amymeshell

Reflecting...

2010-08-17T15:41:00.000-05:00

Change always comes bearing gifts. ~Price Pritchett

Two years sober today. Life is wonderful.

You Know What? You Suck!

2010-07-20T14:33:00.002-05:00

I am so pissed at you. You obviously have no idea just how angry, insulted, and purely icky I have felt since you were at my house. People like you have no idea how you affect others because you are so completely self-absorbed and live under the delusion that you are entitled to whatever you want, whenever you want it, to even consider how I feel. All you can think about is getting off on whatever stuff it is you choose to use for that purpose. What you don’t think about (and probably never will) is just how much you have disrupted my life these last few days.

When you decided to come into my house on Saturday and help yourself to the television that was in my kitchen I can only guess that it took you maybe five minutes to walk in, unplug it, disconnect the cable, and be on your loser way. I can only deduce that you didn’t have a favorite show or video that you really wanted to watch right at that moment, but rather wanted to trade it for something that you felt you needed to smoke or drink or take or whatever and it was all over in an hour or two and you have long forgotten about it. For me, though, your visit has meant a lot of things that I suppose you can’t process, probably because you are too high (or too distracted by the fact that you are hung like a mosquito) to even be concerned. For the record, what you did has meant so many things, of which the only positives being that I didn’t have to see your stupid face and that you only got one thing that rightfully belongs to me, which is all I suppose you could carry.

You scared me. More significantly, you scared my son. Worst of all, I am certain you don't care.

Because of you, our daily and nightly ritual has changed to include my patrolling my living room, the kitchen, and bedrooms to check the windows and doors, (again!) all the while wondering if my son will end up in my room so he can sleep, (again!) or if it will be about the time you decide you deserve something else from me, (again!) or that I will actually have to see your stupid face because you figure you got away with it once, so why not… again? After all, your instant gratification is so much more important than the peace of mind of a mother and her child, right?

What also keeps coming to mind is the fact that you did what you did in the middle of the afternoon. You made sure that not just me--but also my neighbors-- were not home. I can’t help but think you have been watching me, and that creeps me the eff out. I don’t tell my son that, though, because he is worried enough. Do you have any children? I sure hope not. You are a horrible role model, but I bet you already know that, too.

Aside from my routine at home, your assholedness has caused me to miss time from work. But I suppose that since you prefer to do your shopping out of someone else’s private residence that you wouldn’t know anything about an honest day’s work now, would you? You know what? Even though you suck, the Karma will be worth it. My new friends at the police department have been helpful, kind, and incredibly professional. I hope they catch your ass one of these days, and I believe they will. In the meantime, I will have to put aside my usual good nature and tell you to go fuck yourself. Besides, if you aren’t already an expert, you will need the practice: I hear they do that a lot in jail.

Only Cops And Porn Stars Have Moustaches Like That

2010-07-12T15:34:00.007-05:00

So there's this new cop show on Fox called The Good Guys. It's your typical buddy/cop show in that it follows the antics of mismatched partners Jack Bailey and Dan Stark. Jack is the straight-laced, by-the-book, young cop (played by Colin Hanks). Dan the jaded, old school, I-refuse-to-follow-the rules cop (played by Bradley Whitford). Where it isn't typical is that each week, their investigations in to stolen humidifiers and broken windows lead to the likes of drug lords and international car theft rings. The show is smart and funny and Pulp-Fictiony in its direction. If you haven't checked it out already, you should. It just so happens to be on tonight, (I can't wait!) but you can also catch it on Hulu.

There is a third star on this show (but you won't find a mention anywhere in the credits), and that's Dan Stark's Moustache. Dan's lip warmer is responsible for completing the bowchickabowbowness that is Dan. It's the perfect accessory to his Trans Am, zippered boots, Members Only-like jacket (leather, of course), and handcuff tie tack. As a character, Dan's fanny duster is a beautiful thing, and is also the subject of some of the best one-liners, ever. It's even inspired an animated spin-off of sorts, which you can watch below. (Check out the show, too!)

There's Something About Mary

2010-06-28T15:33:00.002-05:00

I haven’t been here in a long time and I must admit that I am a bit ashamed of myself. For so long this blog was my true refuge and I just slacked off entirely. You (and it) have always been there for me. So I have done some redecorating here with the notion that a fresh coat of blog paint will inspire me to look around life more often and share what’s happening because it helps me so much. And I have taken some things that have happened recently as a sign to get off my bum and come back. I hope you will still have me.

My personal life has certainly had its ups and downs. Let’s start on the low end, shall we? Until last month, I was on my way to being a “Mrs.” for the second time in my life. Unfortunately it was not meant to be. Though the decision to end the relationship was mine, it was not the clean break that I’d proposed. Instead, the process itself was a long three weeks, complete with promises of change, some begging, a few immature attempts at attention, and visits by law enforcement. The other person I’m sure will tell you differently, but such is the nature of break-ups. Bottom line is that as hard as it was, I know I have done the right thing. To top it all off, the night the shit initially hit the fan just so happened to be the eve of my birthday. (Further confirmation that I should have stopped trying to celebrate them years ago).

But in the midst of the entire ruckus, there was Facebook. And more importantly, Mary on Facebook.

Now, when it comes to fb, I liken myself to the old man in the commercial that calls it “The Spacebook and Myface.” I don’t do Farmville or any of that crap. If you “just clobbered a snake” or “need fast money,” don’t look at (or poke) me. Furthermore, I will not be boring you with what I just cooked for breakfast or what shade of toenail polish I am wearing. I just don’t find me that interesting every minute of the day and neither should you. However, if you are the friend that used to be my world and I haven’t talked to you in twenty years, I am going to sit up, take notice, and yes, answer you.

Mary came into my life when I was a junior in high school in Fairfax, Virginia. Before that , the majority my high school days were spent alone and in silence as I had no friends to speak of. Suffice it to say, I was miserable. Finally, the summer of driver’s ed, I managed to acquire a small and happy circle of girlfriends. It was through someone in that small circle that I met Mary. We hit it off instantly, but at the time I had no idea why. I was a total dork. Mary was the coolest person I had ever seen or met: Creative, outgoing, individualistic, beautiful, and so very, very talented! She could make stuff with her hands. Beautiful things were her hands themselves, as were the creations that were born from them.

For whatever crazy reason, Mary and I just clicked.

Mary and I didn’t have any classes together, but we kept each other posted with our “note” books: Spiral things that we passed back and forth to each other between classes that were as much journals as they were a way of swapping information and gossip. I don’t know how many of them we filled, but I know that it was several because we just never ran out of things to say to each other. After school and on the weekends we were almost always together and we had such a damn good time! We’d drive around town in my mom’s silver Honda Accord, blasting whatever cool music Mary had introduced me to. I remember fondly my tape of a tape of The Violent Femmes' “Blister in the Sun” and "Add it Up." (I thought I was such a badass because I knew this song with the F word in it! Ha.) People gravitated to Mary, and rightfully so. And I happily went along to see what would happen next. Never did she disappoint me. Most of all I was so thrilled to have an awesome friend who thought I was pretty awesome, too. She made me happy.

How cool is this?!!! Mary sent this of her and me...

This is us on the beach, I think, in San Diego.

Mary is on the right... Notice her hands???

Unfortunately that spring, I would find out that I would be finishing my high school career in San Diego as my dad was once again being transferred. So though Mary and I didn’t get to graduate together, we communicated constantly through letters. And I don’t mean one-pagers, either… Our letters took the place of our notebooks to me, and we told each other everything. A couple of years later I would be thrilled to find myself back in Virginia, and to be reunited with Mary. Unfortunately, it is also when we would part ways. It has been a very long time…

The day I got that first message from Mary on Facebook I was thrilled. What was written in it was so special and lovely, but really I was just so happy to see her name. What it made me think of was my wonderful friend, and not what had kept us apart for so many years. To me it is just water under the bridge, and there is no need for apologies, only a lot of catching up to do--and hopefully a face-to-face meeting before too much longer.

The story within the story is a great one, too: As I mentioned, The Big Breakup happened on the eve of my birthday. In all of her sweetness, Mary ordered me a lovely bouquet of flowers and sent them to the address she found for me via the Internet. Only “problem” is, there is another Amy in my relatively small town, who lives only a few miles from me; another Amy with my same last name! So the “other” Amy was surprised to say the least when she got the delivery intended for me. Turns out, her husband works at a local church and he was willing to take the flowers with him and leave them at the church office so that they might be retrieved by yours truly. In the meantime, I was dealing with trying to get someone out of my house (no, they were not going quietly!) and all the drama that went along with it. So it was my sister to the rescue to retrieve the flowers. When I picked them up from my sister’s house, I was so touched, not only by the gesture of the gift, but also by all that had gone into getting them into my hands. They were so bright and beautiful and lifted my spirits more than I can ever express here.

The flowers were beautiful and so were the notes with them. The original enclosure card was a high-energy, happy note from Mary. On it was also a hand-written note from Amy Samelastname. Hers was just as sincere, and what I took from her words was that she enjoyed very much being a part of The Big Flower Caper. The flowers are gone, now. But I keep the note on my nightstand to remind me of everything this time in my life has meant to me, and to remind me that there is so much that is good about this world, and so much that I have to be thankful for.

Through our email exchanges since, I found out that Mary has been dealing (and quite bravely, I might add) with some issues similar to my own. Yet her spirit remains as high and her outlook as luminous as I remember. It is remarkable how we seem to have just picked right back up where we left off. I am thrilled to pieces to have her back in my life.

More than twenty years ago, Mary showed up in my world when I was the loneliest I had ever been. Though she may not have known it, I believe she saved me. I don’t care about what happened so many years ago that kept us from talking for so long, what I do care about is that we have the opportunity to know one another again. The fact that she showed up this time when I was again at a very low and lonely place just proves to me that there is just something about her that I don’t want to lose ever again. Her coming back to me has inspired me to come back here to you. If there is anyone out there reading, thank you. If not, that’s ok, I will do this for me.

Mom's Brag Book

2010-01-04T18:42:00.000-06:00

Dear Everyone,

Please check out some of the stuff my kid has been working really hard to create for your entertainment pleasure. At the ripe old age of nine, he now has two blogs (both of which are linked over on the sidebar) ...His latest creation is called The Twilight Series, and contains all things Bella and Edward. Even if you aren't a Twihard, I bet you know someone who is and who will love it... The other was his first creation that he decided to rename Cool Crap (did I mention he's nine?) and is all things boy: rollercoasters, funny animals, horror movies and hot babes.

When you get the chance to check them out, I know he'd love to read your comments!

All the best,

Amy

I Do Not Like It, Not One Little Bit!

2009-12-21T10:36:00.004-06:00

Last night I was laying in bed watching television when my son came over to me. We were both winding down from our day of shopping and cookie baking and present wrapping and he was smelling good (finally!) just out of the shower.

He leaned down and looked at me thoughtfully and I was thinking how much I enjoy our little moments of sweetness when he said something to me that I will never forget:

Mom?

Yes, baby?

You need a razor for your face.

What? I do not!!!

Yes, you do! You have little hairs right here (points to my upper lip).

Well I don't need a razor.

Yes you do! You look like The Cat in the Hat! (literally falls on the floor laughing).

You better watch it, mister!

What? Why? (still laughing).

I haven't finished Christmas shopping for you, yet, but I could be!

He walked away then, but had a hard time controlling his snort-laced giggling.

...I am off to buy a razor. Or some moustache wax...

I Don't Want No Scrub

2009-12-19T12:17:00.000-06:00

An appropriate rerun...

To my married and otherwise committed friends out there:

I know your spouse/significant other sometimes gets on your nerves, or says something stupid, or farts too much, but please do me this favor: First, thank your lucky stars you aren’t “out there” right now, looking for love. Second, go hug, kiss or otherwise pleasure the person you are with because when I get through here you will feel like the luckiest person in the world. Why, you say? Two words: Internet dating. Yup, I am there. Gone are the days when Chuck Woolery was here to help. Now it seems I am at the mercy of the Web.

So it’s been interesting to say the least. Sometimes it’s downright hilarious. And yes, there have been some holy-shit-who-is-this-crazy-bastard moments, too. Thankfully, though, there are just some plain nice people out there who I won’t make fun of. They are the ones that keep the hope alive that at the age of sixty I won’t be talking to one of my ninety cats all day long and calling my son over to rub lotion on his momma’s feet.

The best way to explain this, I guess, is to break it down into categories:

Perverts:
Good god almighty. It’s one thing to have someone stare at the girls during a face to face conversation, but behind the keyboard and across the web there is a whole other perverted and eye-contactless world waiting there. Good thing I’m not that hot, because who the hell knows what they would say, then… I’ve been asked to meet here or there inside a five minute email exchange. I’ve been asked for photos (and no, not because I have a nice smile and they want to see more of the same). I’ve been asked for videos, and yes of exactly what you think they want on that video tape. Sorry, my camera is in the shop.

Stupid Idiots:
I’m sorry to have to call out the dummies, but they deserve it! The language is English. If spelling the word “the” is a challenge to you, please go elsewhere. I got a message from one (of many of the language-challenged) who asked me to call. No, I won’t call you. After reading your profile, I am confident I made the right decision because the caption of you pictured next to the General Lee reads “me with car at paint shop.” What it should read is “Me man. You woman. Me club you on head. Make you mine.” That would be charming. Next!

The Clingers:
Please, please, please! Just because I answered your inquiry by saying “hello, I’m fine, and how are you?” Does not mean that I am immediately interested in eighty exchanges every day about how you have to go fix your momma’s stopped up drain or what fabric softener you prefer or what your dog’s potty habits are. I don’t want to be mean to you but you are making it really difficult not to tell you to please get a life and go the eff away.

LOLers:
Let’s get something straight: I use “lol.” I like “lol.” But not every question/comment/show idea requires “lol” at the beginning, middle and end. And just because your question/comment/show idea is peppered with “lol” it does not erase the fact that you just asked me to “get naked,” or do “x, y and z” to you… Sorry, Cowboy, that ain’t no way to lasso this filly.

I HEART CAPS LOCK:
STOP YELLING AT ME. I DON’T CARE IF IT’S EASIER TO KEEP YOUR CAPS LOCK ON BECAUSE THE SHIFT BUTTON IS SO HARD TO PRESS AND YOU DON’T WANT TO OVERWORK YOUR FINGERS. IT’S JUST ANNOYING, I MEAN LOOK AT THIS AREN’T YOU ANNOYED? AND THIS IS ONLY FOUR SENTENCES.

The Marryers:
I’m sorry. I’ve never laid eyes on you and I will not marry you. As thoughtful and romantic as being proposed to via email is, I’m afraid I can’t lower my standards on this one. I hope we can still be friends. (Not really, but you are supposed to say that, right?)

Mister Cliche:
"If I could change the alphabet I would put u and i together." Are you fucking kidding me? If I could change the alphabet, I would put k and m in front of a!!!

The Axe-Murderers:
Yes, they are out there! Beware, sisters. I got a beautiful email from one. When I looked at “interests” on his profile he listed “poking things with a stick.” I shit you not! His idea of a first date: “Sex first, then we will see if we can be friends.” Wow, I am tingly already! Oh and just shy of a swastika tattoo on his forehead, he is a shoe-in to win the next Charlie Manson look-alike contest. Be afraid! Be very afraid!

Shirtless Rednecks:
Unfortunately, geography is not in my favor here. Shirtless is OK, I suppose, but probably not truly appropriate for your profile picture unless you are at the beach or pool. You, shirtless, sweaty, leaning on your pickup truck in front of the junkyard/trailer park just doesn’t do it for me. Oh and if “four wheeling” is all you can give me under what interests you, I’m not.

So my friends, I’ll say it again. Thank your lucky stars you aren’t along for the ride… Oh and wish me luck, I have a date Friday night.

A Gift Real Special

2009-12-16T09:30:00.000-06:00

This is what I call a Christmas classic.

Uncensored version, so proceed with caution...

News Flash! Octomom May Have Poor Judgement

2009-10-26T10:23:00.002-05:00

Just when you thought she was going away...

Hot Stuff

2009-10-22T20:28:00.003-05:00

I'm guessing the conversation went something like this:

Mom?
Yeah, Mom, it's me. Mom I've got awesome news!
No, no I'm not getting married.
Mom, listen...
No, Mom, I keep telling you I like women.
Yes, really.... Listen, Mom, I got the commercial!
No, not the Pepsi gig.
What?
No, not that one, either... It's actually for Tabasco!
Yes, the hot stuff.
What? No, I'm not wearing the blouse you gave me, Mom, guys wear shirts.
No I don't have a love interest, it's a commercial.
A pepperoni.
A pepperoni.
Pep-a-ro-nee!!!
Yes like on a pizza!
What?
Singing.
No, singing!
Yes you heard me!
No, there's four of us.
Yes, we all sing.
What do you mean how will you recognize me?
The second pepperoni from the bottom...

Thanks, Stadium Pal!!!

2009-10-10T16:37:00.011-05:00

Last night I had the most fun I have had since... well... a long time.

We went to Birmingham for An Evening With David Sedaris, author of Me Talk Pretty One Day (which got me hooked) and Naked (which has led me to put down Dan Brown's new one in favor of it). They are just two among many others that I will devour as soon as I get the chance. We laughed, howled, even, as we listened while Sedaris read his essays about everything from jury duty to email to shopping at Costco. My sides still hurt.

Check him out here, and if you evereverever can, in person...

It was my friend Frank, a writer in San Francisco, who finally set me straight. When asked about my new look he put down his fork and stared at me for a few moments...

"A bow tie announces to the world you can no longer get an erection."

- David Sedaris

Are You Tired Of Being Turned Down?

2009-09-19T19:45:00.004-05:00

When I figure out what the little girl in the beginning is saying I will feel the same as I did when I found out about "tin roof rusted" from Love Shack. Anyway this is an example of genius advertising in my area. The quality isn't so hot, but you get the idea.

Ryhmes With Larry Jay

2009-09-15T11:18:00.012-05:00

Last week I was having lunch with my mom when this perky little thing approached our table.

Excuse me, she sang, I hope you don’t think I’m crazy but my friend and I over there were talking about how gorgeous your eyes are!

Thank you, I said, that’s very nice of you.

Well I was just wonderin’ if you would be interested in helpin’ me out? I need a face model…

Now, flattering as that was, I was skeptical to say the least. As much as I’d like to claim that people stop me in restaurants all the time to tell me how pretty my eyes are, they don’t. So I wasn’t quite ready to run home and tell all my friends how I’d just gotten discovered at the Golden Rule BBQ and that at 41 my modeling career was finally going to be launched…

What do you want me to do? I asked Perky.

Well we would just do your makeup and take your pitcher.

I told her I didn’t mind but that I lived in a different city.

Omahgaaawd! Me toooo! (Apparently we weren’t just neighbors we were also soul mates) Would you mind givin’ me your phone number?

She handed me a business card. The card was not from a famous modeling agency, but from a cosmetics company famous for its in-home parties.

She leaves the table with the promise of calling me the next day. When she does call, it’s more flattery. I thank her again and then ask what it is she wants me to do. She says she can come to my house or I can meet her at her “training center.” I say I prefer to meet her. We agree on a day and time, but before the conversation ends I tell her that I have no problem helping her out if she needs to demonstrate her products, but that I am not in the market to purchase anything.

Oh, noooo! You’d be helping me soooo much! She is singing again.

Fine. We end the conversation with pleasantries and her promise of a goody bag for me for my troubles.

So last night was the night. I arrived at the designated time and was shown into a room in which every piece of furniture had been covered with pink leopard print material and its walls adorned with pictures of women driving pink Cadillacs. Perky sits me down at one end of the table and starts opening her case full of cosmetics. Meantime, a group of women who all know each other also come in and sit at the table. The other women are asked to fill out a card while my hostess assembles a few items in front of me. She also tells me that she has a gift card for me for “helping” which sounds promising for a moment. There is another version of Perky in the room who is dealing with the rest of the group. At this point the little faith I have that I am going to be the subject for the demonstration quickly disappears when Perky announces that she will be back a little later and that I should just follow Perky Two’s instructions.

So for an hour I sit and follow my cleansing, exfoliating, moisturizing and application
directions. When we were done, Perky reappeared with some of her colleagues and addressed the group. Other than not being allowed to ask her weight (who the hell would?) we were told we could ask whatever we wanted to know about her and her job. The more questions we asked the more raffle tickets we would get in order to win a free eye shadow. (A $6.50 value!) Out of the dozen or so people in the room, myself and one other person asked questions and I was The Big Eye Shadow Winner. So I would get that along with my “gift card.” The demonstration was over once The Other Perky announced that we could own the items demonstrated to us for a mere $189.

My Perky then presented me with a brochure listing items beginning at $48. (For the record, my skin care regime is generic apricot scrub and Dove lotion) I asked what else she might have that wasn’t quite so expensive. She said that she had a bunch of eye shadow or she could get her other case with other cosmetics in it out of her car. When I told her I did like the eye shadow that was used in the demonstration, she said that those were $10 because they were crème, but that I could get both colors with my gift card if I liked. I said fine, I would. I asked about the lip gloss. She told me that’s $13. Thirteen effing dollars for lip gloss? Never mind, I’ll get me a tub of Vaseline and some glitter and my lips will shine just the same. She again presented me with the brochure and a selection of non-crème eye shadow. As pretty as colors like violet and navy are, I am not wearing them on my face. Finally I said that since I’d only used $20 of the $25 gift card and I’d won an eye shadow, (a $6.50 value!) why didn’t she just let me get the lip gloss and I’d be on my way. After some hesitation she agreed, but not before she asked me if I’d help her again.

I think I will stick with my routine the way it is. Maybe she’ll discover someone else at Golden Corral.

376

2009-08-28T09:32:00.009-05:00

August 17th, 2009 wasn't anything like I thought it would be. For the 364 days before that I had been counting down to it, thinking that there would be some kind of music or bright shining light that would follow me around and that people would know I was something special. Truth is, the day was cloudy and blah and I spent most of it in the car in search of a job, so with the exception of the time I spent during my interview with the Human Resource Manager I was by myself, and I realize now that it's just fine.

August 17, 2008 was the day I stopped drinking. That day I was scared, lonely and very sick. I'm not so scared or lonely anymore, but the sick part will be with me forever. The difference now is that I know it, admit it, and love it. I love it because alcohol no longer runs my life. I love it because I have an answer. I love it because I now know how many people there are that know exactly how I feel and that I can talk about it without reservation or fear of judgement. I love it because I feel a freedom like I never have and I am not willing to give that up. I am a grateful, recovering alcoholic.

Some of you who have visited here before may be familiar with what I call The Beer Ticker. It was my way of counting my days sober, and another level of accountability to myself. Many of you have counted the days right along with me, something from which I have drawn a tremendous amount of strength and encouragement. I can never express how humbled I am by the words of love and support that you have shared here as it has helped me beyond description. I've decided, though, to retire the ticker. Frankly I don't feel that I need it anymore and it's time to move on. So this will be the last time you will see the words:

"The value of Budweiser stock continues to plummet on this, the 376th day of Amy's sobriety... Sell! Sell! Sell!"

I love you all.

~Amy

What's That Smell?

2009-07-19T16:36:00.002-05:00

I get these a lot...

Reality Bites

2009-06-24T19:53:00.007-05:00

On May 13th, a Wednesday evening, my son asked me if he could ride his bike up to his friends' house and see if they could come out and play. I told him the usual: "Sure, just check back with me in an hour if you decide to stay." A little while later I tore myself away from whatever Wife Swap or Trading Spouses rerun I was watching to go in the kitchen and start dinner. I had just dragged something out of the freezer when I heard the front door open and Jamie yell, "I'm back!" Or at least I thought that's what he'd said the first couple of times. Finally I went to the door to see why he had insisted on announcing his arrival with so much enthusiasm. What I found instead was my child standing on my front porch, bleeding. I asked him what happened. He said he'd been attacked, and I kept waiting for the punchline. For him to tell me that he had taken his fake blood outside with him and that this was a (not funny) joke. There was a stain on his shoulder. He had wet his pants. He was holding his wrist. "What?" I said. "I've been attacked by a pit bull!" He was sobbing and embarrassed that he'd wet his pants. I pulled him into the bathroom to look at his wrist, which was bleeding heavily. Once I got a good look at it, the reality of the situation finally started sinking in...

I ran back to my bedroom both to grab my cell phone and my jeans because I knew we would be leaving soon. I called 911. I sat Jamie down in the kitchen and took all of his clothes off because I didn't want to miss anything. There was a bleeding hole at the top of his chest just below his left shoulder. There were bleeding tears on his right side. His right wrist was swollen and bleeding terribly. When I hung up the phone I went to his room to get him some underwear and a towel because by then he was telling me he thought he was going to throw up and because I knew he wouldn't want the paramedics to see him without any clothes on. I noticed someone standing on my front porch and realized it was the dog's owner. The man stood there with a lit cigarette. He wanted to know if he could come in and I said no, that my son was too upset and that the ambulance was on its way. The man told me my son "swatted at the dog." My response to that was to ask his name and phone number, which he gave me.

The paramedics approached while the man was still standing there. Once inside, they could not have been any more professional or caring when dealing with both my son and me. The same goes for the police and the nurses and doctors at the emergency room. Luckily the x-ray showed that Jamie's wrist was not broken. The doctor told me he did not like to stitch dog bites and that was just fine with Jamie and me both. They sent us home with prescriptions, extra gauze and something to wash out his wounds.

That night was a long one. Jamie was sore and scared and did not want to be left alone. I stayed in bed with him until dawn, went I went to lie down in my own bed to get a little rest by myself. I laid there only a few minutes, the first I'd had alone since Jamie left the house to go look for his friends. It was then that reality--and my emotions--hit me hard. My sweet boy left on his bicycle and came home scarred for life. The night before he'd told me that his friends didn't answer when he knocked on their door so he decided to ride his bike down the hill because he likes to feel the wind in his face. Instead, a vicious animal charged at him and knocked him off his bicycle and attacked him. The owner finally--thankfully-- pulled his animal off of my son. Then, bleeding, scared and soaked in urine, my son got on his bicycle and rode home. By himself. I cannot even begin to imagine the terror and the pain that he must have felt. I am so proud of him for having the bravery and the wherewithal and the goddamn guts he did for getting himself home.

I am angry, too. Angry that the animal's owner has never once said to me or to my son that he is sorry for what happened. Angry that this man seems to think that he bears no responsibility whatsoever in this case. Angry that the law where I live allows an animal like that to still be living today. Angry that since my son was attacked that the animal once again got loose and put other innocent people in danger. Angry that these animals are allowed to exist at all. Angry that my son is afraid to ride his bicycle.

Today was a small victory in court. The man and his wife showed up to plead not guilty. They tried to tell the prosecutor that their animal didn't bite anyone, but the prosecutor had the photographs. They tried to say that their animal had been on a leash and got away, but the prosecutor didn't buy it. They tried to say that their animal was (brace yourself) going to be a search and rescue animal for the police department, and the prosecutor was just as stunned-looking as I was.

So they plead guilty. They will have to pay fines. I don't know how much, but like I say this is only a small victory until the next court date.

I Love You, Baby

2009-02-28T09:08:00.001-06:00

Fabulous!

2009-02-12T06:53:00.002-06:00

I'll be darned: Superbitch Janice Dickinson actually has a sense of humor.

Blah. Blah. Blah.

2009-01-24T10:49:00.003-06:00

Ha. Ha. Ha!!!

Cheesy revenge. Cool.

Do You Ever Get That Not-So-Fresh Feeling?

2009-01-03T11:57:00.004-06:00

Apparently, Brett Michaels is not itching enough. Here we go again with Rock of Love Bus 3. This time the "hotties" get to ride around on buses while Brett is on tour. Fun!

Watch this while I go boil myself in Clorox...

VH1 TV Shows

Music Videos

Celebrity Photos

News & Gossip

I'm Thinking Nasty

2008-12-16T11:03:00.004-06:00

My hatred of certain commercials continues with this gem from Arby's. I am the farthest thing from a prude. Promise. However would someone please explain to me what remodeling one's bathroom or a deep-fried piece of chicken topped with ham and cheese has to do with anything remotely seductive? Please! Thanks...

Euuuww

2008-11-30T10:39:00.003-06:00

"Loverboy"? Are you serious? And this guy? Really?

I'm not against most well-used terms of endearment, but people that use that particular expression are the same ones that say things like, "No one puts Baby in a corner." Bleah. Ick. Tooey! Plus this guy is just, well, you decide...

I need a new bathroom, but not this bad!

Doing The Math

2008-11-24T05:31:00.006-06:00

Hey, check it out! Today the beer ticker reads 100!!! Woohoo! One hundred days that I haven't had a drink...

Only a few days after I stopped drinking something strange happened. Not only was I not drunk/hungover, but life in general became much more manageable thanks to something I like to call Beer Math. The beer ticker over there is one thing, but actually sitting down and looking at the numbers involved in my personal consumption were staggering--even in the early days-- and are much more significant now as the days mount up.

One of the most important (and most difficult) aspects of sobriety for me has been this math. The difficult part is thinking about what I have been doing to my body all these years but guess what? I can't undo the past, and I accept that. My past has made me what I am today. Bitch with a beer aside, I'm a good person with something to offer the world: The real (sober!) me.

So check this out: This is based on a daily consumption (and a conservative average, by the way) of twelve (count 'em!) beers a day. Yup, t-w-e-l-v-e. Toldja I was a drunk...

Twelve beers a day times one hundred days equals 1,200 beers not consumed. That's ONE THOUSAND TWO HUNDRED beers!!! (How the hell did I get there?)

Twelve beers a day times 110 calories each times 100 days equals 132,000 (one hundred thirty-two thousand! Yikes!) calories not consumed. (No wonder my old clothes fit me again!)

A twelve-pack a day (again, a conservative average) at $11 each times 100 days equals $1,100 not spent on beer. (Good thing since I'm not working and my son's teeth have cost me that much in the last three months!)

So today is another day, but is going to be a good one now that we are in the triple digits. I have to say this, too: Those of you who have offered to share your own experiences, love and support to me have been absolutely priceless in my sobriety. There is no kind of math in the world that can measure what you all have meant to me. Thank you from the bottom of my heart!

Soup! There It Is...

2008-11-21T09:51:00.004-06:00

JT showed up on SNL last weekend with Beyonce. It was funny, but this one is second only to "D*** in the Box" for me!

You gotta hand it to the guy for not taking himself to seriously: Among other things, he's appeared on SNL with a gift-wrapped hoo-hoo, wearing high heels and a leotard, and here as Cup O' Noodles... I loves me some JT!!!

How Do I Feel This Good...?

2008-11-16T17:19:00.004-06:00

The latest from Pink, entitled "Sober."

I don’t wanna be the girl who laughs the loudest
Or the girl who never wants to be alone
I don’t wanna be that call at 4 o’clock in the morning
‘Cause I’m the only one you know in the world that won’t be home

TWOO

2008-11-14T21:24:00.009-06:00

When I was a kid, there was a certain time each year that one of our three television channels would air The Wizard of Oz. Each year, we would watch it. Each year, the flying monkeys scared the beejeezus out of me.

Tonight my son and I were watching it and talking while I cleaned up the kitchen, and that was just about the time that the monkey swarm started on the TV. I told him that the flying monkeys used to scare me when I was his age.

He laughed... A total Mom-you-are-such-a-dork laugh...

What? I said. You don't think they're scary?

No! He says. I think they're funny!

Why do you think they're funny? I say.

Because they are. Look at 'em bouncing around with their little wings! He says.

Well I thought they were really scary, I say...

While I scrub the top of the stove I start in on him and tell him that he gets to see a lot of stuff that I wasn't allowed to when I was his age and that back then that type of thing was really scary. Then I stop talking and start thinking: My mind switches from defensive to paranoid. I'm thinking that I'm a bad mom and my kid is jaded and that maybe I am too lenient and oh god what if he thinks torturing girls (and their little dogs, too) is something funny?!!! Holy crap what have I done? I'm raising a desensitized, violence-loving, girl-with-dog hating son when I look up...

He is at the opposite end of the kitchen from me and is in the midst of doing a spot-on, pre-flight flying monkey impression, hopping around the kitchen all crouched over and begins ooh-ooh-oohing as we lock eyes. It was freakin' hilarious... And so are the flying monkeys.

Kate's Treasure

2008-11-12T22:41:00.003-06:00

I don't like the way this perfume smells. Never have. (No offense intended to those of you who enjoy it). Someone must, though, because it's been around for as long as I can remember. The stuff I wear no one has ever heard of and I get it from this place in Jersey because I can't find it around here. But that isn't my point...

My point is that I just saw this commercial--like, two minutes ago--for the first time and I thought it was so... pretty. Kate Winslet is effing gorgeous and I would love to trade places with her for ten minutes just so I could walk down the street and feel what it must be like to have people look at you and drool uncontrollably. So I'll cut Kate a break for plugging perfume I don't happen to like and share this with you, just because I like it...

Dick Tips And Practical Jokes

2008-11-09T11:34:00.003-06:00

One of my all-time favorite TV shows is 3rd Rock From the Sun. Now, my new best friends at TV Land are airing mini-marathons of all things Tommy, Dick, Harry and Sally. Freaking fabulous! Our alien friends make showing us how ridiculous we earthlings can be a study in the truly hilarious.

Here's a couple of rad clips in case you've never seen it:

Dick changes the rules about tipping.

Practical jokester Dick.

Duh!!!

2008-11-05T08:45:00.003-06:00

Last night I asked my son what kind of homework he had.

Math.

What else?

Watch the election.

Good. We were going to do that, anyway. What else?

Fluency.

OK... What kind of math?

Times... Clocks, not this: (makes an "x" in the air with his finger).

You could have just said t-i-m-e-s, too. (Just as the words escape my lips I can't believe how stupid that statement is).

He looks at me. I look at him. We laugh. A lot.

Normally I take issue with the word, but in this case it was warranted:

Say it, I tell him.

DUH!!!

Punk'd!

2008-10-31T08:27:00.003-05:00

OK, I admit it: I went a little overboard buying pumpkins this year. I think I did it so you could check out our mad carving skills...

Have a safe and Happy Halloween, everybody!

The F Word

2008-10-27T08:40:00.003-05:00

This weekend was the first in quite some time that I've had overnight guests in my home. What originally was supposed to be one night happily turned in to three. Five of us spent the vast majority of our time together: Eating, playing, traveling back and forth. My son was a super host to our younger guests and made me proud, as always. Everyone got along as well as I could have hoped and observed the one rule I have for house guests: Don't set anything on fire.

I didn't realize until late yesterday afternoon, though, just how much I have become accustomed to my privacy and the freedom to do what I want when I want and where I want when I am at home. One activity in particular is one of my favorites (and I'm guessing might be some of yours, too). Under normal circumstances, I can do it in the kitchen, living room, on the stairs and--of course--in my bedroom without worrying. I try to make sure I am alone but sometimes my kid catches me. I refuse to be ashamed of myself because it's only natural. Sure he complains, but he's young and he'll get over it. He does it, too, and is better than me most times.

So last night I had my house back, and whatever inhibitions I had over the weekend were gone. Actually I felt like I was making up for lost time because I went at it with a vengeance. Felt good, too! I admit it: I love it. What a release! Like a balloon that you let go before tying it, I sputtered all over the place and it was so nice to not have to worry who might be coming around the corner. What a glorious thing the F word is. Farting. Farting makes me happy.

Me And Larry Make A Video

2008-10-24T16:52:00.008-05:00

This is too dang funny. Really dang weird, but really dang funny.

(Oh and someone at CNN needs to pay me for the use of my body in this video. Thanks.)

Who Says Laughter Isn't Contaigous?

2008-10-10T16:25:00.004-05:00

I love, love, LOVE this!!!

How much more adorable could anything be?

Thanks for sending it, Reenie!

October 5th (2002)

2008-10-05T07:00:00.008-05:00

A lot has happened to me since I posted this a year ago today. I am happier than I have been in a very long time. My son continues to thrive and grow and remains the most fantastic, amazing and lovable person I know. For me, the obvious hurt feelings here still exist, but they are much easier to deal with now that I am sober and have come to grips with what truly makes me happy: My life! I wish no ill will to those who chose not to be a part of it or my son's. I'm sharing this again for those of you who might be new here. Perhaps you know of someone with a similar experience...

(Originally posted October 5, 2007):

It is hard to believe that five years ago today that I watched my husband die. Sometimes it seems like it just happened. Sometimes it seems like forever ago, a distant memory. My son was only two at the time. So much has happened since then:

We’ve made a home for ourselves closer to my family, a move that I am positive was the best thing for us both. The love and support that he and I get from my family is priceless. He goes to a great school that is close to home and to my work and is advancing along as well as I could ever hope. My son is remarkable, and the purest reason I can think of for everything that I do. He is smart, funny, creative and able to adapt to almost any situation. I don’t think it’s arrogant when I say that I have the kid that people actually like to see coming--and I get that even from people who claim not to like children…

What I don’t get is this: Even if I did have “that kid” (the one that makes people cringe, the tiny terror, the problem child, whatever) I do not understand to this day why my husband’s parents, brothers or sister have not seen their grandson/nephew since they were in Florida for my husband’s funeral. Not once. Not once have they asked. Not once have they offered to have us come and visit, or to come and see us. Not once have they called him on the telephone. The only communication I get from them is a box addressed to my son around Christmastime. I have been tempted to throw it away, but never have.

Last year, I finally tried reaching out to my husband’s sister. I wrote her a letter and included pictures of my son. I explained that it didn’t matter to me what the family thought of me, but that I just wanted them to know this beautiful boy. A couple of months later I received a Christmas card with a brief note inside from her, saying that she was really busy but would be in touch after the holidays. That was almost a year ago, and I’ve had no word since. They don’t know what they are missing. Like I said, I don’t care what they think about me, but it’s funny how I have been treated more like an ex-wife than a widow by these people. The only thing I ever did was love their son and mine with all my heart.

Mom Needs Help

2008-10-04T16:09:00.007-05:00

WANTED: Someone comfortable enough in their manhood to be my partner so we can do this in real life. To my son. Preferably on a day when both the principal and vice principal of his school are in the parking lot directing traffic. Day of week is not an issue. Please contact me via this blog.

Thanks,

Amy

P.S. If you'd prefer to wear the skirt, fine with me.

Altogether Ookey

2008-10-01T09:02:00.004-05:00

Tonight, BBC America is airing a documentary called "My Fake Baby." I have to say, I am thoroughly creeped out by this. These are women who pay upwards of $1,000 for a realistic-looking doll and claim things like they are just like little girls who love to play with dolls, only they happen to be grown-ups. Puts a whole new spin on the "it's an action figure" excuse to me. The Today Show clip is below...

...Um, I still don't get it!

Do You Have Gas?

2008-09-30T09:24:00.002-05:00

This morning after I dropped my son off at school I, along with about 100 other people, stopped to get gas. Seems that here in The South we are still suffering the after effects from recent hurricanes and other excuses and fuel is hard to come by these days. On Saturday I had to go to three different places before I found pumps that were not covered by plastic bags. Today I got in line with everyone else.

So I sat. Tried to make sure the ass-end of my car didn't sit too far out of the gas station parking lot and tried to make room for the people trying to exit. We are all in this together, right? When I was third in line I watched a man trying to pump gas into his truck and hoped upon hope when he started shaking his head that maybe his credit card had been declined or that he was just thinking something to himself. No such luck. He pulled away, and the woman in front of me got out to pay and tried to begin fueling. She mashed buttons and squeezed the nozzle and mashed more buttons. She walked away again and came back and told me that the pump I was waiting for was no longer working. Shit. A few moments later, the woman working in the booth the size of a small closet emerged with an orange cone and told me she'd wait for me to pull away but that the pump was out of order. I glanced behind me when I heard someone yell something. It was the man in the car behind me, demanding to know what was going on. I told him the pump was out of order. Somehow, in his mind, this was the fault of the woman with the cone in her hand. Ugh. Why do people do that?

So I moved on to another pump and waited again. Finally it was my turn (again). By this time, the man that had been behind me was just sure that this was all some kind of conspiracy against him personally because he kept demanding to know what was going on, honked at someone and waved his arms around (like somehow that would make more gas appear or make the line move faster). Another woman in her vehicle was likewise flailing her arms and mouthing something to the gas pumps. More honking... I put my debit card in the slot, pushed the fourteen buttons you have to push to say that yes I want a receipt and no I don't want the extra additive stuff and no I would not like to get my horoscope today. Finally, I thought, I'll be out of here in a few minutes. Ha! Nothing... I walked back up to the booth to tell the woman inside that number seven wasn't working. She looked like she wanted to cry and apologized. She told me she would reset the pump and I could try again and come back to pay when I was done.

So I go back to number seven, pushed the fourteen buttons again and still nothing. Then, miraculously, the pump beeped at me and a string of zeroes appeared on the display. Whoopie! When I was done I went back to the booth and paid for my gas. As I left I thanked the woman inside for her help and she again apologized to me. I told her it wasn't her fault and to have a good day. I felt like hugging her, really, because I can't imagine having to sit in there and get bitched at all day long by people for something over which I have no control. Patience, people! Sometimes it's hard, I know, but in the long run it helps all of us.

Oh Squiggly Line

2008-09-22T09:11:00.001-05:00

Stewie begins his memoirs just as I would...

I Can See Russia From My House

2008-09-17T16:23:00.003-05:00

In case you missed it: Tina Fey and Amy Poehler as Sarah and Hillary...

One Chip, No Dip

2008-09-16T15:29:00.002-05:00

You may have noticed (or not) that I've added a "beer ticker" over there to the right, and that today marks my 31st day without a drink. This afternoon I went to an AA meeting and got my first chip marking one month's sobriety. The other members of the group were so genuinely proud and supportive and showed it with their applause and with their kind words as I left. Actually, I went today just because something told me I needed to, not because I wanted to drink or because I was really thinking about taking the chip with me. But I'm glad I did. So I just wanted to share since so many of you have asked for updates, and because today is a good day.

Desperately Funny

2008-09-12T08:42:00.002-05:00

I hate Desperate Housewives almost as much as I hate Sex And The City. Almost...

...And I love MadTV.

That Day

2008-09-11T06:37:00.002-05:00

I don't know how to post something today without reflecting on this day seven years ago. Like all of you, I remember exactly where I was and what I was doing when the terrible news began to flood through. Like most of you, I suppose, I was at work. So it was not until I was able to get home and see on television the sheer terror of it all that it began to sink in. Thousands upon thousands of times the screen would show the towers falling. The faces of stunned New Yorkers, frightened newscasters and the unimaginable bravery of those trying to save the few survivors will never go away. I remember seeing the images, too, of other countries around the world who immediatley began to lay flowers and American flags at our embassies. It seemed so strange. We Americans are the ones who are supposed to be there in their time of need. We are the ones that usually come to the rescue and offer relief. We are the ones who are supposed to be stronger than the rest. We are supposed to be the ones who escape the vulnerability when other countries do not... But how could anyone, anywhere ever imagine what this would be? Our strength, instead, comes from each other and from our resolve to never forget.

God bless America. My home sweet home.

Dear Mr. President

2008-09-09T08:16:00.001-05:00

It's not new, but I like this song. A lot.

Chapter Two

2008-09-07T18:34:00.002-05:00

On May, 17, 2008, I turned 40. At that time, I heard from so many people that goofy saying, “life begins at 40.” On more than one occasion my not-so-sincere response was, “I hope you’re right.” Turns out they were right, only there were no fireworks, there was no Prince Charming and no magic Forty Fairy that showed up to make it all happen. My actual birthday and the months that surrounded it were not especially happy for me, really. The beginning for me came not on May 17th, but rather three weeks ago. For my beginning to happen, something had to end.

A few months ago I made an appointment with a counselor because I knew that there was something going on with me that needed fixing but I wasn’t ready to admit what. In my mind, everything that was wrong with me was because of someone else, some other thing that happened, and I just knew that I had been wronged in so many ways. I wanted the counselor to tell me that my husband’s death, my job or my ex-boyfriend were the reasons that I was now this unhappy, angry and sad person. Surely this trained professional would see that I had plenty of reasons to feel sorry for myself, right? Not only no but hell no. By the end of our first session it was suggested to me that I check myself into rehab. In that session was the first time that I was able to admit that I have a problem. I had no intention or desire to go to rehab, but I agreed to go from the counselor’s office to the rehab center for a consultation, but not because I thought I needed help. I was looking for a second—hopefully opposing—opinion. I just knew they would see something different! Not only did that person recommend that I go to rehab, but they were ready to check me in that night, right then and there, and it scared the ever-loving shit out of me because that meant I was no longer (in my mind) in control. The idea of being away from my life and my son for three weeks with total strangers just was not acceptable to me at all. I’m not one of those people, am I?

Yes. I am. I am an alcoholic.

The first thing I did when I left the rehab center’s office was go home and drink a beer. Two, actually. (It would have been more right away but that was all I had in the house). Later there would be more. The next night there would be even more, still. I wasn’t ready to give up what had become my one true love and my only interest in life.

The more that I replayed the events and conversations of that Friday in my head, the more my problem slapped me in the face. It was time for me to grow a pair, face the facts and answer the tough questions: Yes, I drank every day. Yes, drinking had affected all of my personal relationships. Yes, it had affected my job. Yes, I drank alone. Yes, I had suffered financially because of it. Yes, I had isolated myself from my friends and loved ones.

With all that said, though, it was not until a friend of mine urged me to go to AA that I could see clearly for the first time that this is what I had become. “Just go and listen,” they said. “Please,” they said. So I did. That was three weeks ago. The moment I walked in the door to that first meeting I knew why I was there: To get better. I also knew that my friend had saved my life.

In the last twenty one days I have felt better, slept better, laughed more, had more money in my pocket and more honest conversations with the people that I love than I have in years and years and good god almighty it feels wonderful and I am so thankful: For my family, for my friends and for my life. I have so much and so many and I was about to piss it all away because I was too busy having a love affair with alcohol to see how good I really have it. No one or no thing can fix me but me. No other person and no amount of stuff is going to make me happy, because I have to be happy and at peace with myself. No one or no thing is to blame for my alcoholism.

I realize, too, that this is just the beginning of a very long and challenging process. Each and every day will mean something new and different. Some days will be fine. Some days will be terrible. But that’s life, isn’t it? One day at a time.

So this is where I begin, my friends, at 40--just like you said. I love you all. Thank you for loving me back.

Jamie Says...

2008-09-07T09:27:00.003-05:00

And now a message from Jamie, who asked if I would post this for him.... Please note that content has not been edited... He calls it "My Family."

amy

honey

jamie

teddy

meat my family now

my frends

tucker

kyle

jaque

and my dogs

micky

buster

buddy

honey

teddy

they are inportint to ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Mugsy Junior

2008-09-05T07:56:00.007-05:00

Last night my son and I sat across from each other at the dining room table. He was working on his homework and I was sitting here reading promises of increased size and performance when he asks me a question:

Mom?
Yeah, Baby?
Do policemen get paid a lot of money?
No, actually they don’t.
Why not?
I don’t know. That’s a very good question.
Well they should. I mean, they risk their lives.
Yes, they do.
Mom?
Yes, Honey?
You know what?
What?
If I ever opened a clink I’d pay them a lot.
If you ever opened a what?
A clink. You know, a jail?

(At this point I’m just about to fall out of my chair because I realize Mugsy Junior is sitting across from me)

Where did you hear that word?
What word? Why are you laughing?
"Clink."

(Now he’s laughing)

On The Suite Life of Zack and Cody. So if I opened a clink I’d pay the cops $30 an hour.
I think that would be great. Good for you.
MOM!
What?
Why are you still laughing?
I don’t know.

(Yes, I do. I’m waiting for you to say “pokey” or “big house” any minute and tell me stories about the time Fishface Freddy went to “spring” Uncle Junior but there was too much “heat” for it to “go down.”)

MOM!
Yeah? I’m sorry…
That’s OK. I’d still pay them $30 an hour.
That’s great, Honey.

Bob-ing For Barker

2008-08-01T15:42:00.003-05:00

Oh, my: Lorraine, a fetishist, a wayward tubetop, a leafblower AND Bob Barker!!! Life just doesn't get any better than this, my friends...

"Those sumbitches scare the crap out of me!!!"

Fish Are Friends, Not Food

2008-07-28T14:16:00.013-05:00

If you ever find yourself down South-- more specifically in Atlanta--do yourself a favor and visit the Georgia Aquarium… Jamie and I went together in the spring and we just loved it. Yesterday, we went back with my sister and my niece and loved it again. The pictures here don’t do it justice (neither does my photography) but will give you some idea of the scope of what is there.

My favorite exhibit is the Coldwater Quest. Aside from the touch pool, (where you are allowed to touch sea anemones and other critters) you can see sea otters, sea lions and African penguins. The most breathtaking of all, though, are the beluga whales. The first time we walked in I was amazed (of course, none of my pictures came out well enough to post here). They are beautiful, playful and huge. I could watch them all day long.

Other exhibits include the Tropical Diver, River Scout and Georgia Explorer. The latter includes another touch pool that holds stingrays and sharks. Touching them to me is like touching wet velvet. Kids will say “slimy” and “euuw!” and “icky” but I think it’s awesome.

Finally is the largest of the exhibits, Ocean Voyager: Giant stingrays, grouper, hammerhead sharks and whale sharks are on display along with hundreds of other species. I took my chin up off the floor long enough to take some halfway decent photos:

Ol' Hammerhead if my favorite pic from the day:

A big freakin' grouper... Gee, for some reason I'm hungry?

And lastly...

...I don't know why, but the fish refuse to hold still while I am taking pictures. I was trying to get another shot of the hammerhead here, but at least you can see from the people in the foreground how absolutely huge this place is.

Anyway, if you are ever in the neighborhood, please do yourself a favor and visit--even if you don't have kids this is a spectacular place. Oh and to make the idea even more enticing, my friends: I'm just a little more than an hour down the road, I have huge house with three extra bedrooms and I am a good cook! I'll even drive if you dare let me.

Make Me Laugh

2008-07-20T11:59:00.006-05:00

(I originally posted this in April, but after watching some more of my Billy this morning I thought I'd share it again...hope you like!)

There's something about laughter, isn't there? No only is it a wonderful release, but to me it's just a big, fat turn-on... One of my favorite funny men is Bill Engvall, and probably because he seems to hit the nail on the head every time, no matter what he's talking about... He might be losing some of his hair, he might not have the bod of whatever man is on Hollywood's A-List right now, but if I had the choice between being locked in a room with him or Brad Pitt, I'd take Billy Boy in a heartbeat... So here he is, talking about two of my favorite subjects: Boobs and wieners.

Hope you laugh, too!!!

I Wonder If There Are Any Men Available For Adoption, Too?

2008-07-19T08:52:00.004-05:00

So last time I wrote I was talking about our weekend and what a great time our dog, Honey, had playing with all of her new dog friends at the lake... On Monday I was catching up from the weekend's newspapers and came across the "Pet of the Week,"a feature our paper does on dogs available at our local animal shelter. I saw and was taken with the photo of a pup they had named Chaz, a Border Collie/Husky mix. I don't know what it was about the little guy, but I couldn't stop thinking about him. On Tuesday, he became our newest family member!

He didn't look like "Chaz" to me, though... I messed with the idea of naming him something that would go with Honey: "Graham," "Moon," or "Nuttin'" were some that crossed my mind, but after I got him home and played with him for a little while, I knew he was "Teddy," because he's such a sweet little teddy bear!

So now we are four: Two boys, two girls, and we are having a ball! I feel so good about this and am so happy to have been able to provide a home for Teddy. He and Honey are great together, and despite the fact that he's only four months old is quite mellow. The two of them are sitting at my feet right now as I type... So here they are, Honeybun and Teddybear!

My Dog Is Cooler Than Your Dog

2008-07-14T15:55:00.014-05:00

We had a blast this weekend! Jamie and I were invited to a lake about an hour and a half from here to join a big group of friends and family. I’d been to that area a couple of times before, but have to say that this time was da bomb.

I called my neighbor on Thursday to find out if she’d mind looking after my dog while we were gone, but it turned out she already had plans. I thought about it and the group we were going with was pretty dog-friendly so I called to ask if we could bring along ours. Turns out that was fine...

Our dog is Honey. She’s a Border collie mix and is the sweetest dog in the world. She is also very active, but I didn’t realize how much until we arrived at the lake. I was a little apprehensive at first, not knowing if the other pooches would welcome her, but after the initial butt-sniffing was out of the way it was aces.

When we drove up we were met by dog number one: Cujo! Cujo is a scary-looking, all-muscle Boxer. He is the farthest thing from scary-acting, though… He lives at the camp with the caretaker and another dog, Ruby. Ruby is a Lab mix, very old, quite rotund, but a good old gal…

We weren’t there long before we all jumped on the golf cart and headed down the road to check out the boat landing and the beach. Jamie, Honey and I jumped on the cart and Cujo ran alongside, barked at the cart and tried to bite the tires. Honey lasted all of two seconds in her seat. She was having none of this just-sit-here crap. We slowed the cart for her to jump off and she went hauling ass down the dirt road, pausing only to sniff something occasionally and check to make sure we were still there. She beat us all to the water, including Cujo. That was their thing the whole weekend. They must have run up and down that road together twenty times. It was really cool to watch Cujo and Honey run together, He all flappy-lipped and muscular, she a streak of fluffy black-and-white-and-brown.

By the time we got back to the camp, more people and dogs showed up. In total, there were seven dogs there: Honey, Cujo, Ruby, Buddy, Bo, Pogo and Mico! The great thing about it was that none of them fought. So I’ve already told you about Cujo and Ruby… Buddy was The Humper of the crowd. Poor thing. Couldn’t get any no matter how hard he tried. (I feel for the guy). Bo is one of those low-to-the-ground mop-looking dogs whose tongue seems to always stick out about halfway. Pogo is a Schnauzer who usually looks like a black footstool but since he’s gotten his summer cut looks like eyebrows on a stick. Mico is a Pug, and is one of the most adorably ugly dogs I’ve ever seen in my life: Bug-eyed, curly-tailed, and sounds like she could use either an oxygen tank or some serious decongestants. What a gang.

Saturday morning when it was time to head to the water, we loaded up kids and dogs and coolers and off we went. After that morning’s race with Cujo, Honey went immediately for a dip and stayed in the water when she didn’t have another dog to chase. At one point, Jamie decided he needed to be “rescued” from the inner tube and Honey actually let him hold her tail and swam him in. This went on all afternoon. Almost everyone commented on what a sweet dog she is. It’s funny, that made me feel like a proud parent but they were right. She is really cool!

Honey came to us after a friend of a friend found her but could not keep Honey because of her cats. I always knew we’d get another dog, but wasn’t sure if it was too soon after our Chocolate Lab died of bone cancer last October. (He was an awesome dog, too!) We’ve had Honey since Thanksgiving and I think that so fitting. I’m thankful for the person that rescued her, thankful that we were able to take her, and thankful for all the loving fun she’s provided to so many, especially Jamie.

My Cup Runneth Under

2008-07-09T16:10:00.003-05:00

Of my many vices, Diet Coke has got to be my worst. People give me a hard time about it just about every day, but until it’s illegal I’m not quitting. Really, I think—wait, I know—I could quit smoking before I could give up my beloved DC. It is very rare that I don’t have any in the house, but yesterday I had to decide whether to put a gallon of gas in my car or buy some of my bubbly beverage, so I sucked it up and bought the gas. Today, though, knowing that my direct deposit would be in bright and early I made sure I was, too, so that I could stop and fill up my 44 ounce cup on the way to work and hit the same sweet high I guess addicts experience when that first hit of whatever hits their bloodstream. I swear I am that bad when I take my first sip. I don’t go anywhere without my cup or at least a can in hand, so the bigger the receptacle the better as far as I’m concerned…

I also needed some Tylenol. I don’t often get headaches, but I developed one yesterday morning that wouldn’t budge. I decided I’d grab one of those single dose packs that you can get at the convenience store along with my drink. When I got in the car and started to open the Tylenol, I noticed the package said “drinking cup included.” Hm. What kind of cup could be in this little thing? Turns out, this was:

Ha! Is that great or what? I guess it depends on one’s definition of “drinking cup,” doesn’t it? Funny, I don’t recall reading “drinking cup for a garden gnome” on that package anywhere. They do clearly point out, though that it is ANOTHER INNOVATIVE IDEA FOR THE "PEOPLE ON THE GO." What a relief that was to see because I should hope they'd get some credit, might as well give it to themselves... So this is their idea of a cup, huh? I think it’s a cruel prank. Finally, you are going to get some relief from your ache or pain and there is room for just enough water in there to lodge the Tylenol perfectly half way down your throat. Great! Now you are choking. “Well just refill it you say,” right? Wrong. I’m guessing since this “cup” has about the thickness of toilet paper that it’s a one-shot deal.

Go ahead and tease me all you want about my giant cup, people. At least I can take my Tylenol.

Non-Traditional

2008-07-03T08:30:00.000-05:00

I've always been a fan of the 4th of July... I think because it's summertime and usually my activities include something to do with being on or in the water and this year will be no different. Then, of course, there is the ooohing and aaahing that happens around 9 that night. Fun! It's one American tradition I never get tired of. This year, as the 4th approached it got me thinking about traditions. Most have meaning behind them (why else would they be traditions, right?) Others, not so much...

Somehow, somewhere, we Americans have established other not-so-meaningful traditions that just bug the crap out of me. For what ever reason they are accepted as part of life and most of the time we go on and ignore them. I am, however, a big pain and I am going to point them out.

Take, for instance, the day after Thanksgiving. You will not catch my big butt anywhere near anything shopping-related on that day. I think it's freaking nuts and why we as a culture torture ourselves just so say "we were there" I'll never know... What we do all know is that the malls, parking lots, restaurants, movie theaters, everything will be jammed. It's a given. So why is it necessary for some poor television reporter to be camped out at the crack of dawn (or even midnight in some cases) on post-turkey day to tell us that yes, the mall is crowded, yes, people are buying their Christmas presents, and yes, parking is a bitch... Of course, the sign-off always being, "on this, the busiest shopping day of the year!" Bah! Humbug!

Next, if I ever find out who the first person was that decided that an integral part of raising money for whatever cause via car wash required cheerleaders/band members/scout groups to stand on the side of the road with poorly designed signs yelling "CAAAR WAAASH! CAAAR WAAASH!" at traffic, I will hunt them down and make them eat a piece of neon orange poster board. Oh, look, honey, there are some young people with hoses, buckets, and large sponges massaging that vehicle over there. I wonder what they are doing? "CAAAR WAAASH!" OH, I see! Thank goodness those youths were kind enough to yell out to us that it is indeed a car wash. I would have spent my entire day pondering that.

This last cultural phenomenon never affected me until I moved to the South, and hopefully it won't spread. Now, it is my understanding that the turn signal on a vehicle is designed to do just that. It's my way of telling you, the car behind me, that I plan to turn in this direction or that one, therefore momentarily allowing you to slow down to allow me to do so and go on your merry way. It also allows you, the car behind me, to ease around me should the coast be clear. I expect you to do the same. Down here, though, the natives are run amok with Southern Hospitality and want you to know that the car in front of the car that is in front of you will be turning this way or that momentarily. Do you see what I'm saying? Signaling me (number three in line) via number two (you, dumbass!) that car number one (the one that is actually doing the turning) IS TURNING!!!!! NO. NO. NO!!! Please, stop it.

Happy Independence Day!

Tiny Little Miss Petite Princess

2008-07-02T10:41:00.001-05:00

I love this bit. I love Dot. From MadTV.

Go See This Movie!

2008-06-30T08:06:00.008-05:00

Yesterday Jamie and I went to see Walle. Now I don't want to get all Ebert on your ass, but if you don't see this movie (and I don't care if you have kids or not) you are nuts. Animation: Excellent. Storyline: Excellent. Humor: Excellent. Message: It will make you think.

'Nuff said... Now go see it and get back with me.

Marry Me!

2008-06-26T14:56:00.004-05:00

Right now I am digging through my giant stack of marriage proposals for the sole purpose of being able to do this in front of everyone I know, because it's the best wedding song, ever!!!

Who says white folks can't dance?

Trading Spouses: Meet Your New Eyeballs

2008-06-24T15:55:00.004-05:00

The voyeur in me loves to watch reality TV. Not that “Survivor” crap, (I would let the vultures do with you what they will!) but those shows that delve into the everyday lives of people doing whatever it is they do. One of my faves is “Trading Spouses: Meet Your New Mommy.” CMT bought the rights to it and airs old episodes most evenings and I find it fun to see what’s going to happen when Mommy A and Mommy B switch places and move into each other’s homes.

The most famous of all is the woman who called herself the “God Warrior” and has since become somewhat of a celebrity in her own right, but I think she’s just plain crazy and I’ll leave it at that. (Take a look if you’ve never seen it.) There are so many others that demonstrate both the transparency and true adaptability of some of these mothers. One that sticks out in my mind in particular was the episode where a vegan mom switched places with a mom from Louisiana whose husband was a gator wrangler. That was a trip. The vegan mom broke out her “Don’t Be Cruel To Chickens” video in the middle of her tofu-burger fest and everyone left as she proceeded to break down and weep for the chickens. Later, she kept on preaching to the group about why she eats cardboard, saying that “we really need to be careful about what we put into our bodies,” (I mean, just look at you people!) cut to the next scene, and she has a beer and a cigarette. No kidding. In the same episode, the gator mom wanted to cook authentic Louisiana jambalaya for her new family, but instead decided that she had to respect the family’s beliefs and modified her recipe so that it was vegan. They loved it, and her, and I thought that was really cool.

Last night was an especially interesting mom trade. Traci was from Scottsdale, Arizona. Her introduction was filmed in her giant bathroom while she was in mid-bubble bath, bragging about her Tuscany inspired manse and all its trappings. She had her perfect house with her perfect hair, perfect boobs, perfect husband and perfect kids. She just knew she could show her new family a thing or two about—what else?—being perfect. Penny, on the other hand, was a pine nut farmer from Licking, Missouri (I want to move there just so I can say I live in Licking). That’s right, “we’re in pine nuts” (At one point during the episode they were sewing up nut bags—I kid you not!—but I digress). Penny was all about getting dirty (both literally and figuratively). When she appeared at the airport to meet her new “husband,” she was wearing teddy bear slippers with her dress. Her explanation: “My husband gave these to me because I’m afraid of bears.” Um, whaaaa??? She was a trip, that’s for sure. She didn’t follow the herd, no way, but there was something about her. There was also something about Traci, only that “something” didn’t really blossom until near the end of the show. The mothers had spent a week with the other’s family. One week observing, interacting, taking it all in. Penny saw not perfection, but rejection and cruelty. That is, the Arizona family’s youngest child did not meet his father’s perfect standards and was reminded of that every day during whatever activity at which he was not perfect. As if that was not bad enough, he was constantly reminded how really perfect his older sibling was! Ugh. Penny caught on to this really quickly and invited the boy to take a walk and just talk. It was at this point that even I could feel the little guy’s heart breaking due to the lack of acceptance by his own father.

Meanwhile, back at the pine nut ranch, Traci finally decided that instead of sitting around surrounded by imperfection that she might help do something about it. She helped the dad organize his filing system. She helped sew up nut bags (ha ha I said nut bags—again!). She took the son shopping for a pair of tennis shoes (for which he was so incredibly grateful that it choked me up) and was finally able to see that just because these people didn’t have a lot of “stuff” that they were very rich indeed… Rich with love, acceptance and true affection for one another.

Each episode ends with a one-on-one meeting between the mothers to discuss the week’s events. Most times it’s a standoffish thing. Sometimes it’s even aggressive. These two embraced one another like I’ve never seen before and it was just so cool. Penny was grateful, gracious and accepting of Traci. Traci was equally so and asked Penny how her family was. In all honesty, Traci was told that her husband was fine, that son number one was fine but that son number two was NOT fine. (This is normally where the Springer rejects start throwing chairs, but not so in this case.) Traci already knew it deep down, she just needed a funny pine nut farmer in teddy bear slippers to say it out loud. She also needed to be told that her “perfect” husband was a heavy-handed control freak. Again, Traci knew it all along. The two mothers left their meeting arm-in-arm saying, “let’s go get ‘em,” and they did…

The final scene showed the moms back in their respective homes, reunited with their families. Penny was thrilled with the effort Traci had put forth regarding her business, but was more ecstatic just to be back with her loving family. Likewise, Traci was happy to see her husband and children again, but there was a marked difference in her attitude toward her youngest son. Traci’s husband, however, told the camera that he really didn’t think the experience had changed his wife at all. Then Mister Perfect got the surprise of his life when, at the very close of the show, his wife simply said, “no…”

Go get ‘em!

Bye, George...

2008-06-23T08:41:00.002-05:00

George Carlin died yesterday in Los Angeles... What a genius that man was! I could sit here and bore you to death with Carlin quotes, but I won't. My tribute, intstead, is to share my favorite poem of his and ask what you might have liked about him...

So here's the poem... It's all about cuss words and I love it!!!

rat shit
bat shit
dirty old twat
sixty-nine assholes
tied in a knot
hooray!
lizard shit!
fuck!

Rest in peace, G... You will be missed.

"Y" Because We Like You

2008-06-23T08:11:00.003-05:00

Here's Jamie's version of that mouse, Whatshisface...

This is what he copied it from:

I think going forward I'll put his pics on the dashboard, but wanted to post just this ONE more... (wink, wink!)

Out Of Order

2008-06-23T07:58:00.003-05:00

Hey, everybody!!!

I know you waited with bated breath the entire weekend to read my posts and my comments and I do apologize... I hope you are OK now that you know I'm here and I promise to both enlighten and entertain you again shortly... Thanks for all the cards and letters.

Love,
Amy

P.S. My freakin' Internet was down all freakin' weekend!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! UGH.

More Drawrings

2008-06-20T11:47:00.007-05:00

Some more of Jamie's artwork...

Man, my arm really hurts from Reenie twisting it so hard!!!

Did You Know You Can Mail A Coconut?

2008-06-19T14:36:00.013-05:00

A few weeks ago, I opened my mailbox to find a coconut. Yes, you heard me, a coconut! It had been mailed to my son from Hawaii. It even had a stamp on the outside. The trinket was painted with the words "hang loose" and the hand-thingie they do out there, Brah...

It looked just like this:

My son drew this last night. He was sitting at the kitchen table drawing like he does many nights. I should have taken a picture of the coconut perched on my window sill so you could see how well he copied it. I think he has a good eye, and a future in something creative... So far, he's narrowed down his career choices to Animal Cop/Rock Star/Artist.

(All this ambition at the ripe old age of eight!)

After the "hang loose" picture was finished, he asked me to go look in the living room, where he had hung this from the mantle:

I asked him if he had copied this from something he saw and he said, "No, just my imagination."

Cool.

The last in the series is this one. For those of you who don't watch Family Guy, (oh and you should!) this is Brian, the dog/surrogate father of the family. It took Jamie about thirty minutes to convince Mama that this had not been traced. I'm adding the cartoon's actual illustration so you can see for yourself how good this is... Jamie even managed to credit TBS on this one. Ha!

Yes, I know Mama is bragging!

If I Won The Lottery

2008-06-17T17:38:00.005-05:00

You know, it drives me crazy when I hear or read stories about people who have won the lottery and, when asked, say, "Oh I could never quit my job! I just wouldn't know what to do!"

Can I get a big SHUT UP???!!! Are you kidding me? That, my friends, would be the FIRST dang thing I would do. Next, I'd pay off all my debts, my family's mortgages and say bye because I'm moving somewhere tropical at least for a year where I can get away with as little clothing as possible and still stay within local custom. After that, we'll see...

What would you do if you won?

This guy, for one, is honest:

Walter!

2008-06-17T14:51:00.002-05:00

OK, everybody, time to switch gears...

This is comedian Jeff Dunham and his pal, Walter. I think I like this so much because (if I'm not already) in about 30 years or so, I'll be just like Walter (only I think I'll skip the bowtie).

Enjoy!

Handcuffs And Crap, Part Two!!!

2008-06-13T11:54:00.008-05:00

The cast of characters is as follows:

Jamie: My son
Mary Kate: My niece
Nonnie: My mom
Poppy: My dad

So you already know that Nonnie got Jamie some handcuffs yesterday. Aside from that, the kids went swimming in the lake, played on the playground and went to McDonald’s. According to the report I just received from my mom, she was long overdue for a nap (bless her heart! – Oh, by the way, that’s what we say in The South, “bless your heart.” As in, “She’s so tired, bless her heart,” or, “She’s so stupid, bless her heart.” It’s a universal term).

So she feels that the kids are fine since Jamie is watching a video and Mary Kate is working on one of her magazine projects (that means cutting out pictures) and she’ll go lay down. She says that shortly thereafter she heard crying—no— screaming. She thinks one of the kids must have fallen and runs to check. No one is “injured,” it’s just that it seems the key to the handcuffs no longer works and Mary Kate has been detained indefinitely. This doesn’t set well with MK, who can wail like nobody’s business despite her tiny frame. She is at this time doing so. Jamie is crying because he thinks he’s in trouble. Poppy is pissed because he can’t get the key to work, either. Mom is trying to keep herself together until Poppy returns with… Wait for it...

BOLT CUTTERS!!!!

Mom wants to know if I’ve ever seen a pair of bolt cutters. I tell her hell yeah I’ve seen bolt cutters!!! She says oh you should have seen how big Mary Kate’s eyes got!!! I can freaking imagine, Mom! At this point both Nonnie and Jamie are crying and Mary Kate is shrieking to high heaven. Here comes Poppy with the bolt cutters! (Hey, kid, as long as I have these out let’s take care of that loose tooth of yours!) Holy shit. Then about two seconds later Poppy takes the bolt cutters to the handcuffs and Mary Kate draws back a bloody stump… Just kidding. Free at last!!! Everyone is fine, now. I’m sure that my mom, though, who can barely drink one glass of wine, was shooting tequila until she passed out last night.

It’s only funny because no one got hurt. Oh and because I wasn’t there.

Handcuffs And Crap

2008-06-13T07:48:00.003-05:00

My conversation on my way home last night with my son, who stayed the night with his cousin at my parents’ house:

Hi, Honey! How are you?
I’m fine.
What are you guys doing?
Just playing around.
That’s good. I’m glad you are having fun.
Guess what Nonnie bought me?
What?
You have to guess.
Some kind of candy?
No.
Some kind of game?
No.
I give up.
I’ll give you a hint: It has to do with the police.
Concert tickets?
What?
Never mind. A badge?
No.
(oh, please not) A gun?
NO.
What’d she give you?
Handcuffs!!!!
(Oh, lordy) Really?
Yeah. MK and I are playing “coppers.”
Did you arrest her?
Yeah!
Did you lock the handcuffs?
Yeah!
Do you have a key?
Yeah!
OK, well have fun and be careful! I love you.
OK... Mom what are you doing?
I’m on my way to your aunt’s house to pick up her dog.
Why?
Remember, he’s staying with us while they are out of town.
Oh, right… Mom?
Yes, Baby?
Just pray that he doesn’t crap on the rug again.

Is It Rude To Burp In Front Of The Governor?

2008-06-11T13:34:00.003-05:00

So this afternoon the governor of our lovely state is coming for a visit with my boss and some other bigwigs in town. Today I plan to meet him (finally).

He’s been here a hundred times in the four and a half years I’ve worked here, but I have never gotten the chance to shake his hand. He seems like a decent guy, a real people-person and I would just like to say hello. Unfortunately, I am one of those employees that people seem to forget: You know, I’m just the Executive Assistant, (read: the one who makes sure all this shit gets done) so why bother?

Anyway, this morning I made it a point to tell my boss that I would appreciate being introduced. I mean, my vote carries as much weight as anyone else’s doesn’t it? He said sure. Cool.

Now I’m scared. Not intimidated-scared, but Arby’s Turkey-Bacon Wrap scared. WTF was I thinking? At lunch I was starving and it’s boiling hot outside and I didn’t want anything really “heavy” to eat so I thought I’d get me one of these wrap things and pretend it’s healthy. Only the wrap-thing has onions in it. Stupid me ate the onions. Now I am burping like crazy. Onion burps. Shit.

I can picture it, now: “I’m pleased to meet you, sir.” Braaaaaaap!!!

Maybe I should start cleaning out my desk right now.

The Ocean

2008-06-11T10:03:00.005-05:00

My friend sent me this, a sample of what kids said when asked to write about the ocean…

Seems they have all been to my house…

1. This is a picture of an octopus. It has eight
testicles.(Kelly, age 6)

2. Oysters' balls are called pearls. (Jerry, age 6)

3. If you are surrounded by ocean you are an Island .
If you don't have ocean all round you, you are
incontinent. ( Wayne , age 7)

4. Sharks are ugly and mean, and have big teeth,
just like Emily Richardson. She's not my friend
any more. (Kylie, age 6)

5. A dolphin breathes through an asshole on the top
of its head. (Billy, age 8)

6. My uncle goes out in his boat with 2 other men and a woman
and pots and comes back with crabs.(Millie, age 6)

7. When ships had sails, they used to use the trade
winds to cross the ocean. Sometimes when the wind
didn't blow the sailors would whistle to make
the wind come. My brother said they would have been better
off eating beans.(William, age 7)

8. Mermaids live in the ocean. I like mermaids. They are beautiful
and I like their shiny tails, but how on earth do mermaids
get pregnant? Like, really? (Helen, age 6)

9. I'm not going to write about the ocean. My baby brother
is always crying, my Dad keeps yelling at my Mom, and my
big sister has just got pregnant, so I can't think what to write.
(Amy, age 6)

10. Some fish are dangerous. Jellyfish can sting.
Electric eels can give you a shock. They have to live
in caves under the sea where I think they have to
plug themselves into chargers. (Christopher, age 7)

11. When you go swimming in the ocean, it is very cold,
and it makes my willy small. (Kevin, age 6)

12. Divers have to be safe when they go under the water.
Divers can't go down alone, so they have to go down
on each other. (Becky, age 8)

13. On vacation my Mom went water skiing. She fell off when
she was going very fast. She says she won't do it again
because water fired right up her big fat ass. (Julie, age 7)

14. The ocean is made up of water and fish. Why the fish don't
drown I don't know.(Bobby, age 6)

15. My dad was a sailor on the ocean. He knows all about the
ocean. What he doesn't know is why he quit being a sailor
and married my mom. (James, age 7)

Somebody Call DHR... It's Amy's Kid!

2008-06-11T07:00:00.001-05:00

Tuesday night I'm standing in the bathroom, staring into the mirror and wondering why the crap at the age of effing FORTY I am still getting pimples when I hear this mantra coming from the living room:

"Say hi. Say hi. You will respect me. You will respect me!"

At first I didn't pay much attention because I figured it was some game my son was playing with our hyper dog and she was barking right along.

(They do this chase-thing around the house about every night)

"Say hi. Say hi. You will respect me. You will respect me!"

There was a pause in footsteps and barking. I looked out into the hallway to see my son standing there with a basketball stuck in his boxer shorts. (Don't be TOO impressed... He's only eight and it was one of those mini-basketballs that you can play with indoors).

"Huuuunnnnneee!!!! Doooooonnn't!!!!" I pleaded.

He takes off down the hallway with the dog in tow.

"Say hi. Say hi. You will respect me. You will respect me!"

After he ran off I had to close the bathroom door because I was laughing so freaking hard I cried.

That's my boy!

Dear Mr. and Ms. A-Hole

2008-06-08T15:58:00.003-05:00

Dear Mr. and Ms. A-Hole Moviegoers:

I realize that it’s a free country and you paid the same amount that I did to go see the Indiana Jones movie today. However, for future reference and for the sake of your fellow moviegoers you might want to think about the following next time you go:

It was Sunday at 11:30. There were a TOTAL of ten (yes, I counted) other patrons in the theater when you arrived. Therefore, we were all spaced out nicely and basically all had a row all to ourselves. Apparently you didn’t notice that. I mean, how often do you get to go to the movies and basically have your choice of 240 out of 250 seats? That must have been a shock and surprise to you because you chose to ignore the situation and sit at the end of our row at the top of the steps. Fine. That’s your prerogative. However, in civilized movie-going culture when someone needs to get past you, the tradition is that you will perform The Seat Shift. Since you were obviously not familiar The Seat Shift, I shall describe it for you:

Moviegoer A (in this case, ME) whispers, “excuse me” as he/she attempts to move out of the aisle. Moviegoer B (in this case, YOU, Ms. A-Hole) performs The Seat Shift. The Seat Shift can be accomplished in two different ways.

Method One: Moviegoer B swings their feet, via butt cheek rotation, to the opposite site of their seat, therefore allowing a reasonable space by which Moviegoer A can pass as swiftly and efficiently as possible and get to the restroom without missing too much of the film. In your case, however, the “excuse me” was met with zero reaction and zero Seat Shift.

Method Two would have been appropriate in combination for both of you. Since you were on the end of the aisle at the top of the steps, Mr. A. In your case, (I'm talking to you, Mr. A-Hole) when I returned from my trip The Seat Shift With Leg Tuck would have been appropriate. i.e., scoot back in your seat therefore allowing you to tuck you feet beneath your seat for 1.5 seconds while I passed. Instead, you refused to move and I ACCIDENTALLY stepped on the edge of your shoe and for which you gave me a nasty look. I apologized, but your SIGH indicated that my apology was not accepted. In the meantime, Ms. A-Hole, you could have again facilitated Method One and I would have returned to my seat without incident. Instead, you refused to budge and therefore forced ME to climb OVER YOU. Nice. Very, very nice indeed!

You know what, though? The next time the two of you go to the movies you might not encounter the polite, patient and sincere person you met today. Next time you might get the person that tells you to move the fuck out of the way. Next time you might meet a person that’s twice the asshole you both were put together.

May you have popcorn stuck in your gums for a month.

No Love,

Amy

This Is True Love

2008-06-05T14:57:00.003-05:00

Today my friend and I were talking about our kids—he about the daughter that he completely adores, and who obviously adores him. I made the comment that I wished someone would talk to or about me the way he talks to and about her, but then I realized I already do…

I don’t know of a day that goes by that my son does not tell me I look “hot” or that he loves me or that I’m funny. Not a day goes by that I don’t tell him that he looks "cool" or that I love him (about nine hundred times) or that he does something that makes me laugh so hard that I snort.

I haven’t been so lucky in love, at least in the grown-up sense. However, I wouldn’t trade the true love, affection and utter joy that I feel every day when I am with my son for anything in the world. I’ve made a lot of mistakes, but my son is--by any stretch of the imagination--the best thing I ever did.

Lucky in love: I am!!!

Mister T

2008-06-03T10:07:00.005-05:00

Yesterday morning, my son called me on his way to camp…

Hi, Mom!
Hey, Baby! How are you?
Guess what was on Miss M’s front porch this morning?
I don’t know, what?
Guess!
Uh… Flowers?
No.
Then, what?
You have to guess!
A present?
No!
I give up. What?
A snapping turtle!
What? No way!
Way.
You are kidding?

Sidebar: Not only is our area nowhere near close to water or any other turtle-friendly habitat that I know of, but the little booger had climbed the steps to get to the front porch… Eight of them, to be exact…

No, really!
How big was it?
About the size of a Frisbee!
You are kidding? What did you do? Did you touch it? What did Miss M say?
No, it was really big. We just left it there.
Did he ring the doorbell?
MOM!
Well then how did you know it was there?
We saw it when we were leaving for camp.

Then, last night on the way home…

That must have been a trip to see that turtle, huh?
(Laughing) Yeah! Hey, wanna know what he said?
What’s that?
Yo, man, where’s my room?

Ha.

There Ought To Be A Law...

2008-05-28T11:51:00.002-05:00

Last weekend, in celebration of my turning the big four-oh, my dear and generous friend took me away for the weekend to this great hotel/spa... We had an absolute blast and I have never had anyone do anything like that for me. We had a super time. I told her before that you learn a lot from people (both good and bad) when you travel with them. In this case, I still like her just as much as I always have, but I digress...

We drove through the rain on Thursday night to get there with the promise of a sunny weekend. Saturday did not disappoint. We woke up early and there was not a cloud in the sky. It was the perfect day for sunning by the pool. We had our pick of lounge chairs in the morning, but the pool deck quickly filled up and gave me the opportunity to do what I love: People-watch... I watched a lovely family play with their children. I watched a Shirley Temple clone run between the fountains that lined the edge of the pool. I listened and watched as a wedding party arrived from out of town...

After lunch, we were back in our chairs when I noticed a group of three men setting up camp across the pool deck... One of the three was as tall, dark and handsome as they come. "Oooh, this will be good," I thought. He removed his shirt: "Wow!" He took off his shorts... "What the...!?"

ATTENTION, MEN OF EARTH:
DO NOT WEAR SPEEDOS!!!
EVER. EVER. EVER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Ugh!!! Not only was it a Speedo, but it was WHITE. Double ugh!!! Not only that, but his friend had on one that matched... Meantime, I'm furiously elbowing my friend (who was on the phone at the time) and doing the "look, look!" head nod in his direction... She finally looked and said, "Well that's not right..." Damn straight, sister!

There ought to be a law...

Cyberbully

2008-05-18T15:31:00.001-05:00

Recently, the mother who was the deviant mastermind behind the cyberbullying case of Megan Meier was indicted (thankfully), so I thought I'd post this again. Megan's story had a huge effect on me. What do you think about all of this?

It's a hard thing to admit, even today: I was one of those kids that had a hard time making friends, and I truly hated being a kid. I was always the outsider, even when I ran with the "popular" crowd. It's taken me most of my adult life to get to the point where I'm confident about me and the way I look, and really don't put as much stock into what other people's opinions are the way I used to. I know who I am. I treat people the way I wish to be treated. Dare I say, I am a good person. I try to teach my son to do the same by setting the example. He is a great kid and I think I have something to do with that, and that makes me very proud. I think more than any other compliment, hearing that you are a good mom is the most wonderful compliment there is.

So having a hard time as a kid wasn't because I came from a broken home. It wasn't because I was poor. It wasn't because I suffered from any kind of illness. My fault, at least in the eyes of my peers, was that I was fat. Even now, it's hard for me to sit here, type this, and look at these words. Hard because even now at the age of 40, I still deal with the comments, and they still bother me to a degree, especially when they come from other "adults": You know, you are so pretty but you'd probably feel better about yourself if you lost twenty pounds... You know, you should probably take your hands off of your hips because that draws attention to them... You know, you really have a pretty face: chubby, though... You're just a big girl... (That last one, for some reason, is the one I hate the most!)

Though difficult, I'm doing this because of a story that has recently come to light. It breaks my heart, and it really pisses me off: Megan Meier. This young woman--child, really--was the subject of the type of ridicule that I was never faced with growing up, and that was bullying via the Internet. She was called fat. She was called a slut. She was told the world would be a better place without her. The bullying became so intense for Megan that she felt she had no other choice than to take her own life. She was 13.

As if all of this weren't tragic enough, it turns out that the bully in this case was an adult. Not the online predators we hear so much about, but rather the mother of her former friend. Apparently this campaign began as an attempt by said mother to find out what Megan might say about her former friend behind her back. Under the guise of a young man trying to woo Megan, this person lulled Megan into believing she had a cyber-boyfriend, got her comfortable, happy even, then with whatever deep-down evil this person had inside, harnessed it and began the demise of Megan.I am smart enough to know that the value our society places on the "beautiful" people will probably never change. With that said, though, I also know the value of character, of kindness, of spirit. Our children need to know that they are worth more than their looks.

Tragically, Megan was made to believe that she was not worthy of us. I wonder if it's really the other way around.

Recalibrate Your Phaser

2008-04-22T08:53:00.003-05:00

I've never been much for video games. For whatever reason--I guess my lack of coordination or the fact that my son's Playstation games make me woozy when I watch him play--I just could not get in to playing, that is, until now...

There's a recently-opened place in town with indoor inflatables, rockin' pizza and every kind of game you can imagine. The first time we went was on my son's birthday, and I was

too busy feeding people and visiting to pay much attention to what the games were about.

Then, we went back: Off to the side against one wall and looking quite innocent from the outside is my new favorite thing in the world: Star Trek Voyager. Ha! Sit down in the booth, close the curtain and grab your phaser because we have some borgs to kill!!!

Along with video games, I've also never cared much for games or toys that have anything to do with guns, and outside of a Super Soaker I do not allow my child to have gun-like toys. So I surprised even myself with my love of this gizmo and the fact that my eight year old and I can board the Voyager and secure the safety of its crew and thus the universe with our phaser prowess. At one point I found myself taking the whole thing way too seriously when I realized I had my feet up on the front of the game (better traction and marksmanship that way) and was yelling things at the mean ol' borgs:

Resistance is futile, huh? Well, take that you nasty thing!!! You aren't so tough with half a head, now are you? Muwaahaha!!!

Gotta go recalibrate my phaser!

Service This!

2008-04-15T08:48:00.000-05:00

To me, in any job there is some degree of customer service regardless of your employment. This past weekend I seem to have come in contact with those who were absent the day that customer service was taught.

First, the bank: I sat, and sat, and sat. I was cashing a check (and a small one at that). Finally, the woman comes over the loudspeaker and asks me if I want to cash the check. (Um, isn't that evident by the fact that I endorsed it and sent my license through the tube-thing?) I told her yes, I did. More sitting. The next question was whether or not I had an account there. (Um, yeah, for about four dang years!) I told her I did. I was asked if I new the account number because she couldn't find it. (Hm. Every other time--like, every two weeks--when I come to cash my paycheck they seem to be able to find it.) I give her the number. Off we go.

Stop number two: The pharmacy. I was already perturbed because when I drove up the drive-thru had a sign in its window that read, "Closed, please come inside." Ugh. When I walked up to the counter and gave the woman my name, she found my bag and said, "Uh-oh." (Uh-oh, what?) She tells me my insurance did not go through. She asked me if I had moved. No. She asked me if this was a new prescription. No. She asked me if I had gotten a new insurance card. No. (Great, I got fired and no one bothered to tell me!) I asked what to do. She told me they'd call Blue Cross and use my social security number. A few minutes later, the woman on the telephone is motioning for me to come over. The woman on the phone proceeds to ask me the same questions that the woman behind the counter did a few minutes before. Finally, the mystery is solved, but only in the sense that I got my medicine. For some reason they have my birthday wrong. Hm.

And last, but not least: The nail salon. For the first time since Halloween, I was going out with one of my friends and I thought I'd treat myself to a pedicure. Nice, huh? I think these people have forgotten what type of business they are in: Service. Sheesh. First I got a lecture on NOT wanting to use the massage chair. (I jiggle enough on my own, thank you, I don't need a chair to do it for me). Next came the real speech: You no have pedicure long time? No. You should have pedicure more time. Make feet nice. Why, I asked, are they free??? Next came the punishment part of my "treat." This little woman attacked my feet with her pumice like she was trying to shoe a horse. Yes, I realize it's been "long time" but my tootsies aren't that bad, really. The way she was going at my feet, though, was like she wanted revenge or something.

Looking back, I guess it's all laughable now, and it reminded me of this video...

You Shook Me

2008-03-12T10:47:00.001-05:00

On my way home last night, I stopped at my favorite store (the one with the beer cave). As I was paying the woman at the counter, I looked past her out the window and caught a glimpse of a man's arm. Just an arm, mind you, but I recognized it because it belonged to my ex boyfriend. Just to be sure (and to quickly come up with a way to avoid him), I watched the door out of the corner of my eye until he reached it. Unfortunately, I was right. I don't think he saw me (he was probably too busy looking at himself in the security monitor over the doorway). I took my time folding my money and putting it back in my pocket to give myself a second or two to make my escape. I was successful, thank goodness...

That was the first time I'd seen that idiot since we broke up in September and it threw me for a loop. Not because I have any desire whatsoever to even talk to him, it was just the fact that I was in the same room with that ass that unleashed a sense of wanting to hurt someone physically. I wouldn't mind hurting that stupid car of his, either. Just so you know, I am about the farthest thing from violent that anyone could be and never have been. I don't spank my kid, I've never been in a fight and don't see the point in people who do. So what is it about this particular person that would make me feel this way? I'll tell you: For a year and a half I was manipulated, insulted and degraded. Maybe my anger is really at myself for putting up with it for so long, but that does not excuse what this person did to me. I know I am better off. He is the loser, not me. I'd rather be by myself forever than to put up with that kind of shit ever again, so I've learned my lesson--the hard way.

Still, it might feel good just to whack him upside the head. Just once. Real hard.

Say What?

2008-03-03T10:43:00.000-06:00

As I've said here before, when I'm out and about I seem toattract wierdos like flies to honey. It seems here lately that when I'm at work I'm not safe, either.

People, not just kids, say the darndest things to me, like:

The cleaning lady:
"Did you smell your desk this morning?"

Uh, no... Why, will I get high?

A customer wanting the phone number for a different business:
"How do you call information?"

1-800-GET-A-CLUE

Another customer wanting to mail a payment:
"Do I have to sign my check?"

Yes, and please make sure it's in crayon.

A wierdo wanting to talk to my boss:
"How much do you know about horses?"

I only know about whips, does that count?

The jerk that I hate:
"What are you doing this weekend?"

Stuff, you idiot. None of your business.

My boss:
"What day is it?"

Medication Day.

Someone on the phone wanting to schedule a tour:
"So, is this your number?"

No, it's not.

Smurfy

2008-03-01T10:49:00.001-06:00

For some reason I am a weirdo magnet… Perfect strangers find me irresistible, especially if they have some gross medical condition they want to discuss or if they need gas money. Recently, though, I got a good laugh when I stopped at the convenience store and I thought I’d share:

Dude: Can I help you?

Me: Can I get a pack of Marlboro Light 100’s in a box, please?

Dude: You sher can!

Dude: Those are some big earrings you have on. They go good with your big blue ears.

Me: Ruh?

Dude: Oh! I mean eyes, eyes!

Me: That’s O.K., I’m really a Smurf.

Dude: Heh. That’s funny. (Puts the wrong kind cigs on the counter) Are you sure you’re old enough to smoke?

Me: Yep. By about twenty years.

Dude: You don’t look 49.

Me: That’s because I’m 39.

Dude: O.K., now you’re embarrassing me! When’s your birthday?

Me: May.

Dude: So you’re only a couple of months older than me.

Me: Smurfs age really well.

Dude: Heh. That’s funny.

Me: Can I please have 100’s?

Dude: Oh. Heh. Sorry! (Hands me 100’s in a soft pack. I don’t have the heart at this point to correct him again).

Me: That’s O.K. Have a good day.

Happy Birthday, Beautiful Boy!

2008-02-29T09:30:00.000-06:00

My Valentine

2008-02-14T10:48:00.000-06:00

I think outside of Christmas that Valentine’s Day is the most talked about holiday we celebrate… What do you give? Where do you go? How much do you spend? Will she get a ring tonight? Will he ask? I’m waiting for the year we start doing the “only this many shopping days until Valentine’s” countdown.

Eleven years ago today was a chilly, rainy Friday in Florida. It didn’t matter, though. That was the day that we went to the courthouse and got married, just the two of us. Our wedding would be in March. We did the courthouse thing because we wanted to celebrate our anniversary on Valentine’s Day and that date wasn’t going to work logistically for family and friends or for a venue. So we wed secretly. It was fun.

A lot has happened in eleven years. My husband is gone, now. Valentine’s Day for me is usually about my son and what he’ll do for school. This year he wanted to buy his teacher a teddy bear because she collects them. He picked out a bear, and I could not have chosen any better myself. He insisted on attaching all of the Sweetheart candy packs to his cards himself. (Stubborn like his mama!)

This morning I was dreading getting out of bed, because I knew today would be a constant reminder of the person who isn’t here anymore, so I delayed as long as I could… My son, however, had a different attitude. He got up (before me!), got dressed and was waiting on me to get into the car. He was proud of the gift he had for his teacher and excited about receiving valentines and a pizza party. I was happy for him. In a way, I’m happy for me, too: The man that I loved is not here anymore, but the wonderful man that I am raising is right before me. I can’t imagine a better Valentine’s Day present than that.

They F*** You In The Drive-Thru!!!

2008-02-02T10:54:00.000-06:00

Today’s rant is brought to you by the annoying redhead…

Since yesterday the temperature here has dropped about twenty degrees, so I figured for a nice change-o-pace I’d cruise through the drive through and get a rib-sticking but not wallet-cramping lunch. It went something like this:

Microphone: Take your order?
Me: Yes. I’d like a small chili, baked potato and a large Diet Coke.
Microphone: (Silent.)
Me: (Silent.)
Microphone: Just a minute.
Me: (Silent.)
Microphone: That was a large chili and a small diet?
Me: No. A small chili, a baked potato and a large Diet Coke.
Microphone: Four-fifty.
Me: (Silent at window.)
Window: Four-fifty.
Me: Here you go. (Hand over cash.)
Window: (Hands me beverage.)
Window: (Hands me change.)
Window: (Hands me bag.)
Me: (Look inside bag and see fries and a sandwich.)
Me: This isn’t mine. (Hand back bag.)
Window: What did you have?
Me: A small (&*$!ing) chili, baked (&*$!ing) potato and a large (&*$!ing) Diet Coke!
Window: Oh. Give me that. (Points to drink.) That’s not yours.
Me: (Hand over drink.)
Window: (Hands me a different bag of food and the same (&*$!ing) drink I just handed over a second ago!)
Me: Thanks.
Window: Sorry.
Me: No problem.

Get back to work and enjoy (&*$!ing) slightly cooked potato with quarter-sized portion of Wacky Whip (or whatever stuff they are using as margarine). Chili is OK. Thank goodness I had some crackers in my desk.

B and B

2008-01-28T14:31:00.001-06:00

It's amazing that, during the week, I could practically enlist the use of sirens along with a big pot and wooden spoon to try and drag my child out of bed and it would still be a fight. The weekend is a different story, and this past one was no exception:

Sunday morning, before the sun had even come up, I felt the presence of my son and the dog in my bedroom. He was watching cartoons and talking to the dog as I dozed in and out of consciousness. At one point I remember thinking there was an awfully cold spot in the bed near my knee. Oh, never mind. I turned over and snuggled with the pillows some more... There it is again, that coldness. Something making a noise like crinkling plastic... Finally I sat up to investigate. I peeled back the covers, then called to my son...

"Yeah, Mom?"

"Uh... why is there broccoli in my bed?"

"Because my leg hurt."

"Do what?"

"Because my leg hurt."

"And you thought broccoli would fix it?"

"No. I was using it for an ice pack."

You can't make this stuff up.

Closet Treasures

2008-01-25T08:41:00.000-06:00

Last night, my son asked me if he could organize the closet in his room. Yes, I know, a weird request from a seven year old, but apparently he has some strange genetic mutation that causes him to organize things compulsively... The closet request actually came after he'd finished the refrigerator. (The pear stems, you see, needed to all be facing the same direction.)...

So I said yes, but reluctantly. The room that is now his used to be the spare bedroom downstairs, and in its closet are mostly things that belonged to his father. Things that I cannot seem to get rid of for one reason or another. Things that I will never get rid of because they are so much a part of him. Last night, a flood of memories (and questions from my son) came back to me.

What's this? He would ask...
His walking stick from Mt. Fuji...
Is this from when he was in the Army? He wanted to know.
Yes, it's his backpack.
Cool! He would say...

Then, the kicker: My wedding dress, still in its pink garment bag. He wanted to know if he could look at it. I said sure. It really is a pretty dress: Ivory colored, simple beading at the top, layers of chiffon... My son said he thought it was beautiful. He also said he thinks I am beautiful. Then he said he couldn't wait for his future wife to wear my dress.

I love my kid.

What Bugs You?

2008-01-24T10:58:00.000-06:00

These are my top ten pet peeves... What bugs you?

1. Air Guitar. Don’t do it. You look like a dork.
2. Hypocrites in any shape, form or fashion.
3. Rude people. I don’t care if you are the King of the World or the gal serving me my fries in the drive-thru. Treat people the way you want to be treated.
4. Women who are obviously bottle blondes who still blame their stupidity on being blonde, as in: “Oh, no! I’m having a blonde moment!” No you aren’t. You are just doing something dumb. Period.
5. The smell of syrup. It is for this reason alone that I do not eat pancakes.
6. Open cabinets/drawers. Say it with me: “Open. Close. Open. Close.” Thank you.
7. Phone people. Especially you blue-toothers.
8. Rude smokers. (I smoke, by the way). If you are within a couple of feet of the receptacle provided, put your ashes and butts IN it, not just somewhere in the vicinity. You make the rest of us look worse.
9. Spearmint gum. (Stinks!)
10. Adults who want to talk to me about my child through my child, as in, “You need to tell your mommy to sign your permission slip.” Uh, no, he does not need to tell his mommy, his mommy is standing right here. YOU tell his mommy, then his mommy will happily sign the permission slip. Have a nice day.

P.S. I reserve the right to amend the above without notice.

Happy New Year

2008-01-01T11:19:00.001-06:00

2008 began for me as I’m sure it did for a lot of people: with a terrible case of cotton mouth and a crick in my neck. In my case, though, it wasn’t from all the wild partying I had done the night before, but from the cold I felt coming on the day before. When I finally managed to get out of bed, I shuffled into the kitchen and sat at the table heavy-eyed and tired and basically feeling sorry for myself.

My son, however, was as chipper as ever. He was playing with the dog and one of the toys he’d gotten for Christmas while I pouted. He laughed out loud at what he was watching on television. I thought a shower and a bowl of soup would help me a little, and they did.Soon, though, my son was asking what we were going to do that day. I told him I wasn’t feeling well, so we probably would not go anywhere. He wanted to know if he could play with “that plaster stuff.” (Plaster of Paris). I said no. He wanted to know if he could paint. I said yes. He painted for a little while, and then wanted to know if he could go outside. I reluctantly said yes, but as long as he bundled up. He stayed out back with the dog for only a few minutes and was soon back in wanting to know what he could do for fun. Frankly, I just was not in the mood but felt like I needed to give him some kind of option, but what? My purse was sitting on the floor by the couch, and he dumped it out when his gum fell in it. Great… Then he eyed my makeup case and asked me if he could make me look “scary.” I figured I couldn’t get much scarier than I already was, so I said sure. I laid on the couch while the master went to work. Every once in a while I’d open my eyes and see him smiling, deviously.

Finally, he announced that he was done. I opened my compact and peered in to find this:

Happy New Year, everybody!

Artsy Fartsy

2007-12-21T11:41:00.001-06:00

My son is a good kid. He’s smart, sensitive and funny. Rarely is he in trouble. I’m lucky...

Deep down, though, he’s all boy. Anything to do with cars thrills him. We have a playroom full of teeny tiny cars and big huge ones. Digging in the dirt outside is another one of his pastimes. Add some water and he’s in hog heaven. Anything to do with boogers, burping or other bathroom functions is downright hilarious to him…

This morning as he woke up, there came a noise from him that sounded something like a cross between a duck quacking and a bugle being played quite poorly. He snickered. I snickered.

“That,” he said (with dramatic pause), “was a work of art!”

The Other Woman

2007-12-13T11:26:00.000-06:00

She’s done it again, The Other Woman…

Last night when my son and I arrived home, I was getting things out of the car and he was already on the front porch before I had the chance to notice it: A package, addressed to him.

“Hey, Mom, look! It’s for me! Can I open it?”
I saw the return address and cringed.
“Sure, Baby.”

What I really wanted to do was hunk it into the garbage can, but only after I’d backed over it with my SUV and maybe stomped on it a little with my heels.The sender of the package was my son’s other grandmother. I call her that because she is a stranger to him, a person who last saw him when he was two years old, on the day after his father’s death. I’ve talked about this here before, about my bewilderment with the people who have abandoned us. (See October 5th, 2002) Rather, I should say, abandoned him…

Not long after the October 5th post, my son received another piece of mail from his other grandmother, this time in the form of a letter, or so I thought. I was more suspicious of it than hopeful that it was some attempt to reach out to him, so I opened it. What I found inside infuriated me: It was a copy of a court document regarding the heirs of the estate of his other grandfather. THIS was her way of telling me that my husband’s father had died?!!! I thought how cruel it was to have addressed to my son. I thought how cold it was that someone, anyone could not have even clipped out an obituary to enclose, so I did the search myself and found out that he had passed some three weeks earlier. Surely, then, this communication would be our last from her… Never assume, right?

In the kitchen my son opened the plain brown box, inside was a wrapped Christmas present for him, from “Gramma.”

“Mom, who’s Gramma?”
“Your other grandmother.”
“I have another grandmother?”
“Yes, your dad’s mother.”
“Oh.”
He shook the box a little.
“I wonder what it is? Can I put this under the tree?”
“Sure.”

I left it at that. What else could I do?

Kid Rock

2007-12-11T11:32:00.000-06:00

A few months back, a friend and I took a road trip. We were headed up near Muscle Shoals, but managed to get there by way of Tennessee. So our trip up was about twice as long as the trip back, but we were busy talking and listening to music so it was a lot of fun. It was on that trip that my friend introduced me to the musical stylings of Mr. Kid Rock… I used to think that he was too edgy for me, more of a screamer than a singer, but really he has a great voice and does some excellent guitar work to boot.

So not too long ago, I bought the new CD “Rock N Roll Jesus.” (Yes, the edited version!) It’s a great mixture of rock, rap, and even country music. One of the more engaging songs (to me, anyway) is “Half Your Age.” It’s one of those what-was-I-thinking-when-I-was-with-you songs with a country twang and lots of humor. I was listening to it in the car on the way home last night and my son and I sang along:
“I found someone new
Who treats me better
She don’t bitch about things we ain’t got
When I sing this tune
It don’t upset her
She’s half your age
And twice as hot”

Towards the end of the song my son reached over to turn the volume down to let me know that if the first girl was 40 then that would make the second girl 20, because 20 is half of 40.

Kid Rock = math skills… Cool!

Christmas Trees for Dummies

2007-11-28T11:33:00.001-06:00

This weekend my son and I set out to get a Christmas tree. Everything was going great --or so I thought—since we were able to pick out and pay for a tree, stop at the drug store and cruise through the drive-thru all within an hour. “This will be a breeze,” I thought… Then the real fun started:

I won’t bore you with all the gory details, but would like to spare as much suffering as possible to the rest of you out there. Please, learn from my mistakes:

Mistake #1: Eight foot Frasier Fir + high-heeled boots + hardwood floors = bruises.
Mistake #2: Steak knives are NOT meant for cutting tree branches, Christmas or otherwise.
Mistake #3: Cursing at tree and stand will not make tree stand up straight.
Mistake #4: After male relative or friend shows up with proper cutting tools and you are excited to finally be able to screw the screws into the tree stand, make sure you have ALL the legs attached first.
Mistake #5: Unless pine needles and sap are part of the dress code, don’t wear anything during tree-setting-up process that you plan to wear anywhere else.

I hope this helps!

P.S. The tree looks beautiful, if I do say so myself.

Goodbye, Dear Friend

2007-10-19T11:34:00.001-05:00

Buddy...

The perfect name for our friend, who left us yesterday... It was one of the toughest decisions I've ever had to make, especially with the knowledge that my son would be devastated. He was. When I picked him up from school yesterday, he wanted to know what was wrong. I said there were a couple of things I had to talk to him about. The first was completely insignificant, and he knew it. He asked me if Buddy was OK. I had to tell the truth: No. We were going home to tell Buddy goodbye, and my dad would take him to the vet. He cried while I drove. I cried while I drove. We held hands--tightly.

When we got home, my son and I sat on the living room floor together with Buddy. We petted, talked, cried, took pictures. My son would be fine one minute, sobbing the next. My parents arrived soon after, and my mom said it hurt her just to look at the dog... In the past week, the tumor on his leg had gotten so big that I could not fit my hand around it. He could not walk on it. He had not eaten. He wouldn't even go outside. This was the right thing to do, wasn't it? I asked my dad that question as he and I helped him into the back of their car. Yes, he said, it was.

We said our goodbyes there in my driveway. By then my sister and my niece were there, but I barely remember what they said or when they left. My son and I kissed our friend goodbye and sobbed. He so uncontrollably that I had to carry him into the house. I am so thankful to my parents for sparing my son and me the hour's drive to the vet, because I know how it was hard for them, too. Buddy had been their dog before us. He was a true family member.

We love you and we will miss you, Buddy. May you rest in peace.

TGIF

2007-09-21T11:36:00.001-05:00

“Ahhh…. Friday,” I thought as I stood in the shower this morning…

Later as I was telling my son for the umpteenth time to brush his teeth, he says:
“Hey, Mom, Thank God it’s Friday!”
“Woohoo!!!” was my reply.
“Woohoo!!!” he says back.
“T.G.I.F!!!” I offer.
“Mom,” he says from the hallway, “It’s actually F-R-I-D-A-Y!”

Jars of (Kid) Wisdom

2007-09-13T11:37:00.001-05:00

You have probably seen them on store shelves and in catalogues: Those cutesy ceramic jars with a cork top where people stash their loose change. Some say things like “Beach House Fund” or “Mad Money.” They even make them for men with things like “Dad’s Ferrari Fund” or “Green Fees.” Well I’ll tell you right now that “cutesy” is never a term that I’ve been saddled with. Me, I’m sarcastic. Dry, even. My sense of humor comes from a different place, but not a bad one…

I’ll get back to the jar thing in a minute, because I do have a point. Please bear with me…

Two nights ago was the culmination of a way-too-drawn-out relationship for me. I know I’m better off, but that realization didn’t come before a lot of tears and one nasty migraine to boot. Hard as I tried, I couldn’t hide my tears or frustration from my son. Finally I just told him that me and the boyfriend were no longer and that I was a little (OK, a lot) sad about it.

My son’s take on the whole deal:

“Mom, you know that jar you have?”
“Yeah?”
“Well that’s what he is.”

I couldn’t stop laughing...

My jar says, “Pains in the Ass.”

Cheeky

2007-08-15T11:39:00.001-05:00

Sunday night I awoke around midnight with some mysterious allergic reaction to... I don't know what. Whatever it is ain't pretty, and has taken me to the doctor twice in two days for injections into my, uh, posterior region...

Last night as my son and I were discussing the events of the day, I told him about getting another shot. He asked me if I was doing better, and I said I thought I was.

"Well I hope so," he said, "you're running out of butt cheeks."

Buddy

2007-08-13T11:38:00.001-05:00

Even before he took the x-ray, I could tell Dr. Larry was not happy with what he was looking at: Our dog, Buddy, had developed a large knot on his ankle and had been limping. I figured it was a fatty tumor, arthritis even, but the doc's face told me a different story. Dr. Larry asked my son and me to come back in an hour so he could do the x-rays...

After our trip to Wal-Mart and a quick bite to eat, we were back. Dr. Larry smiled genuinely when he took me in to show me the film: "Osteosarcoma," he said. Our dog has bone cancer. I won't go into the details of the prognosis and possible treatments (there are few). No, he isn't in pain. No, you don't need to do anything different than what you do every day. No, you couldn't have prevented it. Now what I am wrestling with is how to deal with it where my son is concerned...

I haven't told him.

I feel like telling him will start this painful countdown for him: "Mom, has it been four months, yet?" Or, "Mom, how many more days until Buddy dies?" Truth is, I just don't know what to do. My friends and family say different things: Don't tell him at all. Tell him Buddy ran away. Go away for the weekend and let us take care of it...

Unfortunately in my case my son has a better grasp on death than most kids his age: As I've mentioned here before, his father died when he was two. I try the best I can to answer his questions about it honestly and appropriately. In this case, though, I feel like I'm lying to him. I know that regardless of my actions he will be heartbroken. I am, too, and not just because Buddy is a member of our family, but also because his kinship with my son is a beautiful thing. They are inseperable when we are at home, and Buddy's patience has been a joy to watch. Last week, my son put a 'do rag on Buddy's head. It was hilarious to my son (OK, to me, too!) Buddy sat there and took it like a champ. He's worn my old t-shirts, Mardi-Gras beads and a jingle bell at Christmastime. He's a gorgeous creature that could be mistaken for a small horse when at full gallop around the back yard. He is our friend.

How do you tell a child that their friend is going to be gone forever?