What's Your Signature Saying?

Are you known for anything you say often?

Do your family or friends ever give you that knowing glance and say it before you do in that "gottcha" kind of way?



One of my aunts, who lives in Utah, says, "Oh my heck."



My granddad had a very...shall we say, colorful expression he used frequently.



Big Shooter says, "Life is good" quite frequently.



And apparently, I say, "Oh my word" in between every sentence.



In fact, I've been told I have so many different ways of saying this phrase that I have one for every kind of situation.

• In response to Girl Child telling me she's finished yet another chapter book in a single evening: (said with the Momma Wow voice), " Oh my worrrd!"

• After Boy Child tells me, in agonizingly great detail, the many life-sustaining battles on a video game: (said with as much fake momma wow as I can muster), "Oh...my word."

• Tasting some divine culinary treat: (said slowly with a throaty voice), "Oh...my....worrrrd...".

• After Saucy Sashi gives me some unbelievable news: (each word is said separately and slowly with my eyebrows up as far as they can go), "Oh. My. Word. "

• Screeching at the top of my lungs when seeing a scary jumping bug, "Ohmyword! Ohmyword! OhmyWORD!!"

I'm dying to know if y'all have a signature saying of your own? Please share it with us. What is it? Where'd you first hear it? What does it mean to you and how often do you express it?

Love Note to my Big Shooter: I should have said your Signature Saying is, "Zzzzzzzz. snort. Zzzzzzzz."

Mooning on I-44

Have I ever told you about the time I mooned many passersby on Interstate 44?

Albeit unwillingly. But, mooned none the less.

Y'all know I'm really a Farm Girl from Idaho at heart. And Farm Girls have certain skills that most Citifieds wouldn't ever consider skills - until needed, of course. Like, pluckin' a chicken. Knowledge of irrigation. And the ability for quick, but modest, impromptu emptying of bladders out of doors.

Late one evening, before we were married, Big Shooter and I were traveling on a stretch of I-44 that has no rest stops for like a billion miles. Usually it's not a big deal. The problem was I'd drank the equivalent of a keg of ice tea while visiting Aunt Faye and Uncle Woodrow on their homeplace. I was new to Oklahoma and sweet tea. I didn't yet know that tea has a diuretic effect on me. An almost immediate effect.

My well thought out plan was to have Big Shooter pull to the side, turn off his lights, wait until there was a large gap between cars passing us and quickly take care of my business in front of his car where they couldn't see me. I had taken care of business in this manner 100s of times grownin' up. This would be no big deal. Just immediate, glorious relief. It would have worked out beautifully because the cars traveling in the opposite direction were also too far away to see anything either.

Unless the person you love,

the person you are betrothed to,

the one person in the world you trust more than any other...

slowly backs up the vehicle you are using as a privacy shield while you are, um... incapable of moving.

And then does this...

And the people traveling in both directions see this...

Big Shooter, obviously living in the same fantasy land he still visits often, thinks I'll have this reaction...

When, back in the real world, I have this one...

And then this one...

At which this point he realizes his dilemma.

He's afraid to let me back in the car because he's afraid for his life.

So he locks the doors.

Then he realizes that's not such a bright idea either because I simply turned heel and started walking down the road.

Back to Plainsville.

In the middle of the night.

On the side of I-44.

With him following me.

Slowly in the emergency lane.

With his lights shining on me.

Are you getting the picture?

Now he's realizing how this looks. That at any moment a State Trooper is going to pull over to investigate.

And he knows - I will have NO MERCY.

He's, once again, afraid for his life.

Smart boy.

Kinda.

After much begging, pleading, promising and apologizing - I finally got back in his car.

The next morning his car looked similar to this...

I'm kidding of course.

Kinda.

But that will have to wait for another post.

Love Note to my Big Shooter:

Dear Big Shooter,

Thanks for sending me the picture of the mooning ducks. They were adorable as could be. Brought back some fond memories. Made me take a stroll down Memory Lane. I love it when you send me emails in the middle of the day with a sweet note. Makes me feel loved and thought about. Feel free to send me more any time. I just file them under Blog Fodder...I mean, Notes from the Love of my Life. Have a fabulous day Sweetness. Can't wait for you to come home.

Lovies,

Straight Shooter

Don’t even know where to start…

So I’ll just start typing and see what comes of it.

Ever stopped, cold turkey, something that border lined addiction? (Like, say… blogging?)
Did you go thru withdrawls? (Like the kind associated with blogging.)
What did you do? (You know for the finger curling? And mind-numbing, overabundance of time?)
How long did they last? (When I finally realized the familiar statement, “I’m gonna so blog about that,” didn’t have quite the punch/threat/reaction I so relished…I finally began to accept my self exile.)
I am not even sure what brought the whole thing on.
I just know it's pretty much run it's course now.

Regarding Big Shooter moving back in...y'all know our Deal right?
Anyone can walk away from the marriage at any moment...as long as they take the bad car and the Spawn.
Neither one was too overly appealing so he put on his big boy jock strap and dealt with it! He even told me "Thank you for loaning me my testicles for a few days to help me over the hump."

Just kidding people...about him moving in and out. Not about the testicle loaning.

Love Note to my Big Shooter: Thank you for being supportive of me while I went thru this grumpy dry spell. Your patience are astounding...you should really have your head examined.

Y'all I'm worn out from my 3 minutes of Pleather Time...

I'll post tomorrow.
(wink. wink.)

Kids in the 'hood are Brilliant

We all know there is no fun quite like Snow Fun...
Well here in the 'hood, we do it up right.
First, the conditions have to be perfect.
They were.
Thick layer of ice.
Followed by a nice cushy layer of damp snow.
Perfect slicker'n snot conditions for slidin' and sleddin'.

First, you outfit 'em up with high tech Slippin'-n-Slidin' gear.

The kind found at Target and Wal*Mart.

Then turn 'em loose in the streets.

Yes, that is his shoe pokin' through.

It was a fabulous idea...in my head.

You encourage them to be creative in their work.

If that isn't a Hood Snowgirl, then I need to close shop.

She's got her colors.

Her spiked bling.

Her flinty gaze,

a big caboose,

...and huge ta-tas.

Now with my Girl unknowingly enhancing them for me.

Thank you for that Sugar.

Your father is gonna be so proud of this post.

Gratuitous picture of my Baby.

He does not know he isn't a husky.

He thinks God created the white fluffy stuff just for him.

I was hoping to show you how absolutely gorgeous the ice was sparkling and shimmering in the sunlight. But alas, this picture does not give you the oooo ~ ahhhh feeling I was searching for.
Sorry.

No doubt this one of my baby, Olliver will though.

Okay, I'll stop! I can tell by his look and yours...

I snapped this right before we headed to The Hill.

Now, the saddest part of this post is I did not have my camera with me at The Hill. For if I did, you'd have to agree the kids in the 'hood, when left to their own devices, are brilliant and creative thinkers. Real problem solvers.

Not all the kiddos out sleddin' today had the great joy and privilege of owning a real sled, toboggan, disk or other snow vehicle.

So they got creative, solved the dilemma and provided for themselves.

Here's a short list of what I saw in action or deserted on The Hill today:

• The typical garbage can lids.
• Giant plastic sheeting.
• Standard Okie blue tarp. (Their Daddy'll miss that coverin' one of his cars in the yard...)
• Skateboards with no wheels.
• Ice chest lid.
• An ice chest.
• Laundry baskets galore.
• A gi-normous wok.
• Cardboard. (if you're moving, The Hill is your box source.)
• A cookie sheet.
• A plastic flexible cutting board.
• Metal flashing.
• A realtor sign. (I should have taken old JBF signs and hocked 'em for a buck a pop. Coulda made Sashi and I a coupla bucks!)
• A full size trash can.

And my two favorites...

1. A full size pickup truck bed liner. (It carried a whole block's worth of kiddos.)
2. And a Kiddie Pool. (It carried the whole fam damily. Including the dog.)

All in all it was a fabulous day.

We saw some spectacular crashes on the homemade jobbies.

The kids realized the whiny-hiney episode of owning only one serviceable sled at the moment was small and petty when they looked around and realized at least they had one. I was very proud of the way they eagerly shared theirs and experimented with the offered alternatives.

Oh, and their vocabulary was expanded today. Not in a good kinda expansion either. But hey! At least the poor neglected homeschoolers were socializing with their peers.

They came home sopping wet, freezing cold, red-faced and smiling from ear to ear.

I sure hope that wasn't our last Snow Day of the winter cause I'm hoping Taco Bandito (Sashi's lover) can hook the Shooter fam up with a truck bed liner for the next big snow.

Love Note to my Big Shooter: You missed it today Bubba! I know you wanted me to put their go-cart helmets on 'em...but Love, I already scar them by educating them at home. I just couldn't add Over Protective to the mix today...

Fact of the Day: Why is it significant that the first Roosevelt dime was issued on this day in 1946? Because in 1937 the then POTUS, who himself was afflicted with polio, asked his fellow Americans to each send him a dime for polio research, they did. He received 150,000 letters a day for months. He called the event The March of Dimes. On April 15, 1955, exactly ten years after Roosevelt's death, Dr. Jonas Salk announced his discovery of the first polio vaccine. Hence, when it came time to honor the late President, Congress chose the dime.

Errector muscles, goose bumps & public school...

When Big Shooter asked the kids what they'd learned in school the other day...
We, all three, enthusiastically explained we learned what causes goose bumps!
(Do you already know?)
There's a little, teeny-weeny, microscopic muscle at the base of each and every hair on your body. When a stimulus is applied (like temperature or fear) it contracts and pulls the hair erect into an upright position!
The muscle is called arrector pili.
Now at this point I could go down the road you think I am dying to go down...and the truth of it is, I am dying to bring up the fact that there are millions of teeny-weeny, microscopic muscles that sole job, when stimulated of course, is to cause millions of teeny-weeny erections...

But, I'm not. I am going to share the rest of the conversation with Big Shooter instead.

When we were all done enthusiastically explaining the reason for goose bumps, he looked at me questioningly and asked with amusement, "Are you serious? You didn't know that?"

"Uhhh, no. I didn't." (Did y'all? Am I alone in my ignorance?)

He looked at me and very seriously said, "I'm a little concerned...maybe they should go to public school."

So I am dying to know if you all knew about this most humorously named muscle that only needs a little stimulation to cause an erection?? Cause if you all do, he's right, they need to go elsewhere besides the kitchen table to be educated.

If you didn't know about the erector muscles (I love saying it), aren't you just the littlest bit curious to know how Big Shooter knows all about them?

Yeah, me too.

Love Note to my Big Shooter: I don't know what to say here Big Guy. I don't want the words teen-weeny or microscopic or erector muscle in your love note...so I am just going to be moseyin' on now...

"Uh...No officer, I don't know how fast I was going."

I am not exactly sure why he is smiling...

Those little slips of paper he is holding?

Why they'd be OHP Warnings.

2 of 'em.

2 days apart.

Yep.

One on the 16th

And...

One on the 18th.

Did I mention he got an actual speeding ticket a month before?

Oh, I didn't?

Well, he did.

And obviously, he didn't learn a thing from that experience.

I consider this a most embarrassing moment for him.

I don't think he does so much.

Maybe that's the whole problem.

Maybe a little razing or public ridicule will help drive the point home...?

Most likely that won't either. He'll just drive my daily visitor counter up while he obsessively checks the comments to see what you have to say about him.

So what say you to Lead Foot?

Love Note to my Big Shooter: Girl Child was right. At least the flashing lights were pretty at night...

I broke a CHICK cardinal rule.

Once upon a time there was a Young Maiden and a Gallant Suitor.

They suited for 5 1/2 years.

Then they wedded.

Many blissful TINK years went by. (two income no kids)

Then one day the Young Maiden gave birth to the first Crumb Snatcher.

She was awakened from her pleasant dream world abruptly.

She noted her youth fading.

She noted her girth increasing.

And alas, she noted her memory lapsing.

This last fact was the most disheartening. For she wanted more than anything to remember all she had experienced with her Suitor...and of course, his spawn.

When ever fate would grant her an opportunity to celebrate with him, she grabbed it with both hands.

Their favorite celebrated day was the anniversary of their union.

They loved the season.

They loved the spirit that surrounds it.

They loved ditchin' the Crumbs.

One day, several weeks after their last celebration. The Maiden was pondering their union.

If one was spying on her thru the window pane, one would have seen first a look of puzzlement. Then astonishment. Then a full throttle belly laugh from deep within.

For when her Gallant Suitor came to see what she found humorous she asked, "How long, O Love of my Life, have we been blessed in this union?"

She laughed even more heartily when he replied with a flourish and exuberant flair, "Why 17 glorious years My Pet."

You see dear one, as she had lay earlier pondering her union, she realized they had celebrated their 17th Blessed Year...and they had only been bound for 16.

As she began to explain the fact to Suitor Man, he guffawed and snorted for he remembered they had celebrated their 16th the year before when in actuality it was the big 15 milestone instead!

The Suitor shook his head and with a dead serious face whispered these loving words, "Wuh-ow! Sure glad it wasn't me that screwed that one up!! Forgetting your own anniversary is like a huge cardinal sin isn't it?? Or at least a death wish..."

Love Note to my Big Shooter: Wow, times flies when you're havin' fun!!

New Category called ~ Big Shooter Speak

Big Shooter telling me a story: "...and then I said, in my most self defecating voice, blah, blah, blah..."

Me: "...um Love, do you mean self deprecating??"



Love Note to Big Shooter: Hmmm...and to think you'd just been making fun of me not knowing what causes goose bumps... Silly, silly boy.

The Ants go Marching...

I am not even going to try getting them to bed at a decent hour any more. Something always happens. Always.

Tonight's Bedtime Delays were:

* Boy Child's live ants finally arrived. (We have been waiting since April...lots of delays due to temps, or the fact only two were alive the first delivery a couple weeks ago, blah, blah, blah.)

* And to top off the evening, Saucy Sashi became a brand spankin' new aunt again tonight. (We're not related...but, you wouldn't be able to tell that from Girl Child and my reactions/excitement.)

The following are horrible, grainy pics of the uber cool ant farm.

It has captured our attention like crazy. We cannot pull ourselves away!

Grandpa, we really think you should reconsider and keep your farm on your desk in your office. Way cool!I have been singing this song all evening, "The ants go marching 2 x 2,hurrah, hurrah. The ants go marching 2 x 2, hurrah, hurrah."

Post Publish Note for those parties interested: National Geographic Ant Farm Gel Colony
Harvester ants are found throughout the United States west of the Mississippi River, as well as in Florida. Normally they build large dirt mounds and feed on seeds, but the nutrient-rich gel in our amazing 3-D colony provides all the food and moisture they need. Watch your own colony of these industrious insects dig subterranean tunnels through translucent green agar in an entirely self-contained system. Includes mail-in coupon for live harvester ants. For ages 6 and up. 9''H x 12''W x 3 1/2''D.

Once again, VERY cool indeed. I highly recommend this as an upcoming Christmas gift. The lid is in no way coming off. Unless, we try to have loose ants, there is no danger of them escaping. We have already learned about community, determination, cooperation, the Secret Life of Ants, dilegence...the list goes on and on. They have already begun to tunnel.

Fabulous gift for someone who likes to watch nature work right before their eyes. (Visit site by clicking on pictures.)

Love Note to my Big Shooter: "Hey Baby, you got ants in your pants? Or are you just happy to see me...?"

Payback is Poetic

What happens when you make fun of your business partner when she gets hurt? You know like call her a Crip and just poke fun of her in general?
You get hurt yourself.
What happens when you make fun of synchronized swimmers? Sarcastically call it a dangerous, life-threatening sport?

You get hurt yourself...in a non-dangerous sport.

Say, like bowling for instance.

Have you ever heard of anyone getting hurt (like she might need to visit the Minor Emergency kinda hurt) caused from an accident while bowling? Me either.

'Til I attended our Back to School party.

At which I found out someone who over steps the foul line into the really, really waxed area might do the Fat Lady Splits and not be able to walk, sit or stand comfortably for many days.

Hmmm.

Please remind me to never do that.

It sounds very painful. Poor Lady.

Love Note to my Big Shooter: Thank you for taking such fabulous care of me this whole live long weekend...as if this tragic event had actually happened to me. You're a life saver.

Olympic Break for Kid Speak

* If you came over for Olympic Mania - Read post below this one. *

So this wasn't my Crumb Snatcher, but a good friend's Crumb instead. I'm going to name them June and Beaver Cleaver so you can understand why I find this so stinkin' hilarious. Cause I can NOT pass up sharing this little gem with y'all!

Beaver, Girl Child and Boy Child were sitting together at the pool sharing a snack.
I was making a menu for the week and asked the Crumbs if they had any preferences to add.
After a few minutes of discussion Girl Child looked over at Beaver and asked, "Are you allergic to anything?"
Beaver immediately answered, "Weed. I'm really allergic to weed."

choke. snort. guffaw.
June is gonna positively die when I tease her about this one!

Epiphanies, head gear and lubricant...

When was the last time you had an epiphany? An honest to goodness epiphany about something...or someone?

I had one recently about my Soul Sister.

And it was a doozy.
For me.

The epiphany came recently when I stayed with her at her parents house.

They have what is referred to as the Stuff Wall.

The Stuff Wall is a random collection of items her family has gathered over the years.

Let me show you a few items of interest on the wall.

In case you can't tell what type of hat this is, let me clarify it for you.

It is a solar operated fan hat for those hot southern summer days.

This turtle shell is from the turtle her mom decided on a whim to make into an entree of Turtle Soup. She found the recipe in "an old cookbook that also told how to make squirrel stew, and possum pie". I kid you not.

She told me it "was extremely difficult to remove the turtle to get to the meat. Heather's Dad finally had to use a hammer and other various tools".

Here's the kicker: My dear Soul Sister had proudly brought a group of new girlfriends home from college to have a nice relaxing weekend. (Her parents house is very large. Very large. And very beautiful.) And you guessed it...they were unknowingly served the said soup.

I'll spare you the details.

This is my very favorite section of the wall because it had a ton of childhood items that belonged to my Soul Sister.

Along with those sweet, red patent leather Mary Janes and little, white church gloves is her metal head gear from her braces years and a pair of dirty gym socks...

Here's where the epiphany took place.

It was here, while exploring this section of the Wall, I realized no matter how close you are to some one, no matter how alike you are, no matter you'd give them a kidney if they needed one...there are some things better left unsaid and unknown.

Like what kind of rubber glove is that? And why, on all things holy, is it on the Stuff Wall?

Olympic Lesson of the Day

Y'all remember this courageous young man? He and his brother learned how to do gymnastics in their family's barn loft in Wisconsin. He fought through a very painful injury with nerves of steel to help the U.S. clench the gold in Athens?

The Shooter family can't agree on our one most fave sport in the Games. We love swimming. We love the skeet shooting. We love rowing. We love track. And we love men's gymnastics. Especially ones this young man excelled at. Boy Child (who was almost 6 then) remembers him vividly from Athens. And couldn't "wait to see what he's gonna do for the United States this time".

Today they learned their first lesson from these Games.

Paul Hamm stepped down from his spot.

You see he has an injury that he feels may not heal enough for him to perform at his very best. And since "giving your very best is what the Olympic spirit means. It's what the Olympic oath says...", he just can't in "good conscience continue to hold a spot on the team."

The disappointment in the Shooter house was harsh.

But the lesson was unbelievably clear.

In what had to be young Mr. Hamm's most difficult, disappointing moment, he showed honor, pride, unselfishness, and unbelievable character.

Now how often will I get the chance to teach on a powerful life lesson like that?

We, in the Shooter household, are thinking of you tonight Mr. Hamm. You are a true gentleman.

Love Note to my Big Shooter: Thank you for showing the same gentlemanly character young Mr. Hamm showed today, everyday. We don't acknowledge it enough or say thank you enough for that. So, Thank You.

I hate arrogance. Hate it.

Been having to spend a whole lot of time with a very arrogant "former professor" turned homeschool mom the past few days.
I try to remind myself when someone is judgemental, arrogant, bossy or condesending there's a reason behind their behavior. I try to remind myself they may be feeling insecure, manipulated or judged themselves. I try to have patience, forgiveness and thick skin.
But after the third day? Counting to ten, smiling through gritted teeth, biting my tongue and going to my happy place is not working...

my happy place is starting to look more and more like a cat fight.

T.G.I.F.

Love Note to my Big Shooter: 21 years and a I learned something NEW. Wow. I have not laughed that hard or long in a very long time. My tummy hurts today from laughing and my eyes are still burning from the mascara getting in them.

A horn is NOT for honkin'

I am so confused.
I was taught a car horn was an attention getter.
According to Big Shooter, my Driver's Ed instructor failed me.
Completely.
Apparently I missed the whole lesson on A horn is NOT for honkin'.

I have heard these kinds of statements for over 20 years now:
"A horn is not a play thing."
"It should only be used in extreme emergencies."
"If you touch my horn again...I'll chop your arm off..."

I have listened respectfully and abide by his wishes.
Kind of.
I have occasionally beeped the horn when he's walking in front of the vehicle.
If he is oogling when he thinks I'm not paying attention I've been known to reach over and give the honk a little pressure...then wave.
I honk when I drive away from home just to let him know I'm thinkin' of him.
Things of that nature.

He freaks. I giggle.

But here's where the confusion comes in.

When we see a JUST MARRIED message painted on a car, everyone knows the universal good wish is - honk to wish them good fortune. Will he? No.
When we pass the dude dressed up in a cow costume outside Chic Fil A, in 102 degree weather, holding a sign that says, "HONK, if you love chicken." Does he? No way!
When his face is purple and veins are bulging from the moron driving in front of us does he? No.

But when we see the resident loony dude dressed in his filthy felt Santa suit, perpetually riding his bike around town holding his latest sign, "Honk for Obama", does he? Yes.
Yes?! We have a McCain sign in our yard...
When I look over at him in shock and raise my eyebrows in question he shrugs and says with his crooked grin, "You'd think someone riding a bike wouldn't want to be honked at...".
He's correct of course.

At least he didn't oblige the loony dude's last sign.
Fart 4 free gas.

Love Note to my Big Shooter: Honk. beep. beep. Honk! HONNNNNNK!!!!

He's in denial. With a capitol D.

Ya'll I need to go to bed but I have to poke fun, I mean, ask for advice.

Big Shooter is in some serious denial about his girl.

Here's our recent phone call.

B.S.: Big Shooter here.
Me: Hi Darlin'. (a few moments of tradin' small talk, then) Just so you know, I'll be havin' a Girl Talk with #2 very soon."

Complete Silence.
Then lots of noise that sounds suspiciously like the receiver being rubbed on paper/chair cushion/what ever was handy.

Me: Sweetie? (more suspicious rustling) Did you hear me?

Long pause.

B.S.: I...don't...I...no. I don't need to know any more.
Me: I know Darlin', but it's...
B.S.: lalalalalalalalalalal (he more than likely had at least one ear plugged with his finger while doing this)
Me: got to happen soon. She's starting to grow...
B.S.: (VERY loud now) LaLaLaLaLaLaLaLaLa
Me: ...and she's going to need a little sports br...

Pretty loud thunk.

?????

Did he drop the phone? Fall out of his chair?

Me: Love? You okay?
B.S.: No more. 'kay?
Me: (giggling) Okay Darlin'.
B.S.: No! I'm serious. I can't. She can't.
Me: (couldn't resist) BraperiodboysdatingPROM!

I heard an audible gasp,
then faint "lalalalalalalalalas"
...then click.

(insert evil chuckle) Oh. Oh, this is gonna be fun.

...that is until Boy Child starts speaking in a squeaky voice, grows hair in unmentionable places, wants his door closed...won't hug me in public... Oh God, No!

LaLaLaLaLaLaLaLaLaLaLa!

Love Note to my Big Shooter: I so look forward to our future years with the Crumb Snatchers. I love to daydream about future situations - driving, dating (meeting Mr. Bail Bondsman for the first time), dropping them off at college (more bail), weddings... Some make me smile and giggle. Some make me laugh out loud. Some make me tear up...then, of course, gag.

This blog is NOT egocentric...it's just all about me. (said with tongue firmly planted in cheek)

I am a dynamic person.
I translate ethnic slurs for Cuban refugees, I write award-winning operas, I manage time efficiently.
Occasionally, I tread water for three days in a row.
I can pilot bicycles up severe inclines with unflagging speed and I cook 30 minute brownies in 20 minutes.
I have become an expert in stucco, a veteran in love and an outlaw in Peru.
I play bluegrass cello, I am the subject of numerous documentaries, and I bat .400.
I enjoy urban hang gliding.
On Wednesdays after I teach school to poor inner city children, I repair electrical appliances free of charge .
I am an abstract artist, a concert analyst and a ruthless bookie.
I am a private citizen, yet I receive fan mail.
I have been caller number nine numerous times and have won the "weekend passes" too many to count.
My deft floral arrangements have earned me fame in international botany circles.
I can hurl tennis rackets at small moving objects with deadly accuracy.
I memorized the exact location of every food item in the supermarket.
I have performed several covert operations for the CIA.
I have also realized the laws of physics do not apply to me.
I breed prizewinning clams.
I have won bullfights in San Juan, cliff diving competitions in Sri Lanka and the spelling bee held at the Kremlin.
Children trust me.
I balance, I weave, I dodge.
I frolic.
All of my bills are paid and I have spoken with Elvis.
But since my blog is not egocentric, I have nothing to blog about today.

Love Note to my Big Shooter: Thanks Love for putting up with all this ego-mania all these live long days...years. Okay, lives. You're a saint.

Editor's Note: I originally plagiarized this for my 10th HS reunion "whatcha been up to all these years" brag book many, many years ago.

Politically incorrect thoughts from a tree hugging gas guzzler

I have a confession. I drive an Excursion. It gets 9 miles to the gallon. The Crown Prince of Saudi Arabia sends me a birthday card every year. Small children in his country sing my praises.
In these times of high gas prices, a tree hugger such as myself should forgo the Land Beast and embrace the forward thinking, environmentally correct, save-the-planet, God bless the Queen, 80 miles to the gallon modernized scooter.
I mean have you seen them lately? They're hip, innovative, sleek, and down right adorable.

Then I realized, the people I've seen riding these scooters make me want to vomit.

Case in point #1:
Just the other day, I saw a piece of scooter trash in his khaki cargo shorts, environmentally green recycled hemp t-shirt, Birkenstock sandals and of course the all-important helmet made of recycled Styrofoam cups sporting his bad ass tattoo.
Not a Don't-want-to-meet-you-in-a-dark-alley Harley bad ass tattoo. But a triple venti, non-fat, half caf, I-just-spent-$18-on-a-foo foo-latte tattoo. It was the size of a postage stamp placed just above his ankle. I think he was still crying from the shame, I mean pain.
As if to justify my lowly judgemental thoughts, Girl Child phoned me from the rear seat of the Excursion (I hate it when they make long distance phone calls without permission) to ask me if I saw the weird man on the little bike with a bug on his ankle down there by our running board?

Case in point #2:
Female moron with cracker jack driver's license trying to prove she was better than me because she was on her gas sipping scoo-ter instead of belly-up to the bar, drink-as-fast-and-hard-as-you-can-then-wake-up-to-coyote-ugly-the-next-morning, gas guzzlin' Land Beast.
She cut she cut me off.
Let me say it again so you get the whole picture.
She. cut. me. off.
Think it through honey. I've had gnats bigger than you on my windshield.

I've decided scooters are the lowest form of vehicular life. They look up to European mopeds. When they weave in and out of traffic they are like an annoying swarm of flies swarming around a big pile of poo.

Help me spread the word. Friends don't let friends drive scooters.

Love Note to my Big Shooter: It's time to fill the Land Beast darlin'. Do you have any extra body parts we can sell? Your diseased kidney only fetched me a 1/4 tank.

"I think I'm gonna get sick..."

Did Big Shooter say this after digesting the words, "You have renal cell carcinoma," from his surgeon?

No.

He said it a few moments after showing me this...

???

Uh...ohhh...

Yep. It's what you think it is...

...gulp...

At this point I glance at him...he's gray y'all. GRAY.

In order to get the full impact of this post y'all will have to slowly read the next few sentences with a trembling voice.

"I realized it'd fallen out of my pocket in the parking lot. I saw it and tried to hurry...(he's grimacing with remembrance at this point). The guy in the truck saw me waving as he backed over it... so he pulled forward over it - again..." I kid you not, his voice cracked at this point.

I - could not get over how GRAY he looked, held my sides so I wouldn't split them, tried to offer sincere condolences...

Crumb #1 - said, "What's on the side of your head Daddy? Wow. I think it's your blood vessel... It is. Mommy, look at Daddy's head. Why is that vein stickin' out so far?"

Crumb #2 - sat quietly watching the whole ordeal...until her father went into the bathroom to gather his wits. Then she jumped off her chair, patted her body down like Daddy does when he's misplaced the Crackberry, clutched her chest faking a heart attack...and dramatically crashed to the floor.

We are a loving, sympathetic bunch here. We should write Hallmark cards.

Love Note to my Big Shooter: Darlin' it was a blessing in disguise. It brought your full-blown addiction out into the light. No one knew the extent until now. Love, It's been almost 36 hours. You're going to have to pull yourself up by your house shoes and get on with life... We'll get you a new Girl. I promise...ish...

Post Note: As I was hitting the Publish button I yelled to the bedroom, "Hey Love, would you like me to e-mail you this post on your Crackberry so you can read it back there?" A little while later I heard quiet sobbing. ???? Oh! Forgot...Oops.

Party Napkins + Percocet = Fun Time

The last day my mom was here Big Shooter was doing well enough to be left alone for an extended amount of time. Thank you Percocet. So my mom and I ran a few girl errands. At one stop we found ourselves smiling, then giggling, then guffawing & snorting over a rack of party napkins with sayings. I am curious to see if y'all think some of them are as funny as we did...or if it's a case of You had to be there?

1. I don't repeat gossip, so listen carefully.
2. Don't confuse my tolerance with hospitality.
3. I'm still hot, it just comes in flashes.
4. Born free...now I'm expensive.
5. I may not be totally perfect, but parts of me are excellent.
6. Stupidity got us into this mess...why can't it get us out?
7. You can't make everyone happy, so let's concentrate on me.
8. The nice part of living in a small town is when I don't know what I'm doing, someone else always does.
9. I'm not a nag. I'm a motivational speaker.
10. You have to believe in something. I believe I'll have another drink.
11. I'm not a housewife, but I'm desperate.
12. If you can't say anything good about someone, come sit next to me.
13. If you can't be a good example, then you'll just have to serve as a horrible warning.
14. You're not drunk if you can lie on the floor without hanging on.
15. Every time I hear the dirty word "exercise" I have to wash out my mouth with chocolate.
16. Seen it all, done it all. Can't remember most of it.
17. Countless people have eaten food from this kitchen and have gone on to live normal lives.
18. Oh, I heard you - I just don't care.
19. Inside me lives a skinny woman crying to get out, but I can usually shut her up with cookies.
20. To save time, let's assume I know everything.
21. You can't scare me, I have children.
22. Go braless, it pulls the wrinkles out of your face.

and my fave...
23. Do you want to talk to the man in charge, or the woman who knows what's going on?
Now, please tell me if you read through with a straight face, a grin, a smirk, or a belly laugh...
Love Note to my Big Shooter: For you to pick #21 as your fave shocked me! You've come along way Baby Cakes! My grandparents used to be "the only old people you could be around" and my 3rd graders? No way Jose'! They scared you more than having rabies! It is true though. Once you had Crumb Snatchers - you became Joe Fearless.