...is this thing on?

Mother's Day & Morel Hunting

We went up to Traverse City this weekend for Mother's Day and some morel hunting.   My friend, who shall remain nameless, thought that morels were some sort of a small woodland creatures.  No, we were not killing any critters this weekend.  We were simply trying to find an elusive, edible mushroom.

I'd like to tell you that this was us right as we started off on our trek.  Sadly, this was at the end of our hunt and as you can see we found no morels.  Not a one.  They just hadn't popped yet. We've had luck in years past at this location, and this is the first year that we came back totally empty handed.  Bah!

We did enjoy our walk in the woods though.  Ava kept up really well, which surprised me.  Especially because the area where we go moreling is really hilly and steep.  She kept picking me trillium, which were blooming all over the place.  She's so sweet.  The kids were even somewhat cooperative and let me snap a few photos of them. 

Hope all you moms had a lovely Mother's Day.  You will be happy to know that I did receive a shooting vest.  Did you know that lipstick tubes fit into the shell holders perfectly?  They do.  It's awesome.  I've always wanted a special place to hold my lipstick when shooting.

Back in the Day: Barb 1985/1986

Barb, Barb, Barb...

Oh Barb...  Let's discuss this bit of amazing 80s awesomeness. 

As always, I would like to point out several things, because as we all know this is the best part and I would HATE for you to miss out on some juicy detail.

1. Let's start with the hair shall we?  Can you say bi-level bob?  Oh yeah...  That is some serious goodness.  I'm not sure who came up with the whole bi-level haircut thing, but rest assured I totally had one too.  "Let's cut one side way shorter than the other and we will swoop it around diagonally to the other side!  You will look FABULOUS darling!  Fabulous!"
2. Barb, looks like she fell off the preppy bus.  Did you notice that polo with the turned up collar?  I'm only surprised she isn't wearing two...  layered.  Remember that sweet look.  Don't lie!  You all totally did that too.
3. I do have one big question about that shirt...  Where the hell are your shoulder pads? 
4. I'm pretty sure those are Esprit Capri pants.  Whatever happened to Esprit?  All you females know what I'm talking about.  Esprit was the poop.  And I could be totally wrong...  maybe they were Palmettos.
5. Pearls.  Yup.  Pearls.  Dude...  How old were you here?  16?  17?  35?  I finally just wear pearls now (black ones) and I didn't get them until I was 35.  You better have a really good reason for wearing pearls.
6. I'm fairly certain that those are Jellies, but can't be 100% sure...  Barb?  Are you wearing Jellies?
7. I have a feeling Barb had several Duran Duran posters adorning her bedroom walls and that Simon LeBon was her favorite.
8. I'm betting that Barb really wanted some of those Madonna black lace leggings, but her Mom said "no", however, she was able to get away with wearing a few jelly bracelets.
9. PS - What the hell are you holding?

Miss Barb also sent me the following spectacular photo from 1986.

   

1. Starting with the hair...  As you can see, her bi-level bob grew out, however, she acquired a spectacular perm.  Please do not let the red rose or something or other in her hair escape you!  That is a really nice touch and truly ties the whole awesome outfit together.  Don't you agree? 
2. Barb, why was your date a gay college professor?
3. Oh...  He wasn't gay?  Was he sure?  Regardless, he clearly was trying to emulate both George Michael and Andrew Ridgely of Wham with that amazing hair.  Seriously.  That is one SWEET bleached blond mullet.  He too found the Sun In, I see.
4. What the hell is with that tan wool jacket and maroon vest?  Seriously...  Was he also wearing sock garters with his argyle socks? 
5. I see he found the joy of the tanning booth.  I hope he doesn't have melanoma.
6. That red dress is simply divine.  Please tell me that it is a bridesmaid dress and that you were in a wedding and had no choice but to wear it....  No?  You picked it out yourself?  Oh.  I see...  Well, those poofy off the shoulder sleeves with the decorative rose/bow combo thingamabobs are lovely.
7. There are those pearls again...  I have to admit that I'm more comfortable with you wearing them with this fancy dress, than with the previous ensemble.
8. I can't be quite certain...  But, I'm thinking that is blue eyeshadow!   

If you are a new reader, I'm sure you are wondering what the hell I am doing.  Well, I'm making fun of people (myself included).  Duh!  Several months ago, I started posting really awesome pictures of myself from the eighties.  They are rather amusing.  People liked it and asked for more.  For more amazing eighties goodness click here.  Last week I asked for volunteers, and to date I've received photos from NINE brave souls.  If you too would love to have me humiliate you discuss your eighties amazingness on the Internet you can send me some of your pictures.  The more extreme the better.  Click here for more information.       

Play and repeat, and repeat, and repeat.

My kids get hooked on certain songs and demand that I play them over and over and over as I chauffeur them to school/daycare.  What they call the songs and what the actual titles are differ greatly.  However, by using my amazing Mom superpowers, I have managed to decipher their language and have figured out what the hell they are talking about, so I can appease their musical demands.

For a while they were stuck on "the robot song", which is actually called Stray Dog and the Chocolate Shake by Grandaddy.  I can see where they got that.  The first line of the song talks about robots working in the dark.  Then they were stuck on "the fishy hands song", which is actually A-Punk by Vampire Weekend.  If you have seen the video, you may recall that there is a part where they wear fish puppets on their fingers.  My kids have seen this video lots.  Lately they are hooked on Madonna's "chicken song".  Huh?  Chicken song?  What the hell?  It's 4 Minutes in case you were wondering...  Perhaps they think the dude saying "freaky, freaky" at the beginning is saying "chicken, chicken".

So, for the past week or so, I have been able to listen to nothing but the "chicken song"...   Errrrrr...  I mean 4 Minutes by Madonna on the trek to school/daycare.  I typically get to hear it about 4 times in a row.  I've tried telling them that there are other good songs on the CD, but they want nothing to do with any other stinking song.  Bah!  Bah, they say!  Ava cries if I let the CD accidentally go to track 3.  Clearly, I am a horrid parent.  Go ahead.  Call CPS on me.         

I could be worse though...  At least they like my music.  I refused to ever go down the Barney path with my kids.  I can watch 20 episodes of Sponge Bob Square Pants in a row, but I draw the line at kid music.  I figure if it makes parents want to poke their own eyes out with a plastic spork, it clearly couldn't be good for children.  Besides, I think it is important to start their music education early.  There is a lot of ground to cover...   Especially with my enormous music collection.  Chris is the same way.  However, he usually subjects them to the likes of Cheap Trick or The Ramones.  We are trying to expose them to the finer things in life, you know. 

Someone was smoking doobies at the gym.

The first time I smelled it was several weeks ago during one of my normal 5:00 am episodes at the gym.  What I found weird about that day in particular was the fact that I was the only one there.  There are typically about 5-7 of us there at that time.  However, it was Friday, so I suppose all the regulars woke up and and said "screw it, I'm not going today" (kind of like I did this morning).  My gym is open 24 hours, but only staffed from 10:00 am to 8:00 pm, so we have key cards to get in whenever we want.

I walked in, and went to hang up my coat and that that is when the smell hit me, and it was PUNGENT.    Good Lord!  The coat hooks are right in between the storage closet and the men's shower room.  I looked around and noticed that I was the only one there.  Perhaps the doobie smoking culprit had just left.  Perhaps it was the cleaning crew.  I'm thinking not though, because I've seen the cleaning crew on several occasions and they are sweet older ladies.  They don't match the profile of a typical doobie smoker.  It must have been some dude...

Saturday, I went to the gym and smelled it again!  It wasn't as strong as the last time, but the smell was definitely there.  OK, that's twice.  Who the hell is smoking pot at the gym?  What I want to know is how can someone smoke pot and workout?  How is that motivating?  Speed, yes.  Pot, not so much.  People are known for smoking pot and sitting on the couch, in the dark, with incense burning, Pink Floyd - Dark Side of the Moon playing in the background and eating a whole bag of Doritos while playing video games, but most definitely NOT working out.

Clearly, this doobie smoking person has never heard of an energy drink before...               

    

Pull!

Yesterday afternoon Chris and I met his uncle George at the Detroit Sportman's Congress to shoot a round of sporting clays.  Uncle George has been doing this for many, many, many years and is good.  Damn good.  He really knows what he is doing, so Chris and I wanted to go with him so he could give us some pointers.  This was my first time shooting a round of sporting clays and I CANNOT tell you how much fun it was.  Quite frankly, before I went I had no flipping idea what it was...  I thought we were just going to the range to shoot.  Der... I'm a dumb girl.

With sporting clays you go from station to station and each one is different than the last. You shoot up to 4 birds (clay targets) per station.  It's kind of like golf except you shoot stuff.  Woo hoo!  You can even rent carts.  We walked.  There are 13 stations at the DSC sporting clays range.  Sometimes the birds come from behind you.  Sometimes they come towards you.  Sometimes they come from the side.  Sometimes they are zingers and sometimes they are slowish.  Sometimes they roll and jump off of a ramp.  Those are called a rabbit.  No.  I'm not making that up.  I'm happy to report that I hit the bird 44% of the time (22 out of 50), which I don't think is too shabby for my first time.  Chris did much better than that and George whomped us both.  However, Chris told me that the first time he did sporting clays he got 16 out of 50. 

I shot the 28 gauge, which I wasn't sure I liked after shooting it the other night, but am happy to report that it is growing on me.  Especially because the 20 gauge beat the ever loving crap out of me.  It's a kicker and I had bruises to prove it.  The 28 gauge barely kicks at all, however, it is heavier because it is an automatic and I'm a weak little wussy girlie girl with no upper body strength.  I guess I just need to get used to this whole holding a gun thing.  Maybe I'll have ripped arms soon.  The downside to the 28 is that shells are totally expensive.  $9.00 - $11.00 per box.  Chris is going to have to take up reloading.  Gah! 

I was the only woman at the range besides the lady who ran the clubhouse.  If you women are in the mood for a lot of male attention, I would suggest that you head out to a gun club.  You would have thought that I had sprouted 3 heads or something by all the looks I got.  I think I scared some of the crusty old dudes.  "Pssst...  Do you see what I see?  That's a real live woman over there...  And she is shooting a shotgun...  Good Lord, have mercy!"  You will be happy to know that I opted not to reapply my lipstick while on the course, however, I had it in my pocket in the event of a makeup emergency. 

All kidding aside, I had a freaking blast and CANNOT wait to do it again.  Unfortunately, we will have to get a babysitter or hit up family to watch the kids, so Chris and I can go together.  These gun clubs frown upon children running through the shooting stations.  Go figure.  Geez.

Now, let the crickets fly...  I always have to laugh at the total lack or responses whenever I post something related to guns or shooting. 

*crickets*            

PS - I've asked for a shooting vest for Mother's Day.  Who knew you could accessorize when shooting!?!  Actually I want one to hold my shells, because Chris said he won't tote mine around all the time.   

*cue crickets again*          

 

Wii are doing our part...

To stimulate the economy that is. 

We got our George Dubbayah money on Friday.  When we were at Meijer (megalomart from hell) yesterday I asked Chris if he thought George Dubbayah would want us to spend some of our money on Mario Kart for Wii.  Chris thought that George Dubbayah absolutely wanted us to spend some of our money on Mario Kart.  We didn't buy it there because they were out of extra steering wheels.  We decided to make a stop at Best Buy, where we ran into the same scenario.  Then we hit Target.  Same scenario.  I said "screw it" and bought it anyway.  (You can play with the regular Wiimote and nun chuck in case you were wondering.)

For what it is worth, this is what the steering wheel looks like.  We let Griff use the wheel, 'cause we are nice parents. 

Chris and I used to play Mario Kart on Nintendo 64 all the time.  We always played it at my friend Ryan's house.  He had four controllers, so it was always a party favorite.  I can't even tell you how many hours we spent playing Mart Kart.  So, so, so many hours.  Needless to say, we were VERY excited when we found out that it was coming our for the Wii.

It is AWESOME.

So, if you don't hear from me for a while don't send out a rescue party.  I won't be dead.  I'll be playing Mario Kart.

 

Back in the Day: Alan - 1986/1987

Alan gets super kudos for being the first brave soul to volunteer for public humiliation...  Errr...  I mean discussion of his senior portrait circa 1987.  Go Alan!  I'm assuming he actually had his picture taken in the early fall of 1986 though, if we are going to get all technical and stuff.  Clearly Alan is shameless and has no dignity either.  We should be BFFs. 

So, without further adieu...

   

Now, I've been looking at this photo for several days and the first thing that hit me was the butt crack hair part.  See, this is what has thrown me.  The butt crack hair part could go several ways. 

1. He could have been one of those guys in high school that drove a jacked up pickup truck with a gun rack, enormous tires and went 4-digging (mudding, 4x4ing) all the time.  I don't see a pathetic attempt at a mustache though, so I'm thinking no. 
2. Or, he could have been one of those "totally rad" guys who wore a lot of O.P. t-shirts and checkered Vans.  If this is the case, I'm pretty sure he drove a Subaru Brat with those awesome seats in the back and drank Strawberry Crush a lot.  I don't see any "party in the back" action going on with his hair, but his mom may have made him cut that off for his senior portraits.  I've seen this happen before.  (Chris looks like a chia pet in his senior portrait because his mom made him cut his Mohawk off.)      
3. Or, he was a jock, but was friends with several of the New Wave kids, like his childhood best friend "Steve" and secretly wanted to wear eyeliner and embrace his inner Robert Smith, but knew if he did he would get his ass beat by the entire football team.  So, he only listened to The Cure with his girlfriend, because she liked it and it was playing in her car stereo often.  I'm pretty sure that if you dug through his old cassette tapes you would find a mix tape that his girlfriend made him with plenty of The Cure on it.
4. Or, I could be totally off base on all accounts.
5. Any way you look at it, I'm pretty sure he wore tight 501s and tapped a few kegs in his day.

Opinion Polls & Market Research

I do wonder what exactly Alan was thinking about when this photo was taken.  It could have been a myriad of things.  Such as:

• How does one actually "Walk Like an Egyptian?"
• Are my lips TOO glossy?
• Why is it that "Boys Don't Cry?" 
• What is so awesome about "West End Girls" as opposed to East End Girls?
• I totally want to "Wang Chung" tonight.  Everybody else is.
• Hmmmmm...  What did I do with my maroon Member's Only jacket?
• I love my shiny, shiny watch.

Now, you will be happy to know that sometime between 1986/1987 and now Alan quit parting his hair like that.  I checked.  I totally poked around on his blog. 

You guys are awesome!

I have spectacular 80's photos from five people now, with promises from many others.  Here's what I'm going to do.  I will have a little flashback Friday action going on for the next few weeks.  Each Friday, starting with tomorrow, I will "showcase" some full on 80's awesomeness.  The other days of the week you will have to deal with my regular ramblings.

I'm going to leave you with two words to think about...  Awesome hair.

PS - If you want to know what the heck I am talking about click here.     

Deaf, Dumb & Blind

This post is not about Helen Keller.  No, really.  My children think that I am hard of hearing, stupid and that my eyes don't work.

Have you ever watched America's Funniest Home Videos with a six and almost three year old?  Hey...  Everyone enjoys having a good laugh.  You'd think it would be fun, right?  Watch a silly video, have a good chuckle and all is right with the world.  It is neither fun, nor enjoyable.  In fact, it is pure torture and not because the videos aren't funny or the host is a dork.  It is because my kids have to repeat what happened over, and over, and over, and over, like I wasn't sitting there on the couch RIGHT next to them watching it.  Griffin is especially guilty of this, but as I have mentioned previously, he often exceeds his daily allowed number of words.  We are thinking of hitting him with overage charges, like when you go over your cell phone minutes.

"Mom!  That cat...  it just jumped up and scared that guy!"

"Mom...  Did you see that cat scare that guy?"

"It was running...  and it jumped and scared that guy!"

"Mom, did you see it?" 

"Did you see that cat?"

American Funniest Home Videos should be renamed the Yell at Your Kids Show, because that is what happens.  They repeat everything.  We can't hear anything.  We miss everything.  They get yelled at.  Nothing like a little family bonding time, eh? 

As for being deaf, they are confident that I cannot hear anything that they say, so they both repeat it.  Over and over and over and over and over.  I promise you dear children that I CAN hear you.  I am just ignoring you.  It's not that I don't love your both dearly, because I do.  Oh, I do.  SO much.  However, my ears are just full and I can no longer listen to your 15 minute stories about Pokemon or listen to you tell me that you have the pink crayon for the 20th time.  I'm sorry.  When you are a parent you will understand.

Additionally they do not believe that I can hear the oven/microwave timer, dryer or washer buzzer, the doorbell or the telephone, even though I am in the same room with them.  Case and point, tonight at dinner the phone rang and Ava turned to me and said "the phone is winging Momma".  I was maybe two and a half feet away from her.  Tops.

The best part though is that they think I am stupid.  Especially Griffin.  He thinks that I am a super dumb ass.  For example, several weeks ago, Griffin was trying to tell me something about Star Wars that, HELLO, everyone knows.  Our conversation went like this:

GRIFFIN: "Blah, blah, blah, story about Star Wars everyone knows."

ME:  "Yes, Griffin, I know."

GRIFFIN: "You don't know that Mom!"

ME:  "Yes, I do, Griffin."

GRIFFIN: "Ehhhhh (snitty sound)...  Mom, I've seen like five of the Star Wars movies Mom.  How many have YOU seen?  I know more about Star Wars than you do."

ME:  "I've seen all six of of them Griffin.  The first one came out when I was five.  I've seen them all many, many, many times.  Sigh... " 

GRIFFIN: "Well, you don't know as much as I do." 

Then, a couple of weeks ago, he wanted me to open up a DVD, which ironically was The Empire Strikes Back.  As I was removing the plastic and such from the DVD the following conversation occurred:

GRIFFIN:  "Mom...  You have to take those white stickers off!"   

ME:  "Yes, Griffin, I know."

GRIFFIN:  "Mom, you aren't doing it right!  Let me do it!"

ME:  "Griffin, DUDE, (yes I call my kids dude) I worked in a music/video store for five years and was a manager most of that time.  I know how to remove security stickers from DVDs and CDs.  I'm a professional."

-

My kid doesn't even think I am smart enough to remove stickers from DVDs and he is only six...  I can't wait until he's a teenager...  Ava too for that matter.  I betcha it is going to be real fun and stuff.   

Seeking: Brave Souls

I've been asked by a bunch of people to post entries from the "make fun of photos from the 80's" series much more frequently.  However, I think it would be waaaaaaaaaaay more fun if there were photos of people other than me.  Aren't you sick of seeing me in all of my 80's high school glory?  So, I'm asking you, the readers of my blog, to participate.  If you are brave, scan a photo, from a dance or otherwise and send it to me.  If there are bits of back story that just beg to be told, include those too.

I promise you the following:

• I won't post last names.  Heck, if you want an alias I can do that too.
• I won't make fun of your attractiveness, pimples or pudge, because I'm not mean.
• Hair, make-up, shoes and clothes are absolutely fair game.
• Surroundings are fair game too...  Like your Depeche Mode posters in the background...  Oh, yeah.  That kind of stuff will not escape me.

So...  Who's up for a little public humiliation?  It's for a good cause...  Other people's amusement.  Anyone else out there brave (or stupid) like me?  Who's game?

If you are game, click on the link underneath my photo over there <-------- on the left.

ETA:  That was quick...  I have one brave soul (victim) already.   Now have pictures from two three FOUR brave souls and promises from several others.  Oh, and they are good...  So, so good.  Come on people!

A Random bit of Funny... Well, to me anyway.

I have to listen to music while working.  It's a thing.  I simply must have music on and cannot work without it.  No music, no workie.  Lately however, when I press play on Windows Media Player a sound bite comes up instead of the CD I just put in.  Yeah...  The sound bite is a loop of Brett Michael's final words from Rock of Love II, which are, and I quote "let's go have hot monkey sex."  It loops four or five times. 

I have no idea how to get my computer to knock it off.  I can't find it to delete it.  It's a complete mystery.

I totally embarrassed myself the first time it happened, because I couldn't hear anything playing, so naturally I turned my speakers up REALLY loud.  That was a bunch of awesome.  People were doing that lean and peek thing out of their cubes.  You know...  They were trying to see what exactly I was up to in that there office of mine. 

Just trying to listen to some music as I work.  Carry on.  Nothing to see here.  I'm not trying to sexually harass you or anything.  I promise.  I'm totally not screwing off either.  I'm working.  Need music to work.  Move along. 

I keep forgetting about it and of course it keeps happening, because I'm clearly about as sharp as a bowling ball.

It's been a while since I have shared an embarrassing high school dance photo from the 80's. So, for your viewing pleasure, I present to you Commencement Ball 1987.

Since I have no dignity and am utterly shameless, I thought I would share another one of my priceless high school formal dance photos for your amusement. My high school had a butt load of formal dances.  Seriously, there were three every year.  Not that my friends and I ever actually stayed around to dance.  No.  We were WAY too cool for that nonsense. Pshaw!  We typically just used a "dance" as an excuse for an extended curfew.  We were smart like that.    

Oh sure, we'd get all dressed up and go to the dance, but we'd typically stroll in late, get our pictures taken and then leave.  We might make a lap around the dance floor (a.k.a. the gym), to see what everyone else was wearing so we could then duly make fun of them.  One year there were several girls in these ENORMOUS pink antebellum type dresses with huge hoop skirts.  How on earth they even got into the car still is a mystery to me.  They couldn't even sit and looked ridiculous dancing.  Heh.   

Now, I, on the other hand, looked totally cool...  as you can see here.

 

Now, I would like to point out a few things that I would hate for you to miss...  because this is the best part.  (Feel free to click on the fabulous photo to see it larger.)

• Starting with the hair, as we always do, I would like for you to know that 1987 was the year that I discovered Sun In and hydrogen peroxide.  Oh yes.  It was.  I applied it in massive doses so I could be blond.
• The tail is proudly displayed and has been crimped to match my crimped "in the face" bangs.  To get the crimp that I proudly displayed here, one would have to spray their hair with copious amounts of Aqua Net and then use the curling iron backwards to create large crimps.  I loved this trick!
• Amy, who was my best friend, has enormous hair, and her dude is sporting a semi-mullet.  Sweet.
• Why is my date smelling my hair?  Does it smell like pungent chemicals perhaps?
• Why are we holding rose scepters?  And the main question is, did we use our powers for good or evil that night?  I presume evil. 
• Where on God's green earth did Amy find royal blue leather pumps that perfectly matched her dress?

I had to lighten the photo to show you the next bit of goodness...

• I'm wearing witch boots with my formal dress.
• Sadly, you cannot see them in the photo, but I was also wearing fishnet stockings.  Roar!!!
• Our dates were actually college boys and were both 21.  Perhaps our parents thought is was OK because they were attending the Mormon college in Rexburg, ID.  It used to be called Ricks College (Napoleon Dynamite wears a Rick's College T-shirt in the movie by the way) but is now BYU Idaho.
• These boys bought us beer all the time.  They were not very saintly at all. 

For more laughter at my expense, you can click here to see some of the other fabulous 80's photos I have posted.  My personal favorite is still this one. 

The Monster Truck Rally

I remember when he asked me to go. 

"What?!?  You want me to go where?  A monster truck rally?"

"On purpose?"

"Are you insane?" 

"Do I look like the type of person who goes to a monster truck rally?"

"HELLO...  I do not have a mullet."

"Why on earth would you want to go and do that?"

To say that I thought he was insane would have been an understatement.  People like me, you know, who were cool and stuff, did not go to Monster truck rallies.  *Sunday!  Sunday!  Sunday!*  No, we cool people went to hip bars/clubs (like where I met him, duh) and concerts and art shows, man...  Not a monster truck rally.  I'm sure.  <eye roll> 

But, I was in love.

Truly, deeply, madly in love.

I think we can all agree that love can make you do things that you would never have done if it was on your own accord, and I simply wanted to be with him.  We were at that point in our relationship where all we wanted to do was be with one another.  We were also at that point in our relationship where people told us to "get a room".  Often.  Time seemed to go so fast when we were together and so slow when we were apart.  The hours apart were agony.  I was going to school full-time and working full-time, so my days were very long, but I always made time for him.  Always.

So, because I wanted to be with him, I begrudgingly agreed to go to a monster truck rally.  When the night of the big event finally arrived, we met some friends who were also going (thank God!) at a bar, where we proceeded to pre-func.  You know...  get a buzz on before the actual function.  We caught a cab over to the King Dome, which has since been imploded, and our cabbie was listening to reggae music and burning incense, however, it did not cover up the smell of what he had recently been smoking.  (Hey...  I went to college you know.) 

The cabbie dumped us out close to the entrance and we began our ascent up the long ramp to get into the Dome.  After being ticketed and entering, we bought beers that were bigger than our heads and eventually found our seats.  As I glanced around the arena I noticed a lot of men, a lot of boys and a lot of mullets.  To be fair, I also noticed a lot of families.  The energy was intense.  I think it was the sheer amount of testosterone in the air.  When the lights went down and the announcer came on the crowd erupted.  I watched two young boys who were sitting next to me go completely bat shit crazy insane with anticipation.  Oh. My. God. It. Is. GRAVEDIGGER!  *Boing, boing, freak, freak, freak*

What I remember most about the show was laughing so hard I thought I would die.  I was laughing for many reasons; the people, the idea that I was at a monster truck show, the high percentage of mullets in one area and because, well...  Big ass monster trucks were crashing around a stadium and wrecking other cars/trucks.  I also remember the smell of gasoline and fumes in the air, which towards the end of the show became quite pungent.

I was with friends.  I was with the love of my life.  I had a good time.  I had a good time at a monster truck rally surrounded by men with mullets.  There, I said it.  I had a good time.   

So, the moral of this story is, try something new that you NEVER thought you would do in a million, zillion years. You might just like it. 

-

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OR, maybe it is, if you drink enough beer even a monster truck rally can be fun.
       

      

Shorty?

When I work out I tend to listen to a lot of rap, hip-hop and R&B/pop music via VH-1 or the infamous MTV, which really needs to just change their name, but I digress...  They actually do show videos at 5:00 am, in case you were wondering.  Normally, I wouldn't listen to that kind of music, because I am a music snob and prefer more high brow tunes.  However, when I'm working out I need something with an upbeat tempo and smashing beats to keep me motivated.  The mopey melancholy crap I generally listen to doesn't tend to make me want to work out.  Maybe have a good cry, or sit my butt on the couch, or have a drink, but for sure not work out.

I have noticed one thing about these genres of music.  A sort of common thread amongst them, if you will.  The men keep referring to "shorty".  I have a question for you, dear Internet.  What or who is "shorty"?  Are they referring to their man parts?  Or is a "shorty" a woman?  I ask you this in all honesty.  I truly just don't know and it has been bugging me.   

I've been known for my dimness before.  In general, I'm pretty dang smart, however, there are things that fly over my head all the time.  I exchange emails with a friend from work and I have a real knack for responding with something that could be considered terribly, hilariously dirty, completely on accident.  Like the time he asked me if I was still on a conference call and I responded "I just got off!  WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!  I won't even notice it until he points it out.  Clearly, he's a dirty, dirty, monkey.  Also, I only just recently realized that the song Lola by The Kinks was about a transvestite.  I was driving home from work and it was on the radio and I was singing along, just as I had done 300,000 other times, and a light bulb went off in my head.  Hey...  WHAT did they just say? 

I immediately called Chris.

<Ring.  Ring.  Ring.>

CHRIS:  "Hello?"

ME:  "Is Lola by The Kinks about a transvestite?!?"

CHRIS:  **Uncontrollable laughter**

ME:  "Is Lola by The Kinks about a transvestite?!?"

CHRIS:  "WHAT?!?" 

ME: "No, really?  Is it?  It is.  Isn't it?  Oh my God!  Where have I been?!?" 

CHRIS:  "How old are you?  What?  Have you never HEARD the song before?"   

ME:  "Shut up!  I've heard it a million times...  I just never realized what he was singing about.  Oh my God.  I'm so stupid!"

CHRIS:  *snicker, snicker, snicker*

-

So...  Can you please clue me in?  What's a "shorty" ?

So Awkward it Hurts

So, why not blog about it!?!

I was blog hopping the other day and I came across this blog (which I rather enjoy by the way): Que Sera Sera and I was reading and clicking around and I found a section called cringe and with a title like that I just HAD to click on it.  So, the dealio is, once a month people get together at a bar in Brooklyn and read from their teenage diaries.  Oh. My. God.  I would love to be in that audience.  You know it would be a combination of utter hilarity and total empathetic awkwardness that just makes you hurt. 

I would liken it to the first time I watched South Park.  The very first one I saw was with Jesus and Brian Boitano ice skating and the kids kept calling one another "dildo".  I kept wavering between laughing so hard it hurt and thinking "they can't say that on TV...  They can't call one another a dildo in the presence of Jesus!"  The Office does the same thing to me.  Must be because I work in Human Resources. I am very empathetic person.  I'm not the cold hard bitch that I portray myself to be.  I can't even watch "The Price is Right" without getting too anxious for the people playing that I have to turn the channel.  I can't handle the thought of seeing them lose.

So, yeah...  I would love to go to Brooklyn and go to one of those readings.  That isn't likely to happen anytime soon.  However, in honor of all the brave souls who have shared their teenage thoughts with a room full of strangers I will leave you, dear Internet, with the following... 

I present to you January 4th and 5th, 1989, senior year of high school...  I about spit my wine out as I was reading page 2. 

High school boyfriend Matt found my blog a few months ago...  Don't know if he is still reading, if so, he's going to get a kick out of this one.

Hillbilly Date Night

Chris and I had a totally romantic Thursday evening!  We went to the the gun range.  Sweeeeeeeeet.  I know.  However, I've been wanting to learn how to shoot trap forever and when my dad died I acquired several guns from his arsenal that would allow me to do so.  One of the guns was at the gunsmith for the past 3 - 3 1/2 months getting all fixed up, because, well...  it was broken.  Some doojobby or doohickey wasn't working on it.  Don't ask me.  I have no clue.  Chris knows about that stuff.  We finally got the call a couple of days ago that it was ready so Chris just picked it up this week.   

We found this gun range a couple of weeks ago totally by accident when we went out geocaching.  It's close to the house and cheap, which are both good things.  Chris bought some clay pigeons, a hand thrower and shot gun shells, and our main goal tonight was to get me comfortable with the guns.  I plan to take some lessons soon and I don't want to look like a complete and total ass.  I'm against that.  Looking like an ass, I mean.  I'm happy to say that I am now comfortable with both guns and was kicking some serious ass with the 20 gauge for a bit, which is rather ironic since it is the one that kicks hardest.  I got five in a row.  Go me.  Dad would be so proud. 

CLEARLY you don't want to mess with me.

*smirk*

      

OK... and it actually wasn't a TRUE date night, because we brought the kids.  We bought them pizza, bug juice and candy and they had a picnic in the back of the Jeep and watched a Sponge Bob Square Pants DVD.  We actually paid Griffin to watch Sponge Bob Square Pants, errr...  I mean his sister and he did a great job.  Man...  Kids have it good today.  We would have just had to go play with rocks or something back in my day.

As I was loading up the gun getting ready for my next shot, we heard Griffin say "Dad!  I see a deer!" , and Chris and I both looked up and lo and freaking below there is a deer right in the middle of the gun range!  I'm pretty sure that deer was not a member of deer mensa international.  Yeah.  Not so much.  Chris and I had shot through about two boxes of shells at that point, so it's not like we were being quiet or anything.  Guns being shot are pretty loud in general.  Then two more deer went walking on the edge of the range.  I know Chris was TOTALLY thinking "where the hell are all these stupid deer during deer season?!?"  It was as if they were taunting him.

Then the really, super dumb one came back AGAIN!  It was just waltzing around in the middle of the range again like it owned the place.  Lucky for it, we were the only ones at the range.   

Hello dumb ass!  We are shooting guns in your general direction.  You could get shot and stuff and die.  It could hurt.  There would be blood.  Your blood.  Do you think you could remove yourself from the gun range?  You know...  'Cause we are shooting guns toward you.   

Chris tried scaring it by yelling, doing ooga booga monster arms, chasing it, etc.  Nothing was working.  So, he threw a couple of clay pigeons at it to get it to move.  It still wouldn't get off the range.  The dumb thing went over to the clay pigeon and sniffed at it!  I'm so glad I had my camera with me tonight, because I'm not sure anyone would have believed us without pictures.  Maybe they are all deaf deer.

   

It finally boogied when a dog, who belonged to some people who were at the archery range, which is next to the trap range, saw it and went crazy.

Is that not just insane?

Proud Parental Moment #292: Plus an Oldie, but Goodie

Last evening was completely lovely outside, so I was hanging with the kidlets while they were playing in the yard before dinner.  In the span of about 40 minutes Ava uttered "oh my God!" four times.  Crap.  Each time I told her it was a no-no and she was not allowed to say that.  I gave her a mini lecture using my stern Momma voice and she would say "OK, Momma", all sweet and sheepishly, and then do it again.  Blast! 

The problem with littles saying stuff that they aren't supposed to say is that it is really, REALLY funny.  She had the intonation down pat!  I know I'm a terrible parent for finding it funny, but I do.  I'm easily amused and little kids cursing and fart jokes always do me in.  Do you know how hard it is to scold a child while you are cracking up?  Oh my God... 

I have NO idea where she picked that saying up.

*smirk*

While we are on the subject of kids saying things they aren't supposed to, I have to tell you about Griffin's infamous outburst.  We were up visiting Grandma and Grandpa Gailey in Traverse City one weekend when Griffin was about 2 and 1/2 or so.  We were going to go get ice cream and all of us were in the car together.  All of the sudden Griffin goes into this touretteish tirade and starts saying every curse word known to mankind. 

He was in the back seat in between Grandma and me...  He had the most devilish smile on his face during his vocabulary display so I know he TOTALLY knew what he was doing.  It seemed to be happening in slow motion.  He started out mild with "Jesus Christ" and "God Dammit", continued with bad, and worked up to really bad.  Yeah...  He dropped the F-bomb.  Oh. Yes. He. Did. With his grandparents in the car to hear it ALL.  That was pretty much the pinnacle of both Chris's and my parenting experiences.  We are clearly fantastic parents.

Would you like us to babysit for you?

We are really good at teaching children vocabulary enhancers.

      

If this doesn't make you shake it, I don't know what will.

Loving this song by Estelle.  Loving it.

Reminds me of the good ol' days when I used to go out dancing at the gay clubs with "the girls" in Seattle.  Usually some of "the girls" were actually boys.  We used to go to a club called the Brass Connection all the time, however, WE all called it the Ass Infection.  *snicker, snicker, snort*   

I'm pretty sure Chris and the kids are sick of me dancing around the living room doing my uncoordinated white girl moves to this by now. 

It's not a pretty sight, but I just can't help myself.

   

Is there a more beautiful sight?

I think not.

It's been official for several weeks now...  She's potty trained!

*and the clouds parted and the angels sang*

To be fair, she was really easy to potty train.  Especially since she went to Grandma and Grandpa's house for a week right as she was getting started.  Heh, heh, heh...  Now, Chris and I didn't do that on purpose.  We are mean, but not THAT mean.  She started showing interest and actually was going in the potty chair at daycare two days before she was supposed to go up to stay with them.  You know how it is with potty training...  Once they show an interest you can't ignore it.  Otherwise you might miss your opportunity... 

She got the majority of her accidents out of the way at their house and has only hand a handful here at home.   

No more diapers.

No more wipes.

No more diaper pail.

Life is good.

 

Dude, you are messing with my zen time.

You know how I go to the gym at 5:00 am almost every bloody weekday morning, right?  I've dropped that bit of mind numbing information several times, so I can't imagine you've missed it.  I don't do it to brag.  I do it so you will take pity on me, because 5:00 in the morning is really, really, really early.  It's still dark out you know...  I work full-time, plus have the family thing going on and quite frankly don't want to go to the gym after work for many reasons, several being:  I actually want to see my family, I hate fighting people for treadmills/bikes/etc., and I'm just too dang tired and lazy at that point in the day.  So, as much as I loathe getting up at 5:00 am, it is what I have to do.

Normally, the gym is nice and quiet at that time of day.  There are typically only 5-7 other insane people there at that time.  We will nod "hello" to one another or give a polite wave, but we don't speak to one another.  We all quietly go about our business, plug our headphones into the little HD TVs on our machines and do our workout thing.  Up until now it has been quite pleasant.  For the past couple of days though, there has been a new person at the gym.  She is chatty and she is loud.  I can hear her converation perfectly without removing my headphones and she is messing with my zen time.

I'll be the the first one to admit that I too LOVE talking about "Rock of Love", but not at 5:00 am.  I'm half asleep and am trying to pay attention to the really important Mariah Carey, Flo Rida or Usher video I'm watching.  Heck, watching anything at that hour of the day requires massive amounts of concentration by me.  I go to the gym sans coffee, and I NEED coffee to wake up.  Two big ass cups full.  So, I've already got a strike against me.  No coffee = comatose Ashley. 

In addition to being loud and chatty, this person is annoyingly chipper for that time of day.  Who is all bouncy and smiley at 5:00 am?  Who?  Aliens, lunatics and pod people.  That's who.

Good God, lady!  Do you not know what time it is?  Do you want me to show you where the clock is?  It's five FREAKING am!  I am trying to work out over here and your loud happiness is really making it hard for me to do so.  Working out at 5:00 am already blows, but your incessant twittering is making it somehow worse.  Gawd.  *hair-flip-stomp-stomp-stomp*  Do you mind?  Can't you see that I'm trying to get my groove on to this Madonna video and she only has 4 minutes to save the world?  Do you think that you could just zip it?  Or, perhaps take your loud happiness elsewhere? 

People suck.

Or MAYBE I'm just a bitch.

It could go either way.

            

 

Earth Day 2008

I spent my Earth Day 2008 spewing forth enormous amounts of emissions from my car today.  I found that to be rather ironic, considering the day and all that jazz.  This morning on my commute into work there was a five car wreck (you know we aren't allowed to call them accidents anymore).  So, I sat on the freeway FOREVER, just emitting fumes as I crept along trying to get past it.  It took me 30 minutes longer to get into work this morning.  Stupid gawkers.  It's not like there was any gore or anything either, just smashed cars.  I've got places to go people!  MOVE ALONG!

Then, at 10:30 am I got a call that one of my children had an "accident" (this term is still acceptable when talking about children's potty mishaps) and would I please bring in a whole new set of clothes for child.  Ugh.  So, off I trek all the way back across town, which is 18 miles each way mind you, gather new clothes for the child who had the accident and then headed to their school.  I gave my child the clean clothes and took the ucky ones.  What kind of a deal is that?  I got the crappy end of the stick for sure.

Since I had no gas left in my car I had to hit the gas station to fill up.  Gas is FREAKING $3.65 per gallon!  I'm talking about the bottom shelf stuff too, not the fancy smanchy super duper unleaded stuff. Plus the place where I go has a limit if you use a Visa or Master Card, be it a credit card or debit card.  For a Visa the limit is $50.00, so in order to fill up my car I have to do two transactions.  What kind of bull hockey doo is that?  Two transactions?!?  Visa needs to get with the freaking program and update that craziness.  Hello?!?  Can anyone at Visa even do math?  My tank only holds 17 gallons.  I'm not driving a Ford Excursion or something similarly gigantic.  I have a total pansy ass 2000 Chevy Tracker.  It's the gutless wonder, but it gets about 25 MPG and its paid for, so we are keeping her until she dies. 

So, I pretty much feel like a horrible person for all my extra ozone destroying emissions with it being Earth Day and all.  I'm actually quite the tree hugging earth muffin.  I'm known as the recycle Nazi in our house and have been known to yell at Chris a lot about it.  He throws stuff away that can be recycled all the time and it drives me nuts.  So, I'm always picking stuff out of the trash, washing it, and recycling it and then I yell at him.  The most often thrown away item is the empty peanut butter jar.  I *get* that it sucks to clean that sucker out, but we only have one earth man... 

Funny that this commercial is still totally relevant. 

Peace out.

Pouting - A lesson from the MASTER

So, I know I've mentioned before that Ava can be a beast to wake up.  Evil she beast from hell is probably the more appropriate term.  It doesn't matter if it is in the morning, or in the afternoon from a nap, the process is neither pretty nor enjoyable.  There are many tears, "I don't wannas" and THEN the pouting ensues.  Sometimes we get off easy and it only lasts for a few minutes, but other times we are tortured for a good 30-45 minutes.  Saturday we did not escape the nap wake up easily.  Not. At. All.

ME:  "Wake up Sunshine!  It's time to get up."  (Said in my most sunshine and sing songy rainbows voice.)

AVA:  Cry, cry, cry.  Pout, pout, pout.

ME:  "Come on, let's go outside."

AVA:  Cry, cry, cry.  Pout, pout, pout.

ME:  "Come on Ava, get it together.  Do you want to go BACK to bed?  I'll put you back to bed."

AVA:  "No go back to bed.  NO TAKE MY PICTURE!"  Cry, cry, cry.  Pout, pout, pout.

ME:  "OK, well if you are going to continue to act like this I am going to go somewhere else."

(Do, you like that?  I tried to reason with a 2 and half year old 'cause I'm smart and stuff.)

AVA:  Cry, cry, cry.  Pout, pout, pout.

(When she realized I wasn't watching her pout...)

AVA:  "Mama.  Mama.  MAMA!"  Cry, cry, cry.  Pout, pout, pout.

ME:  "I'm right here.  Do you want to go into the front yard for a while?"

AVA:  Cry, cry, cry.  Pout, pout, pout.

(Shaunte, dude, this one is totally for you.  It's not as good as these, but I know you will still enjoy it.)

ME:  OK... Let's go into the back yard.

Oh, hey...  BUBBLES!  Tra la la la la...

...and then she was all full of sweetness, sparkles and sugar and all was right with the world.

The end.

The Cup

Any day now we should be getting "the call" from Griffin's T-Ball coach letting us know when and where practices will occur.  Knowing that the season is upon us, we've been doing a bit of preparation.  Chris and Griffin have been practicing catching the ball in the back yard: pop flys, grounders and normal throws.  Chris picked up a new mitt for himself and he also took Griffin to the sporting goods store to purchase new cleats and man protection.  Apparently Griffin now needs a cup to protect the family jewels.  I asked Chris why he needs one this year when he didn't have one last year.  His reply?  "Oh, he needed one last year, we just never got him one."

Niiiiiice.

I'm not in charge of boy parts.  Anything to do with, or questions about, are referred to the man of the house.  I am not equipped, literally, to handle that sort of stuff.  In case you haven't previously realized, I'm a female.  I am in charge of bras, periods, hair product and pedicures, not penises. Needless to say, I was a bit astonished to find that Chris had fallen down on his job.  I'm sure if it was his twig and berries at stake he would have fully ensured that "the boys" were protected.  So, clearly Griffin was one lucky T-Baller last year.   

On Saturday night after bath time, unbeknown to me, Griffin decided to try his stuff on his stuff instead of putting on his pajamas.  He came marching out into the living wearing nothing but a jockstrap, with his heiny hanging out, giggling all the while.  He didn't even have the thing on straight, and had one of the leg straps around his waist... Here's the conversation that resulted:

GRIFFIN: "Mom, kick me in the nuts!"

ME:  "No!"

GRIFFIN: "Mom, kick me in the nuts!"

ME: "I'm not kicking you in the nuts."

GRIFFIN: "Mom, come on...  Kick me in the nuts!"

ME:  "Griffin, I'm NOT going to kick you in the nuts!"

GRIFFIN:  "Mom, it won't hurt...  I'm wearing a cup.  See?"

He then proceeds to punch himself in the nether region over and over...

(Chris then walks by.)

GRIFFIN:  "Dad!  Do YOU want to kick me in the nuts?"

Lord help us.

Nerd Season Opener

We are nerds.  Big fat ones.  You see, we are geocachers.  (If you don't know what geocaching is, then you will just have to click here for more information.)  I don't care that it is totally nerdy either.  I'm a nerd and I am proud!  DO YOU HEAR ME?  I am proud!  The weather today was PERFECT for nerding, er...  I mean geocaching. 

We headed out to Stony Creek Metro Park to find some geocaches that were new to us.  The metro park is enormous and beautiful, yet a bit tainted for me ever since Stephen Grant decided to disperse of his murdered wife's dismembered body parts in the park.  *shudder*  All you metro Detroiters know what I'm talking about...  They never found all of her parts.  I'm always afraid that I will find more than I bargained for when we go geocaching there.  Luckily today we did not find any stray body parts.  Just geocaches.  Phew!

We have this nerdy tradition that you have to take the picture of the person who finds the geocache.  I know...  We are THAT cool.  I actually found the first one.  As Chris was trying to get his bearings and figure out where we needed to go I glanced over and found it.  I have geocache super powers apparently.  Oh, and ESP too.

Griffin found the next one.  I wasn't even looking in the right spot.  Kids are great geocache spotters.  I think it is because they are so much closer to the ground.

As we were trekking through the forest we kept running across garter snakes.  We saw two or three.  Well, most likely we saw the same snake twice because it was in the same area.  Chris and Griffin were all over those poor snakes.  Ava and I were not.  We are not snake lovers.  We are both pretty much snake haters.  She freaked out after they were trying to catch the second one because she was out of her chariot.  She started girlie screaming and requested that I pick her up LOUDLY and many times.  So, I did.  Even though I pretty much wanted to do the same thing, but I knew I would squish her.  She had a death grip on me and wouldn't let me put her down.

On the way back out of the woods we walked by the area where they lost the first snake and lo and behold there was the snake again (or its creepy cousin) sunning on a branch.  I told them where the snake was and they headed off to get it.  Chris was determined that he was going to catch that snake this time, since the other two had gotten away, although, one snake gave him a present.  It peed on him.  Lucky! 

The creepy crawler is below. 

 

They caught it this time.  I guess the third time really is the charm.  Chris got it and then gave it to Griffin to hold.  It was squirming around like a crazed, well...  a crazed snake, so Griffin dropped it because it was freaking him out.  Smart boy.  Chris wanted to know if I got a picture of them holding the snake.  Yeah...  Ummmm...  No.  I was too freaked out to take photos.  I was afraid that crazy snake was going to bite one of them and then slither towards me.  I was poised and ready to run off down the trail screaming like a banshee at any given moment.  I couldn't think about taking photos!  Good Lord man!  That snake could have breathed on me or slithered near me or something equally terrifying.

Geez.

And then we went home...  and took naps.

The End.

       

You Can't Stop Progress*

Or gnomes for that matter...