Pat Me On The Back- Hurry!!!

Work all week where you are surrounded by people who's average age is 81, then spend the weekend with college kids and try to figure where you fit in.

We celebrated Homecoming at the Nursing Home this week.
We:
Crowned Homecoming King and Queen
Played football
Danced
Tail gated
Drank near-beer (O'Dool's).

(Sorry no pix from the nursing home...ya know, legal issues about permission and blah blah blah. College kids are dumb and don't care if their picture is out there.)

We celebrated Homecoming at my son's college this weekend.
We:
Crowned Homecoming King and Queen
Played football
Danced
Tail gated
Drank REAL beer.

The DIFFERENCE between the crowds:
60 year age span
Perkier boobs.

SIMILARITIES:
Drooling
Catatonic stares
Excessive urination
Confusion
Laughter

I am proud to say:
The wheelchair races at the NH were uneventful, even though I was stuck having to push the heaviest ones and feared, if they put their feet down to stop at the finish line, my fat ass would be catapulted over their heads. Not one resident was dumped out, despite the idle threat I made to one. I really was just kidding........ Really....what????!!!!

I am even MORE proud to say:
I did not inflict any bodily injury to my son's ex who decided to show up for the party. I was even somewhat polite, not ending any sentence I said to her with the words "slut" or "whore".
I really am proud of myself.

So, all in all, this week was very successful for me. I did not lose my nursing license due to the fact no harm was done to people under my care. Nor did I go to jail for assault over the weekend. Basically, seven straight days of good clean fun. (Look----I am only inches from the "ex" that broke my baby's heart AND tried to pick a brawl with his older sister. She is an idiot, BTW.)

I am now looking forward to next week. We have a Halloween carnival on Friday where small children will attack us for candy and prizes at the NH, as well as costume party on Sat. at the local hang out. (Deb, it starts at eight. Be there or be square.)

Thank goodness I will be in disguise for both events. I can only contain myself for so long.

tap tap tap...Anybody out there???

(clears throat nervously) Hey...yoo hoo...it's me. You probably don't remember me. I was once a faithful blogger that believed spending 4-5 hours/day immersed in cyberspace with all my friends was beneficial to me. Then someone convinced me I should become a real mom/wife/employee instead.

So, for 5 months I tried the life of not checking emails or blogs and trying to be productive, like cooking and cleaning and working my dimpley ass off.

I realized that being productive is NOT what it's cracked up to be. It is so NOT fun for me.

I also have since realized that I missed laughing and just how much I have missed my friends.

Truth is, I just can't quit y'all.

So I am back.

Quick recap:
Got out of partnership.
Took a real job.
Finished the pool project and now only go inside to pee and sleep.
Tried that whole domestic crap and have made definite confirmation that I no likey.
Hooked up with Deb
Fell completely in love with her and am now leaving my husband for her.

Speaking of Deb, her last post was about the weekend we spent together. And even though she trashed my hostessing ability, we never stopped laughing except to swig a drink or two (or a hundred). Who needs to eat full meals anyway?? She is on this fat-free diet and I was just supporting it. So there.

Deb was my first "friend" doing this bloggy thing. It was the hatred of aggressive birds that bonded us together. Since that, we have bonded with our shared love of our grandchildren, idiotic children, do-it-yourself home repairs, and now the hole-in-the-wall bar.

I was sweating bullets thinking I was going to have to do the whole tour guide thing, taking her to museums, art displays, symphony productions, and all the other great activities Big D has to offer. When she mentioned she had no desire to do all that intellectual stimulating stuff, I cannot tell you how relieved I was. She was more than happy to just hang out at the misspelled local hangout Kountry Nites.

She was the Belle of the proverbial Ball at this home-away-from-home Dive (which just FYI used to be called Scandals). Her first night there, the bartenders and her were on a first name basis and she made them feel all important by ordering fancy smancy drinks like Lemon Drops and Chocolate Cake shots. She was able to show off her sharky pool moves and great dancing abilities, making me look like I hang out with extremely cool people.

My friends LOVED her and, even as we speak, she and Niki are, I am almost positive, texting each other. (Only because I never have a freakin' signal. Effing TMobile. I am sure they would totally not be leaving me out for any other reason...) There's nothing like having an entire gang of people you love laughing at and making fun of you. Seriously. It's so much fun. (Asses. All of you.)

We have already made plans to reunite ASAP and continue the badgering and poking, which after the first night they slammed me for being all "high-maintenance, snooty, prissy, graceful, etc., etc.", just became droning. They think they are hilarious though, and being the great friend I am, gave them all the ammunition they needed to have fun. Hell, if nothing else, I am accommodating.

I am so excited about getting back into the swing of blogging. I have missed you guys incredibly and cannot wait to catch up. Thank you so much for all the sweet comments about missing me. It makes my snooty prissy head all big.

And we all know here in Texas we like it big.

Drinks and Food, Anyone?

As all of you know, I have never been accused or mistaken for a Domestic Goddess. I cook only because my family needs nourishment. I CAN cook, I just hate to.

I have tried watching Paula and Rachel, but I just get hungry, never really motivated to cook. Krista gave me an apron which I look totally HOTT in, but doesn't make food magically appear on the table.

I have started baby-stepping to do more than the usual hot dogs, tacos and spaghetti. I have graduated to actually doing more than throwing the frozen skillet meal in the skillet. I have found this website that makes me look FABULOUS!!!!!

It has recipes, how-to's, places to save your favorites, so it's like your personal cookbook. It has recipes for CHOCOLATE MARTINIs and other boozy drinks!!!!!! Enough said.

The meals are easy and fast and really good. They don't make me sweat or my hair frizz while preparing them, so all is well. My husband has commented that he has more energy and my kids are now doing great in school. I have no idea what they are trying to tell me.

So head on over to myrecipes.com and be cool like me. And, no, they didn't pay anything to say this. I asked for a personal chef, but he hasn't arrived yet.When he gets here, I am almost postive he will use myrecipes.com, too. Because he is not only going to be a supermodel for underwear, he will also be extremely intelligent. Okay, I am done rambling. GO!!! Click and find a good recipe to try tonight. Then call me when it's ready and I will head right over.

Adventures in Babysitting

I am taking the nudge of Deb to write about my Adventures in Babysitting.



I had many babysitting jobs over my teenage years. I had jobs with the same 5 families, so I was certain I did something right.

I loved kids. I loved pretending it was my house and they were my kids. I cooked. I cleaned. I played games. I performed the Heimlich Maneuver on more than one occasion. I loved them. I was an extraordinary babysitter.

Until I sat for Chris.

Chris was the kind of 5 year old kid that they make horror pictures about. His entire purpose in life was to make everyone hope they never had a child like him.

He screamed when you told him no.

He cried when you made him go to bed.

He could scale the wall and hang in the 12 foot doorways and jump down on top of you when you were panicking and racing through the house looking for him.

He made Chuckie, Damien Omen 1, and Children of the Corn look like cherubs.

And he loved me.

I really was mean to him, telling him I would never come over again if he didn't stop:

1. picking his nose and eating it,

2. throwing the cat on the roof,

3. eating an entire box of macaroni uncooked and sprinkling the cheese powder all over his room

all in one night.

So when his mom called me to watch him for the ENTIRE weekend, it took some finagling. I finally said yes and arrived after school on Friday.

I entered their home and mom and dad said a hasty goodbye and fled the scene, leaving me standing there thinking I had just entered the Twilight Zone.

Chris was watching cartoons and didn't even acknowledge my presence. I normally would have been perturbed at his rudeness, but this calm behavior was actually a very nice change of pace for him.

I informed him I would make him dinner and made my way to the kitchen. I made frozen chicken strips and mac and cheese with green beans to even out the nutritious meal that any five year old boy would love. I called from the kitchen for him to come eat.

There was no response.

I made my way back into the living room to find it empty.

Okay, this brat was really working my last nerve. I called out for him and searched the entire house to find no demon child.

I went outside and called his name. He wasn't in the front yard or in the back. I was really beginning to panic.

This was way before cell phones and, mom and dad, escaping from reality, had left with no forwarding number. I was stuck. What the hell was I supposed to do? I took a deep breath and went back inside to get my thoughts together.

Then I did what every responsible teenager would do.

I sat down to eat.

I announced aloud every move I was making:

"Hmmm, I have no idea where Chris is. I sure wish he was here. Guess I will eat and hope he shows up. This chicken is GREAT! Mmmmm, the macaroni, PERFECT!!"

I went on for ten minutes, hoping somehow that creepy little bastard was listening and would eventually emerge.

Sure enough, just as I was washing off my plate, I turned to find him sitting at the table, helping himself to the feast.

"Oh, Chris, so glad you could join me! Where were you?"

"Hiding."

Oh, okay. Where were you hiding?"

"I can't tell you. Then I couldn't hide there anymore."

"Alrighty. If you hide again, I won't buy you any ice cream."

"What kind of ice cream?"

"Any kind you want."

And with that threat I was pretty confident, the weekend would go much smoother. Man, was I wrong.

That night he vanished two more times. I had locked all the doors, so I knew he was inside. The thought of him ingesting some poison or poking his eye out with some sharp object kept me looking in every nook and cranny all evening long.

Saturday and Sunday were the same. He would be at my side one second and the next- gone, not to be found for about an hour. After the fourth time of him hiding, I just enjoyed the peace and quiet, read some of mom's trashy vixen novels, and thought this was the easiest money I had ever made.

Sunday afternoon, when he hid again, I yelled, "Okay, fine! You aren't getting ice cream!" I heard a muffled "I don't even like ice cream!" So I followed the sound and found him under his bed hiding behind a giant stuffed dog. He was so still and trying to fake me out, so I just left him, pretending I hadn't seen him.

I read some more of mom's trashy novel and soon heard mom and dad pull into the driveway. I made my way back to his room and peeked under the bed. He had fallen asleep and I gingerly picked him up and placed him on his bed.

Mom and dad came in and asked how Chris had been over the weekend.

"Oh, it was like he wasn't even here. He was great!"

They paid me the cash wadded up in the tiny roll and I headed to my car. I was actually feeling a little bad for how little time I actually spent interacting with the kid. I waited until I was at the stop sign before I looked to see how much I had raked in for doing nothing all weekend.

I unrolled the green to find two tens. TWENTY DOLLARS? What was that, like .05 cents an hour?!

Okay, I officially didn't feel bad at all.

I should have left the little turd under the bed and made them look for him. AND taken her trashy novel I never finished.

Maybe I Should Have Home-Schooled

I have to say I truly admire those parents that can homeschool their kids.

I am not one of those parents.

I know how important it is to keep them from the evils of all the unnecessary cursing, talking about sex, the influences of alcohol and drugs, the pressure to conform to a certain stigma. That's why they needed to be away from me. Just kidding, I don't do drugs and I barely drink.

Seriously, even with the huge girth I carry, my nerves are very thin and petite. The thought of having them here and trying to teach them something scholastic makes me hyperventilate. I totally suck at teaching them to clean their room and wash their plates off before they put them in the dishwasher. It's sad really.

Plus, as I have confessed before, I am a yeller. And now that I am aged, I refuse to be titled the name of the Walt Disney show where the yellow lab was shot by his owner. My daughter HAS made it to Nationals in Archery and that right there is reason enough to scare the crap out of me.

But recently I have wondered how much my kids have learned from their peers.

Claire is learning weird things from her weird friends and I hate it because this is a whole new venue for me. With seven kids, five being my very own, I have been through the drinking, sex, drugs, staying out past curfew, lying, flunking classes, and almost every other horrible "phase" dumbass kids go through. This strange unfamiliar issue of STRIVING to be depressed and the main goal being emotional and mental, along with physical pain is more than I can take. We have sought counseling with fairly good results. Plus many close friends and family members have been praying. Say and believe what you will, but I truly believe there is great power in asking for God's help. Things are looking up for her.

So on that solemn note, I will now take you by the hand and lead you to the less serious and funny side of my world.

Cooper, who at one point totally had his older brothers convinced that he might be less-than-manly because of his disinterest in any sport and love of reading, has entered the Testosterone Phase of life. I have had to bang on his bathroom door thinking he had passed out in there or was extremely constipated, only to have him slink out with towel in hand and lotion bottle on the counter. It was a shocker, to say the least. The boy doesn't use soap half the time, and soft skin, I am almost positive, is the furthest thing from his mind.

At this point I am thinking he would have never learned the lotion trick if I had homes-chooled.

So I have concluded that he is growing up. I am a nurse and know all that is natural, but honestly I am almost dumbfounded. My older boys never let on that they were normal at that age. It wasn't until they were late teens before I found the porns and magazines and other grotesque things that have horifically burned their image in my mind.

It all started to become last week when I went upstairs to make sure the brat was really in bed and not still up playing kiss him goodnight. When I opened the door, he immediately shoved something under the covers and poorly acted like he was about to turn the lamp off. I went over, acting calm and cool and covered him up, flinging the comforter back to adjust the sheet when I saw the book. It was Claire's "Becoming a Woman" book. I said calmly, "Why are you reading this?" and he says, (this part cracks me up even now)"Hmm. What IS that book? I must have grabbed the wrong one." I just smiled and kissed my man-child goodnight.

The cartoon characters with their "buds" and wisps of pubic hair were drawn very simpistically and innocently. I breathed a sigh of relief thinking he was good with that image and that it brought some satisfaction to his hormonal needs.

Two days later, Cooper and Rick are outside with our landscape guy and apparently doing some male bonding.. There was laughter and slapping of the knees and as I walked past the window, I smiled and got a little teary thinking my baby was growing up and fitting in with the "boys".

Later that night, Rick said, "Do you know what Coop said tonight to me and Jared?" He began to tell me how somehow the conversation had made a turn to "heavy girls". Out of the blue Cooper says, "That's more cushion for the pushin'!" Both men were shocked that out of the mouth of this twelve year old kid, came such phrasing.
"Where did you learn that? Who told you that?" Rick was horrified.
"I heard it on the bus."
"Do you even know what that means?!"
"Yeah. The fatter they are, the harder they fall when you push 'em."

Thank God he knows the real truth. I hate to be pushed.

I Am So Lucky

Okay, I am doing The husband Meme (or would that be himhim?) that I stole from Georgie . The first part are my answers. The second group is his answers. And since I can't keep my mouth shut, I commented in parentheses on those, too.



1. What is something your husband always says to you? "I love you" and "My knees, back, feet, hips* are killing me" (*insert any body part here)

2. What makes your husband happy? Our kids/grandkids (not asking for money)

3. What makes your husband sad? Not being able to build a commune for all our kids/families to live together.

4. What was your husband like as a teen? Very athletic with a giant fro

5. How old is your husband ? 51

6. How tall is your husband ? 5'10"

7. What is his favorite thing to do? Vacationing with our family/sleeping late/no phone calls

8. What does your hubby do when you're not around? Surf the Internet and watch Transformers 984 times

9. If your husband becomes famous, what will it be for? putting 7 kids through college and being able to sleep standing up, like a horse.

10. What is your husband really good at? Business/money issues and being seriously the kindest man I know.

11. What is your husband not really good at? letting me forget what something costs/cooking

12. What does your husband do for a job? Owns Hardwood flooring co. and home builder

13. What is your husbands favorite food? Steak-medium rare

14. What makes you proud of your husband? How big his heart is. I know you were thinking I was going to say something else, you sicko.

15. If your husband were a cartoon character, who would he be? Shaggy



This is the way he answered them:



1.What is something your husband always says to you? "I love you" and "Show me the money" (along with "I am the luckiest man on earth". What?!)

2. What makes your husband happy? Coming home (and having dinner on the table-preferably made by someone other than me)

3. What makes your husband sad? When the kids aren't not doing well. (and when he can't buy me furs and diamonds. Right, honey? Honey?!)

4. What was your husband like as a teen? Studly athletic dork. (OMG, have I told you he had like a 10 inch in diameter fro?)

5. How old is your husband ? 106 (only when he complains like my great grandmother Bentley)

6. How tall is your husband ? 5ft 10 (of solid hunk)

7. What is his favorite thing to do? Play (is he six?)

8. What does your hubby do when you're not around? Cleans the house (while surfing the internet)

9. If your husband becomes famous, what will it be for? Playing baseball/Building our dream home (He is really ARod, but I didn't want to brag)

10. What is your husband really good at? Loving my family and working as hard as I can for them. (I waited and he never said it aloud, but we all know what he was thinking...)

11. What is your husband not very good at? decorating (a- to the -men)

12. What does your husband do for a job? Manage idiots. Hardwood floors/build houses (He is serious. They really are idiots at times.)

13. What is your husband favorite food? Steak

14. What makes you proud of your husband? Loving my family and working hard (True, even if he already said that line)

15. If your husband were a cartoon character, who would he be? Goofy (only after 3 beers)


Sorry, he is taken, people. Pinch me.

I Might Be A Red Head

Two people The masses have spoken.

The crowds have gathered and both all of you who have asked me to post something have been heard.

I finally had something happen blog-worthy that did not involve whining about about all the stress work and my kids are putting me under. (You know I HAD to slip it in somewhere)

I might need a tan.

These things have actually happened to me over the last 3 days to prove, once again, I am almost an albino.

1. Easter Sunday my 14 year old daughter asked me when white hose came back into style. I wasn't wearing hose.
2. I dropped a dollop of Cool Whip on my leg and it took me 10 minutes to find it.
3. I put on white lotion on my calves and it looked bronze compared to my skin.
4. I go for the ashey look because it makes me look darker.
5. I told a guy I was part Indian and I think I heard him say, "What, you like to play Bingo, drink a lot, or instead of saying 'corn' you say 'my people call it maize'"?

Being the chubby red-headed freckle-faced kid jokes were made about, I have needed a tan for almost 44 years now. Even as a lifeguard for a summer at camp, the only pigment besides BRIGHT RED I had was freckles. Blended together in a mass, if you hold your head just right and squint your eyes, I look kinda brown. Or look like like I am wearing a brown shawl on my shoulders. Either way...

I have tried tanning beds. All I got from those damn things was hot and sweaty and some rash from the excellerant that the bitch girl behind the counter suggested.

I have tried spray-on tans. That worked. For 2 days. And cost 30 buckaroonies. Every 2 days. Times 5 months. NOT going to happen.

I have tried tanning creams. I have done the streaks, the orange glow, the dark elbows and in between each finger. I just can't pull off the look. Plus the smell makes me gag. And it is very hard work to put it even all over the mass I have. I am seriously exhausted afterwards. But I have found one that is VERY light so if there's streaks, you really can't tell. Except on my palms if I forget to wash my hands. PRESSURE, people. It's just too much.

But I will muster the strength to do it, just so I will not cause people to put their sunglasses on while showing them my new shoes.

I will just have to remember to wear pants if I sit with another terminal patient. I think my legs are throwing them off with the whole "go towards the light" thing.