate in this class." It's not like being married would endure him to the class since 1) no one besides me is married in that class & he obviously doesn't like me 2) more than half the class doesn't like him & there was no fixing that.
A teacher lying to an entire class about something so unimportant? Makes me question everything about him. Why lie? Why cover up who you really are? Why make it an issue at all? Sexual orientation has nothing to do with being a teacher or a student & has no place in the classroom. I go to each one of my classes with the intent to learn the subject I paid for, not about the personal life of my instructors or even the students. Unless we start talking outside of class & have exchanged phone numbers for non-class purposes, I do not want to know anything personal about you. This isn't just about gay teachers. This is about any teacher. If I know your sexual orientation because you made an extra effort to make sure I know it, you've crossed the lines. There are lines between students & teachers for a reason. Let's not cross those boundaries by any means, especially not lying.
Apparently he's so freaked about being outed that he has these elaborate stories for every class & hides himself very carefully on The Facebook. Even goes so far as to make frequent comments during class about how he doesn't have a Facebook page & all that newfangled computer technology stuff confuses him. I saw his wall on The Facebook, thank you very much.
Why the lies? Why go to such extremes to make sure you mention things when no one cares? There's 2 reasons I can come up with...1) he's very uncomfortable with himself & his lifestyle choices 2) he's so comfortable with himself & his lifestyle choices that he thinks everyone else is hung up on him & dying to just know every little tidbit about him & thinks we will all stalk him so he better head us all off at the pass. Hint, Mr. GooberPants: if you don't want us to know anything about you, that's okay! We don't want to know anything about you.
The Pud Teacher can take his clothing journal & shove it where the sun don't shine. I got the grade I was hoping for, so I never have to deal with him again.
Why the lies? Why go to such extremes to make sure you mention things when no one cares? There's 2 reasons I can come up with...1) he's very uncomfortable with himself & his lifestyle choices 2) he's so comfortable with himself & his lifestyle choices that he thinks everyone else is hung up on him & dying to just know every little tidbit about him & thinks we will all stalk him so he better head us all off at the pass. Hint, Mr. GooberPants: if you don't want us to know anything about you, that's okay! We don't want to know anything about you.
The Pud Teacher can take his clothing journal & shove it where the sun don't shine. I got the grade I was hoping for, so I never have to deal with him again.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Scaring Children Should Go On Resumes as a Talent
So I was going to put this up after Halloween but the video was not behaving. Now it's behaving & even though it was taken on Halloween 2011, over 2 months ago, it's never too late to laugh at scared children.
Here's the details:
We have this very popular drive-through haunted thingy in our area that is just awesome. They set it up every October, no admission fee, and you can choose to be scared or not. They have people dressed up as creepy as they can get & they hide on the side of the road & some walk along the road. You never know when one will appear 'cause they are literally everywhere (if you choose to be scared). If your car is unlocked, you'll end up with hitch hikers.
A popular thing to do is ride in the back of a pickup, with van doors open, or the back of an SUV with the hatch open, which is what the girls begged to do that night. They love to be scared & I can't even count how many times we had gone through Haunted Hollow with children hanging out of the vehicle.
This video is just a short snippet of our trip there with my oldest & her friend who is like another daughter. We were there for half an hour & at one point we looked back to find 2 monsters sitting in their place. The 2 daughters had been taken out of the truck & we had been driving around with monsters (some days that's the same thing).
At the end, the monsters took off their masks & talked to the girls & gave them extra candy because they said their reactions were the best they'd gotten all month.
I have a few things to apologize for:
1.The video is dark because it was 10 at night & I didn't put the camera light on because the girls didn't know I'd begun taping
2.There is a vehicle behind us so their light is right in the middle of video
3.I laugh loudly under normal circumstances, so it's very loud with a video camera next to my face
4.I missed some of the action because I didn't want the girls to know I was taping
The opening scene is a giant ape wanting a hug & kiss from one of the girls. They had already gone through 25 minutes of nonstop torture from these certain monsters that wouldn't leave them alone. Something about the ape & this other monster with a deep voice was scaring the tar out of the one daughter...Enjoy!
Here's the details:
We have this very popular drive-through haunted thingy in our area that is just awesome. They set it up every October, no admission fee, and you can choose to be scared or not. They have people dressed up as creepy as they can get & they hide on the side of the road & some walk along the road. You never know when one will appear 'cause they are literally everywhere (if you choose to be scared). If your car is unlocked, you'll end up with hitch hikers.
A popular thing to do is ride in the back of a pickup, with van doors open, or the back of an SUV with the hatch open, which is what the girls begged to do that night. They love to be scared & I can't even count how many times we had gone through Haunted Hollow with children hanging out of the vehicle.
This video is just a short snippet of our trip there with my oldest & her friend who is like another daughter. We were there for half an hour & at one point we looked back to find 2 monsters sitting in their place. The 2 daughters had been taken out of the truck & we had been driving around with monsters (some days that's the same thing).
At the end, the monsters took off their masks & talked to the girls & gave them extra candy because they said their reactions were the best they'd gotten all month.
I have a few things to apologize for:
1.The video is dark because it was 10 at night & I didn't put the camera light on because the girls didn't know I'd begun taping
2.There is a vehicle behind us so their light is right in the middle of video
3.I laugh loudly under normal circumstances, so it's very loud with a video camera next to my face
4.I missed some of the action because I didn't want the girls to know I was taping
The opening scene is a giant ape wanting a hug & kiss from one of the girls. They had already gone through 25 minutes of nonstop torture from these certain monsters that wouldn't leave them alone. Something about the ape & this other monster with a deep voice was scaring the tar out of the one daughter...Enjoy!
We've Always Taught Our Kids the True Meaning of Christmas is Not the Gifts...
I saw Jimmy Kimmel had a Christmas challenge for parents to give a horrible present to their kids & video tape it. Since I love a good challenge, and I'm the coolest Mom ever, I decided to see what would happen if I did this.
It's a long video but worth it, 'cause well, they're my kids so their reactions are awesome.
Hubby & I decided on the perfect gift for each of the 6 children:
15 year old daughter, who's nickname is Pineapple ("I'm brown on the outside, blonde on the inside!"): a pineapple head
13 year old son, who finds all female anythings horrid: a pack of birth control pills, a kotex, a tampax
12 year old daughter, who had a very long discussion with us on the virtues of a certain brand of tissues: a crumpled up tissue to give it the appearance of being used, a spent candle, her brother's baseball cap complete with cat hair on the brim
9 year old son: a styrofoam take out box with a 4 day old garlic bread crust
8 year old daughter, who's nickname is Monkey: 1 of hubby's gym shoes, a pair of hubby's boxer shorts, and bottle of Anti-Monkey Butt powder
6 year old daughter: an empty Bottle Caps candy box & a KMart plastic bag that may or may not have had a hole in the side of it.
Now if anyone in your life doesn't fully appreciate a gift you gave them, show them what my kids got. I guarantee they'll be thankful they didn't have me purchasing their presents. Especially if it's a 13 year old boy.
I'm Sick, Give Me Sympathy
I'm sick in bed with Shingles. It hurts to move. It hurts to breath. It hurts to turn my head. It hurts to be alive at this moment.
My family has supplied me with pillows, my Comfy Blanket, ice water, ice cream, pretty much anything I moan that will make me feel better. It seems like anything with sugar is all I want. Butterfingers, fruit punch, ginger ale, Nerds, candy canes. I know better than to actually eat all that I want because those aren't going to help me get healthy, but dang, those candy canes are taunting me. The candy canes know I'm sick. They know.
The one thing I wanted, hubby couldn't provide for me. Seriously, what is he here for if he can't give me that one thing? It's not like I asked for the moon on a string. It's a pretty simple thing, and it's all I want. I don't care that doing that doesn't appeal to him. Man up here.
I told him to heal me.
He first put his finger up my nose 'cause he was looking at the TV when he reached his hand over. I learned my lesson not to ask for healing when Wizards of Waverly Place is on. Yes, this Wizards of Waverly Place. Unless I need assistance picking my nose, from now on, I'll make sure he is looking at me before allowing him to reach anywhere near me.
Eventually hubby put his hand on my forehead. Then announced that I shall be healed & horizontal. Then said, "See? You got it."
"It doesn't count if I'm already laying down. And I'm not healed yet. You suck."
Apparently he doesn't like being told he sucks, because I got a line about how he knows I'll be healed. I told him it's not good to lie & I know he's lying because I could die tonight from Shingles & that would make him a healing-liar...or lying healer. Whatever.
He said God doesn't hate him so he knows God won't let me die yet. I probably should have been all "awww" at that one, and not, "After all you've done, I'm surprised He doesn't."
Oh well. At least I'm horizontal.
My family has supplied me with pillows, my Comfy Blanket, ice water, ice cream, pretty much anything I moan that will make me feel better. It seems like anything with sugar is all I want. Butterfingers, fruit punch, ginger ale, Nerds, candy canes. I know better than to actually eat all that I want because those aren't going to help me get healthy, but dang, those candy canes are taunting me. The candy canes know I'm sick. They know.
The one thing I wanted, hubby couldn't provide for me. Seriously, what is he here for if he can't give me that one thing? It's not like I asked for the moon on a string. It's a pretty simple thing, and it's all I want. I don't care that doing that doesn't appeal to him. Man up here.
I told him to heal me.
He first put his finger up my nose 'cause he was looking at the TV when he reached his hand over. I learned my lesson not to ask for healing when Wizards of Waverly Place is on. Yes, this Wizards of Waverly Place. Unless I need assistance picking my nose, from now on, I'll make sure he is looking at me before allowing him to reach anywhere near me.
Eventually hubby put his hand on my forehead. Then announced that I shall be healed & horizontal. Then said, "See? You got it."
"It doesn't count if I'm already laying down. And I'm not healed yet. You suck."
Apparently he doesn't like being told he sucks, because I got a line about how he knows I'll be healed. I told him it's not good to lie & I know he's lying because I could die tonight from Shingles & that would make him a healing-liar...or lying healer. Whatever.
He said God doesn't hate him so he knows God won't let me die yet. I probably should have been all "awww" at that one, and not, "After all you've done, I'm surprised He doesn't."
Oh well. At least I'm horizontal.
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
Not Being Able to Sleep Now Comes in Contagious Form
It's a known fact I have chronic insomnia. I've been a "night owl" for as long as my parents can remember, but I remember distinctly the day/night I began not being able to fall asleep until 5 in the morning or not at all. I was 14. I dreamt that my Dad had a heart attack & died in his sleep. I began crawling into his room in the middle of the night to make sure he was breathing. I got so obsessed with making sure my Dad hadn't died that I would stay up all night to make sure he was alive & woke up in the morning.
I very rarely slept normally again after that, though I'm positive that didn't cause it.
I very rarely slept normally again after that, though I'm positive that didn't cause it.
The majority of people have a couple nights during their lifetime where they can't sleep & they can attribute the interruption from the norm of sleeping to something. Stress. Worry. Teething/Crying/Nursing/Newborn baby. Teenager out all night. Not their own bed. New house. And once those things pass, they're back to their normal sleep routine.
Some people, like my Mom & my husband, can sleep just by telling their bodies to go to sleep. That's totally foreign to me! To be able to lay down, close your eyes, and fall asleep...just because it's time to...whoa, trying to figure that one out could totally fry my brain. I have never in my life been able to do that without the aid of prescription medications.
For me, there is no reason for the insomnia & sleeping like other people is actually a rare break from the norm. Hence the chronic part. I'm tired. I want to sleep. I try to sleep. I close my eyes...Nuttin, honey.
My Dad has passed many traits onto me. He taught me at a young age how to stand up for myself. How to be independent. "You will learn to change your own oil, because you will never be at the mercy of a man to do this for you." How to not let others tell me what to believe. Unless it's identical to what he believes. How to think for myself & not be a sheeple. Or a Democrat. I also got my love of writing from my Dad, although I definitely did not get my walking dictionary/spell check talent from him.
And I can't forget that he passed onto me to be proud of my heritage, "You can tell a Dane, but you can't tell him much."
Oh wait...it's my Mom that says that to my Dad and me...and I'm beginning to think she says it not as a source of pride or jealousy of our heritage...she just may be making fun of us...that sneaky non-Danish Mom of mine...she's good.
Another thing my Dad passed onto me is insomnia. Ever since I can remember, I could walk past my parents' closed bedroom door to hear his radio on (turned to AM, of course) & pages turning as he read. The radio went off & the book was laid down as soon as he was going to sleep, always well after midnight.
I've never really taken the time to explain insomnia to my children. They've known this about me their entire lives & they all have eventually come to realize that it's not normal to go potty in the middle of the night & find a Mommy wide awake. They see how tired I am, they hear me talk about it.
Well, I realized this morning that I may need to explain what exactly it is to at least one child. This morning my 8 year old asked me, "If I lay with you, will I catch The Insomnia?" Yeah...it might be helpful to let her know she doesn't have to worry about not being able to sleep.
On the other hand, I do need a new empty threat to throw at the kids. "If you don't clean that room, I'll give you The Insomnia." or "Eat all your dinner or you'll catch The Insomnia from me." I could have fun with this one. I could even get one of the teens in on it to mess with the little kids' heads even further. Get a teen to not do what I say, tell them they'll catch The Insomnia, for the next few days have the teen complain about not having been able to sleep lately.
I am so going to use this one.
Well, I realized this morning that I may need to explain what exactly it is to at least one child. This morning my 8 year old asked me, "If I lay with you, will I catch The Insomnia?" Yeah...it might be helpful to let her know she doesn't have to worry about not being able to sleep.
On the other hand, I do need a new empty threat to throw at the kids. "If you don't clean that room, I'll give you The Insomnia." or "Eat all your dinner or you'll catch The Insomnia from me." I could have fun with this one. I could even get one of the teens in on it to mess with the little kids' heads even further. Get a teen to not do what I say, tell them they'll catch The Insomnia, for the next few days have the teen complain about not having been able to sleep lately.
I am so going to use this one.
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