You probably would run screaming after 15 minutes.

Last week I saw a bunch of really cool posts linking to A Week in My Life by Adventuroo and I thought about doing it.

For about a minute.

Then, based on the fact that I didn't want to scare either of my readers off, I decided against it.

Truth be told, I'm not sure I want you guys to know what I do all day.  Um... Pinterest, anyone?  Also, since it has a tendency to be a little crazy around here pretty much every flippin' second of evert flippin' day from time to time, I wasn't sure I wanted to broadcast it.  But it kept calling to me.

Do me! Do me!


Oh my god, that was not meant to be as dirty as it sounds.  Really.

Finally I decided that I wouldn't try to do a whole day, just a short little span.

I do this all day long.  Surely you can handle 15 minutes, right?

So here's my Wednesday, from 3:30 pm - 3:45 pm.  Approximately, anyway.

3:30 pm:   Zj is just getting off the bus, and cj (in his stroller) and I are standing at the bus stop to meet him.

3:31 pm:  Still walking home from the bus stop.  Cj is yelling "More sucker me! Peassssee???" and zj is talking a mile a minute.  "And today we had YOGURT BOX for lunch! But I didn't like it.  So I ate some bread that was shaped like a fish.  It's ok, my friend gave it to me.  And guess what, Mama?  Today was HEALTH day!  And we learned about germs and..."

3:32 pm: We arrive home, I get the boys inside, everybody sheds shoes, jackets, backpacks, etc. and zj asks for a snack.  Cj: "NACK! NACK!"

3:33 pm: I procure some chips and salsa, and give it to the boys in the living room.

3:34 pm: The boys seem intent on eating their snack, so I wander off into the library (which is also known as Mama's Naughty Room, because it's where Mama goes when she needs a time out) to screw around on the internet, which I announce to the boys as "Mama is going to the library to do some VERY IMPORTANT WORK."

3:35 pm: Zj yells "Mama!  Cj is DRINKING the SALSA!"  Cj: "MOE SAUCE!  MOE SAUCE!"

3:36 pm: I determined that cj was indeed drinking the salsa.

3:37 pm: Clean up the salsa.  

3:38 pm: Clean up more salsa, which is inexplicably on the underneath side of the ceiling fan.

3:39 pm: I lose sight of zj for a second, then hear him yell from the bathroom "MAMA! Come look at how big this poop is!"

3:40 pm:  I go check on zj.  It is indeed a very large poop.  Lucky for you, I did NOT photograph it, even though zj was heartbroken that I would not.

3:41 pm: Spray some air freshener, then check to see what cj had gotten into. 

3:42 pm: Determine that cj had pulled all the toys off the shelves in his room.  Whew.  I got lucky there.  That, sadly, was the best case scenario.

3:43 pm: Pick up some of the toys, pausing long enough to yell "Zj, stop torturing your brother!" and "Cj, stop licking your brother!  You are not a puppy!"

3:44 pm: I determine that it's nearly 4 o'clock, which is damn close to 5 o'clock, and begin my own cry:

"MOE SAUCE!  MOE SAUCE!"

I’m sharing my awesome with Momma Made It Look Easy and you can too.

I'm such a bad blogger.

It's true.

I'm a terrible blogger.

I don't go to cool blog conferences.

I don't have a connected circle of blogs that I am a part of, and active in.

I seldom participate in link-ups.

I don't post on a regular schedule.

I almost never remember to promote my blog on any social media site, which is ok, considering I almost never remember to seek out followers on said sites.

Some weeks - or months - I'll be inspired and post nearly every day.

Other times, weeks will pass without a solid post.

I have good ideas for posts them immediately forget them.

Truthfully, I'd love to do all these things, but since blogging is something that I just do, just for me, it usually... ok, always takes a back seat to laundry and dinner and kissing boo-boos and playing outside and...

You get the picture.

So yeah, I'm a bad blogger.

Oh, and I never, ever, ever remember to check my stat counter.

Except occasionally.

A couple months ago Angie at the Jammie Girl posted an amusing look at what search terms brought people to her blog.

I thought "I should do that!" then immediately forgot all about it.

Till today.

 So today, in no particular order, I'm listing some of my favorites.  Keep in mind, these are the actual terms that some poor unsuspecting soul typed into Google or wherever hoping to get real information.

Instead they got me.

1. Pictures of a funny retail clerk:  Hmmm.  Do you think they meant "funny-looking?"  Or just funny?  Either way, I'm sure these folks were sorely disappointed.  Because I almost never post pictures of myself.  Well, except this one time.  Ok, maybe they weren't so disappointed after all.

2. Stubby toes: Ok, maybe I have overshared a little about the state of my feet, especially after a certain pair of unnamed shoes *cough* Brooks *cough* tortured me for 13 miles or so, but come on.  Stubby?  Really? That's just mean.

3. What to wear at amusement parks: Variations of this are among my top search results.  However, after many people spent time looking at this post, I'm sure amusement park ticket sales were way down.  Call me, Disneyworld.  Maybe we can work out a little... agreement.


4. Baby with hairy toes: Really, my first question here is why in the Hell would anyone want to look for that anyway?  My second question, of course, is why would that bring someone to my blog?

5. Smell my feet, or I'll step on you: This doesn't even make any sense.  I think I need a drink.

6. Little bastard kid: Hey, I was married when my kids were born! Stop being so judgey.

7. Zombie feet how to make them: Run 13 miles in poorly fitting shoes.  See?  This blog is totally informational.

At this point, I just stopped looking.

And I'm seriously considering just deleting Statcounter altogether.

But if I do that, whatever will I have to blog about?

Stupid circle of life and all that.

How to write an amusing blog post.

As we open the scene at 154 Hidden Court, it is mid-morning and cj and zj are working on a coloring project that is spread out all over the living room coffee table.  Crayons are everywhere.  Mj takes one last look to ensure the safety and well-being of the boys, then grabs her massive cup of coffee - Cinnamon Roll flavored - and sneaks away to the office.  She sits down at the computer, opens it up, and...


Cue ominous music.


Zj:  "Mama!  Cj won't share!  I want the green crayon because I'm coloring the Green Lantern and he's GREEN!  And cj won't give it to me!"


Mj sighs, gets up from the computer, and goes in the living room, where there are NO LESS THAN 15 different green crayons available to choose from.  She makes some deals, swaps some crayons around, no one is actively crying, so mj heads back to the computer.  She sits down, the wonderfully amusing blog post swirling around in her head, just BEGGING to be let out, and...


Sounds of the bathroom door opening, then a large SPLASH! followed by uncontrollable giggling.


Zj:  "Mama!  Cj threw something in the TOILET!  AND NOW HE'S TRYING TO FLUSH IT!  AND HE'S ALL WET!  WITH PEE WATER!  EWWWWW!"

Cj:  "Ewwwwwww!"

Mj sighs, gets up from the computer, retrieves the toy Ironman from the toilet, rinses it off, cleans water up off the floor, takes cj upstairs and changes his clothes and disinfects his toilet-germy hands.  As they come back down the stairs...


Zj:  "Mama, I don't want to color any more.  Can I play on the Wii?"


Cj: "Wii!  WHEEE!!!"


Mj picks up 4,923 crayons, mostly green, puts them away, and turns on the Wii.  As the boys begin to play Mario - Cj's remote doesn't have any batteries, by the way - she returns to the computer and begins to type.  This is going to be the best blog post ever!  The words are just pouring out!  


Zj:  "Mama!  Cj shoved something up his nose!  And I think it's a crayon!  And it's GREEN!"

Mj sighs, gets up from the computer, and extracts this from cj's nose:

In the middle of the crayon extraction, mj notices that her living room window looks... dirty?  Closer inspection reveals this lovely crayon drawing on the window:

Mj retrieves cleaning supplies and cleans the crayon off the window.  Meanwhile, zj has tired of the Wii and has wandered off to change into:

his Batman costume.  

Zj:  "Hey Mama.  You wanna play pretend?  You can be Catwoman." He is using his best cajoling, sing-songy voice.

Cj: "Nuh nuh nuh nuh nuh nuh nuh nuh Batman!"  singing the Batman theme song.  In his OUTSIDE VOICE.

Mj:  "Give me just five minutes to finish up what I'm doing, then we'll play, ok, guys?"

Disappointed sighs all around.

Mj wanders back to the computer, determined to finish the damn blog post.  Well, as soon as she checks Twitter.  And Facebook.  And Pinterest...

Twenty minutes later...

Zj:  "Mama!  Has it been five minutes yet?"

Mj sighs, hits the "Publish Post" button, even though she's not really pleased with what she's written, and goes to play pretend.

After all, she DOES get to be Catwoman.

Meow.

All the news that's fit to talk about.

Occasionally, ok, ONCE when I couldn't think of anything interesting to blog about, I Googled "blog post ideas" and decided I would write about the least worst one.

I chose "write a blog post about current news happenings."

Since no one actively criticized and/or stopped following me after that, I decided to do it again.

Hey, there's only so much original content left in the world, people.

Last time, I got my news stories from CNN.

This time, my news sources were a bit more... diverse.

Here we go.

Maine to legalize switchblades for one armed people.  Well, it's about time, Maine.

Norwegian boy saves sister from Moose attack using World of Warcraft skills.  There is nothing I could say about that to make it any better.

Sony CEO says Nintendo devices are "babysitting tools."  Two words:  Hell.  Yeah.

5 reasons to see Thor this weekend.  Really, I'm only interested in number one.  And I don't even really like blondes that much.  Mmmmmm... Vikings.....

Man lives off beer only for Lent.  Best. Sacrifice. Ever.  I'm totally going to a) become Catholic and b) do this next year for Lent.  Or maybe just for the hell of it.

Is bacon cologne proof that America's love affair with with the breakfast favorite has gone too far?  Well, yeah.  Personally, I love bacon flavored... er, scented men.  Nom, nom, nom, nom, nom, nom...

How to get drunk in the healthiest way possible.  With illustrations!  In case you're too drunk to read.

And there you have it, folks.

News, mj style.

You can thank me later.

Stream of Consciousness Sunday: About my impending vacation.

So, the J family is about to go on vacation.

One of the best perks of RJ's job is that his boss lets us use his condo on beautiful Pawleys Island for a week every year.  Actually, it's the only perk of his job, but whatever.

So, as is usual for me, I'm in pre-vacation panic mode.

My house has to be completely cleaned from top to bottom before we leave.

Because oh dear God what if we have a wreck and die a fiery death or get eaten by a band of killer sharks or eat some bad seafood or whatever and somebody has to come in our house and pack up all our shit and sees that I haven't dusted the baseboards or washed the windows since... oh, NEVER.

It's part of my particular brand of crazy.  It's just a part of my crazy, but it's a big part.

Also, every time zj sees me cleaning the toilets, he asks me if its going to be Thanksgiving soon.  Really, kid?  I clean the toilets more than once a year.  I promise.

So today I spent the day vacuuming, mopping and dusting in preparation for possibly dying on vacation.

I don't do taht before I, say, go to the grocery.

What would happen if I died when going to the grocery?

Something else to worry about, I guess.

But I'm really lookign forward to this vacation.  I love the beach, and I know the kids


Seriously?  My time's up?  Wow. I've learned a few important things on this, my first Stream of Consciousness Sunday, hosted by All Things Fadra - shameless plug - you're welcome.  1) I type REALLY slowly. That high school typing class I blew off in favor or French is looking better in hindsight.  2)My blog posts are typically anbout 50 times this long. 3) This was fun.  4)It's killing me not to fix the typos I see above, see CRAZY.  5)I think ALL my blog posts are stream of consciousness.  6)In the best Govenator voice I can muster, I'll be baaaaack.

He's at an impressionable age right now...

My kid, he's just like me.

He's smart, stubborn and has an unnatural attraction to shiny things and superheroes.

My kid, he's nothing like me.

He's a drama queen - currently he's in his room fake crying as loudly as he can, door open and standing in said doorway for maximum effect - he loves to be around people, and he's never met a crab leg he didn't like.

In the 5 plus years I've been his Mama, it's been amazing to watch him develop.

I'd like to say I've guided him, but really I feel like more of a spectator to the entire ordeal, standing on the sidelines, watching but unable to enact any real change with my praise, encouragement  or counseling.  He does his own thing.  He is his own kid.  That's not to say he doesn't pick up things from others.  Ya know, because he lives in the world, and I'm powerless to stop it.

A while back, he went somewhere with RJ, and came home calling everybody "Bro" and drinking sweet tea exclusively, which had previously not been consumed at 154 Hidden Court.  I am of the personal opinion that sweet tea is of the devil and is designed to make you thirstier.  After that same trip, he began to regularly request fish sticks dipped in applesauce.  Blech.

And that was the beginning of the end, so to speak.  Since then, he has picked up things from people other than myself at an alarming rate.

Last week, I had Willie blaring on my iPod, and he walked up, listened for a minute, then said "Mama, do you have anything with a little more Boomp-Boomp in it?"

I've been working with him to drop the phrase "Oh My Gosh" in favor of something more kindergarten appropriate, like "Goodness gracious."  Occasionally when I'm feeling crazy, I'll encourage him to say "Goodness gracious great balls of fire."  He ran up to me the other day yelling "Goodness gracious my balls are on fire!"  Uh... that's close?  I guess?  Good effort?

He has also started using the phrase "punked" a lot.  I'm not entirely sure he knows what it means.  I'm not entirely sure I know what it means.  Usually, it's used in the following sentence "Mama!  Cj punked me!"   I'm certainly sure cj doesn't know what punked means, and if he did, I'm pretty sure he wouldn't do it to zj.  Moving on...

When things are going his way, he likes to announce that he's on the "Happy Train."  I'm pretty sure that's a reference to drug use, but whatever.  At least I can decipher the meaning.

When I handed his his lunch the other day, he looked down it and said with an impressive amount of disdain, "That's not what I ordered."

He recently came running up to me crying that he had fallen down and "hurt his spleen."  Never mind that he was holding onto his arm at the time...

He also likes to occasionally announce, for no apparent reason, that he "has a little mean inside him," and if he is uninterested in doing what I need to him to do at any given moment, he will say "Nah, I'm out."

He has recently moved cool to a whole new level.  His Bieber-hair must be JUST SO, he's working on his whole "click-wink" that he uses when he is trying to be especially impressive, and he likes to yell "Who's the Man?  I'm the Man!" when he does something particularly good, like win at a video game.

When he was three and still somewhat interested in making Mama happy, he would tell me he wanted to be a doctor when he grew up.  I asked him recently and he said "I'm gonna have a comic book store."  I said "I thought you wanted to be a doctor."  His response?  "Nah, too hard."

Yeah, my days of having any influence on him at all are definitely numbered.

When he starts school in the fall, I'm afraid he's going to be in for a big shock.

Probably, it won't be quite as big as his teacher's though.

Even Meth Heads watch movies.

Tuesday was RJ's day off from work, and possibly because I have been sorta grumpy lately he and the boys stayed home and I went out to "run errands," even though we both knew I had no real errands to run.

I got my Route 44 unsweet tea, extra ice from Sonic, wandered around Target for an hour, wandered around Kohl's for an hour trying on things I would never in a million years buy, and made a quick stop at the liquor store.   Not once did I have to wipe any bodily fluids off anyone.  

It was like Heaven.

My last stop of the day before heading home was to drop a movie off at the Redbox.  RJ had a free code and had brought home Due Date, which I would like to point out we had not really watched.  We just like to rent movies and pretend we are not too old to stay up past 9:30 to watch them.   

As I walked up to the Redbox, I noticed something strange - a line.  At the Redbox.  Ok, I have time, I'll just queue up and wait.

Directly in front of me was a young boy, 14 or so, who was bouncing from one foot to the other and looking decidedly nervous.  In front of him and at the Redbox was a woman who could kindly be described as a crack whore.  Or a meth head.  Or whatever.  I'm not totally up on all the cool drugs, not since that one time I tried sniffing Coke and the ice cube got stuck up my nose.  Anyway, she was high on something, and she was PISSED.

She alternated between yelling into her cell phone, punching random buttons on the Redbox, and yelling at the Redbox.  Occasionally she would also kick and/or slap the Redbox for good measure, too.   The kid on front of me bounced faster and faster and looked everywhere except Meth Head, which I assume would be difficult, considering her underpants (and lack thereof)  were totally visible through all the rips in the ass of her pants.  

Yell.  Punch buttons.  Kick.  Yell some more.  Punch the same buttons again, but harder.  Surely that will yield a different result!

I was getting ready to turn around and walk away to find another Redbox somewhere, and the kid in front of my was now bouncing so high from foot to foot that  thought he might take off into space when, in a moment of semi-coherence, I heard her say to her phone, "What effing kind of Redbox doesn't effing have effing Due Date?"

Hmmm...

Now I'm no rocket scientist, but since I was standing in line holding Due Date, and Crack Whore wanted to rent Due Date, it stood to reason that after I returned it, it would be available...  Hmmm...  

"Excuse me." I whispered.

Nothing.

"Excuse me." I said, a little louder.

No response.

"EXCUSE ME!" I yelled in my best I'm-The-Mama-And-You'd-Better-Sit-Down-And-Listen-Up-And-Listen-Good Voice.

Meth Head/Crack Whore turned around to see what could possible be making so much noise. 

I waved the DVD in her general direction.   "I'm getting ready to return a copy of Due Date when it's my turn."

Blank stare.

"After I return it, it should be available for you to rent." I hope.  Oh well, I'll be long gone by then if it doesn't work out.

Slowly I could see the wheels turning in her brain.  Was I a threat?  No.  Was I a cop?  No.  Was I trying to steal her stash? No.  Did I have something she wanted?  Maybe.

At this point, the kid stopped bouncing and looked at me as though I was a savior.  Or a giant pizza with pepperoni and extra cheese.  Whatever.  He was happy to see me.  "Why don't you go ahead of me and return your movie so she can rent it?"  He was practically begging.

At this point, Crack Meth Head Whore looked a little suspicious.  And very dirty.  Whatever.  Were we trying to gang up on her?

"Look," I said, opening the case.  "This is the movie you want, right?"

She nodded slowly, blood-shot eyes darting back and forth.

"So let me return it, then you can rent it."  I was careful not to make direct eye contact.

She nodded slowly again, then immediately morphed into a completely different drug addict.

"OH MY GOD! YOU WOULD DO THAT FOR ME? YOU'RE GOOD PEOPLE.  THERE AREN'T A LOT OF GOOD PEOPLE LEFT AND YOU ARE ONE OF THEM.  YOU ARE WILLING TO HELP ME OUT AND NOBODY IS EVER WILLING TO HELP ME OUT - WHAT'S YOUR NAME?"

"Jennifer,"  I lied.

"WELL JENNIFER, YOU ARE A TRUE FRIEND."  At this point, there were big tears in her blood-shot eyes and her too-thick mascara was beginning to run down her meth-sore marked face.  

Awesome.

I made the druggie cry.

I sort of stepped around her as she continued to tell me I was nicer to her than her own family - imagine that - and quickly returned my movie.

I said, "Well, there ya go.  Hope you like it!"  and briskly walked away before she could ask me for my number.

As  I was walking away, I made pointed and direct eye contact with the kid, who was STILL in line.  "Get away now.  I'm not sure if this will work," I said with my mind powers.  He seemed to get it, and turned and followed me back toward the parking lot.

I got in my car and started to drive away, but my nosy nature got me, and I found myself slowly driving by the Redbox.  There stood my Meth Head Friend, movie in hand, looking like she had won the lottery.  Or scored a hit.

Either way, I had done my good deed for the day.

I wonder what "Pay it Forward" means to a Crack Whore?

www.kludgymom.com

Reflections while running 10 miles. With Redneck Playlist!!!

So, I ran this race the other day, never mind the fact that I probably wasn't ready for a ten miler.  I did it, and I did it, and that's all there is to it.

The end.

Oh not really, silly.  There's a lot more to it than that.

I thought I'd give you a rundown, mile by painful mile, of everything in my head, and also everyone who passed me.  I hate them all.  Oh, and also what I was listening to on my iPod at the time.

You're welcome.


RACE STARTING LINE:  Me: Ok, I can totally do this. Oh dear - is that the crazy power-walking Asian I saw at the 10k?  I'm pretty sure her swinging arms gave me a black eye.  Lord, save me from the power walkers. Also, it is so freakin' cold I cannot feel anything that is not directly attached to my torso.  On the playlist: 9 to 5 by Dolly Parton.

1/2 MILE MARK:  Oh dear Lord IT IS HOT!  Jacket coming off, getting tied around waist.  Also, first dead thing spotted in the road.  Maybe it used to be a squirrel.  Or a dog.  On the playlist: Have You Left the One You've Left Me For? by Crystal Gayle


1 MILE MARK: Ok, I got this.  9 more to go.  No problem.  I. AM. A. RUNNER.  This is what I do.  On the playlist: Whose Bed Have Your Boots Been Under? by Shania Twain


1 1/2 MILE MARK:  Ok, this isn't so bad.  HEY!  Are those guys passing me on the other side of the street ALMOST FINISHED!  WTH??!?!??!  I'm just getting started.  How is that even possible?!?!?!?  Also, it is HOT.  On the playlist: Trashy Women by Confederate Railroad


2 MILE MARK:  There are sure a lot of people passing me.  What's up with that?  Ok, Grandma, just run right on by me like I'm in reverse.  Also, it is freakin' HOT.  But I'm ok.  This is fun, sorta.  And my time is good, and I'm on pace, and I like to run.  Slowly.  AND... dead thing number two in the road.  A bird, definitely a bird.  On the playlist: Jose Cuervo by Tanya Tucker


3 MILE MARK: OH DEAR LORD.  Where did this hill from Hell come from?  Well, keep positive.  What goes up must go down, right?  Right?  I'll get a break soon because this bad-boy hill will go DOWN next.  Oh, hello guy with a fake leg.  No, you go right on past me.  I don't mind a bit.  I'm just going to hold back a little and conserve some energy here.   On the playlist:  Ain't Going Down Till the Sun Comes Up by Garth Brooks

4 MILE MARK: Ok, this is ridiculous.  How is it possible that this hill is STILL. GOING. UP? Pretty sure I'm going to get hit by an airplane soon at this rate.  Oops, dead thing in the road.  Might be a possum.  Or maybe a giraffe.  Am I drinking enough?  I feel sort of light-headed.   Oh, hi there lady in A SKIRT.  Not a cute running skirt like my friend Dianna wants, but a full-length denim number.  And...  you just run right past me, too.  I don't mind.  Really.  I have plenty of time to catch up.  Plus, you're probably going to trip soon anyway.  Ya know, ON THE SKIRT.  On the playlist: The Bug by Mary Chapin Carpenter

5 MILE MARK:  I am halfway.  UP. THIS. FREAKIN'. HILL.  And I am still going up.  What circle of Hell is this, exactly? Ok, concentrate, mj.  Pull it together.  You are half-way, you got this.  Hi Guy With a Do-Rag, Multiple Tats, an Eyebrow Ring and a WALLET ON A CHAIN.  It's clear sports and fitness are high on your priority list, so run right on by me.  I don't mind.  Really.  On the playlist: Ring of Fire by Johnny Cash

6 MILE MARK:  More than half way.  Hey, if this were a 10k, I'd be almost done now.  Wonder what's for dinner tonight?  I'm burning so many calories I can eat whatever I want.  Or drink.  Maybe a bottle of wine.  Or two.  I really like that Black Cherry I had the other day.  Well, hello, 8 year old boy and Dad.  Just go on, I don't mind if you pass me.  It's probably the kid's bedtime soon and you have to get home, right?  Go right on ahead.  Really.  On the playlist: Gotta Get Drunk by Merle Haggard and Willie Nelson

7 MILE MARK:  Three more miles.  I can do this.  Actually, I don't see a lot of other options.  I mean, I guess I could just sit down with those nice spectators for a while and text RJ to come pick me up here when he's finished.  OH, HELLO, paramedics on bicycles.  Can you give me a little ride?  Just for a couple miles or so?  Ok, fine, ride on by.  Clearly I don't look near death enough for you to aid and assist.  Didn't you have to take some sort of oath?  Whatever.  On the playlist:  Heaven's Just a Sin Away by Kelly Willis

8 MILE MARK: Two more miles.  I can do this.  Oh, hi dead thing.  I think we met before...  At this point, I'm not sure there is anybody else behind me, because I've been passed so many times...  Oh, guess I was wrong.  Go on Shadowboxing Grandpa.  Rocky much?  In other news, I can't feel my a$$.  At all.  It's likely a blessing.   On the playlist: How Do You Like Me Now?  by Toby Keith

9 MILE MARK:  One Mile Left!  I can do it!  I can do it!  Also, still no feeling in my a$$.  I may have to get a transplant.  Are a$$ transplants mainstream yet, or will I have to have surgery in some jungle in South America?  Sure, Richard-Simmons-Headband-and-Shorts-Wearing-400-Pound-Guy, go on ahead of me.  It's fine.  Really.  On the playlist: A Few More Rednecks by Charlie Daniels


9 1/2 MILE MARK:  OH. DEAR. LORD.  Another hill?  Not ok.  Just not ok.  Whatever, it's almost over.  At this point I'm motivated by the thought that I'll get to stop soon.  Oh, hello lady, just go right on by -  OH HELL NO!  I WILL NOT BE PASSED BY A POWER WALKER.  It's on, bitch.  Don't even think about it.  On the playlist: You've Got to Stand For Something by Aaron Tippin

FINISH LINE IN SIGHT:  I did it.  Where'd my a$$ go?  Where am I?  Oh, wait, wake up, mj and FINISH STRONG!    Hey, is that pizza I smell?   Cause I could totally go for a pizza right now.  *gagging a little* Or maybe I'll skip the pizza.  Whatever.  I. AM. DONE!  I. DID. IT!  On the playlist: Ready to Run by the Dixie Chicks




Also, as I was running 10 miles and writing this post in my head, it's quite possible I was delusional from the dehydration it was much funnier.  In my head.  That happens a lot, ya know.  Sorry 'bout your luck.

Oh Willie, try to keep yourself out of trouble, ok?

As most of my friends and family members are aware, I am a huge Willie Nelson fan.  

Even after he cut his hair and now looks like an ugly old lady, I persist in listening to his music, even the weird Reggae stuff, on a regular basis.

I'm a Facebook fan.

I follow him on Twitter.

And one day back in November, my iPhone began to LIGHT UP with messages from friends, family, and Willie's staff.

Apparently, he had done gone and gotten himself arrested.

For marijuana possession.

Imagine that.

I dutifully followed all the news stories, finding out up to the minute information about his incarceration.

One article quoted the arresting officer as saying, "It's kind of surprising, but we treat him just like everybody else."

Really?

REALLY?

It's kind of surprising?

I have never actually met Mr. Nelson, and was a thousand or so miles away, but I could have told you there was pot on The Honeysuckle Rose (Willie's Tour Bus, in case you didn't know).  I would have bet the farm on it, actually.

A few days later, Willie was back in the news.

This time, for a good cause.

I think.

On his website, Facebook fan page, Twitter and every other social medium he could find, he was asking for his fans to make donations to the Hudspeth County Sheriff's Office Christmas Toy Drive.

Oh Willie, you old dog.  After the tax thing a few years back, you sure have gotten good at playing the press, huh?

The Sheriff's department was inundated with donations in Willie's name.  

Go Willie.

A few of his more well-known friends took exception to the entire arrest.

Snoop Dogg said, "Willie Nelson is a legend.  Sometimes you need to back up off of certain people and have a certain amount of respect for your elders. And Willie Nelson is our elder ... If you got a problem with Willie Nelson, you got a problem with me."

Wow.  I personally would not want to be on his bad side.  

A court date has not yet been set, but I'll be interested in how it all pans out.  

In the meantime, I'll leave you with this:

By the way, this may be the most pointless blog post I've ever written.

You're welcome.

Drunk. A Southern tale of loss. I mean lost.

This post is an unfortunate by-product of my stalking Mama Kat and her Writing Prompts in an as of yet unrealized attempt to be one of the cool kids.  

"I never know what I think about something until I read what I've written on it."

William Faulkner 

I am a book nerd.

Always have been.  Always will be.

I was reading novels by age six, had read everything in my elementary school's library by age nine, and for many years, had a career in retail bookselling.

My house looks like a library threw up all over it.

My kids know that they can always tear me away from Facebook with a request to read to them.

I. Love. Books.

They smell good.  They feel good.  Sometimes, if you're really drunk and lick them, they taste good.

So it only makes sense that when I was in college, I took a lot of upper lever, good-excuse-to-brush-off-Physics-homework-because-this-is-for-CLASS literature classes.

One of my favorites was a Hemingway/Faulkner seminar, which was led by not one, but two of my favorite professors.  I had discovered the joy of William Faulkner in high school when I read Light in August for the first time.  Joy.  Pure joy.  Faulkner was brilliant, and tortured, and alcoholic, and even though I didn't understand two-thirds of it, I thought it was wonderful.

When my Faulkner class planned a trip to Oxford, Mississippi to visit Faulkner's old haunts and stomping grounds, I was in Heaven.  I felt so... smart.  So... in touch.  Clearly, no one had ever understood Faulkner the way I did.  It was like we were soul mates, and if being soul mates with a long dead Southern author of questionable mental facilities and obvious alcoholism was your thing, then I was your girl.

We spent the first day touring the old Faulkner homestead and visiting the gravesite, and dinner was at a quaint local restaurant where the Prof procured large amounts of wine for the mostly underage students - gasp!  After dinner, we were left to our own devices and were planning to meet up again at 8am the next day for breakfast and to visit the loveliest bookstore in all the world.  Having never been a drinker and feeling the effects of the wine, several of us decided to pay Steve, the legal-alcohol-buying-aged Teacher's Assistant, to go to a nearby liquor store for us so we could continue the festivities.  

Alcohol in hand, drink on, we decided to trek across town to revisit the cemetery and maybe sit around Will's grave and be brilliant and tortured.  

As an aside, I'm pretty sure TA Steve pocketed most of our cash and bought us the cheapest large vats of alcohol available, but that's another story.

Anyway, we made it to the gravesite, and sat around saying things that were brilliant and funny only to us.  After all, we were ACADEMICS.  "Yo Momma is a fish" was one particularly amusing anecdote that made its way around the group about fifteen million times - and by the way, have you ever tried to say "Yoknapatawpha" three times fast while drunk on rotgut whisky?  I thought not...  We sat for hours, sharing our liquor with Will (read: pouring it onto his grave), quoting his work, and finally around 2am, decided to call it a night.  We were on our way back to our rooms when the story gets fairly interesting, for me anyway.

For some reason, and I'm fuzzy on the details - imagine that - I decided I needed to tell Will one final thing, and with an assurance of "Go on, I'll catch up," - famous last words if I've ever heard them - I split up from my group and backtracked to the grave.  I guess I told Will what needed to be said, and tried to catch up to my friends.

Oops.

It was 3am, I was in a cemetery in an unfamiliar city, I was drunk, and I was LOST.

Drunk + Lost = Really Bad News.

I'm not really sure what I did the next 5 hours.

I have vague memories of magnolia trees and unfamiliar street signs.

I have no memories of encountering anyone at all.

What I do remember is waking up the next morning, in my room, still drunk and running WAY late for breakfast.

I made it to breakfast, unshowered and wearing most of the previous day's outfit, drank some coffee and stumbled through the rest of the day.

No one from my group remembered seeing me after leaving me at the cemetery.

How I made it back to the room is, and always will be, a mystery.

But the good news is, I learned some really important lessons that night. 1) Never mix wine and hard liquor,  2) Never trust a TA named Steve to pick out your alcohol and 3)Never, ever wander around Oxford, Mississippi at 3am without a wingman.  

These are lessons I'll take with me to the grave.

Mine.  Not Will's.

If you give a girl an iPhone.

If you give a girl an iPhone, she might want to try some new apps.

So, her hubby might jailbreak it for her.

And if her hubby jailbreaks it, she might download 678 apps at a time.

If she downloads 678 apps, her iTunes account might blow up.

No, really, it might Blow. Up.

And if her iTunes account blows up, she might not be able to sync her iPhone.

And if she can't sync her iPhone, she can't listen to music.

And if she can't listen to music, she might get bored and download some more ill-gotten apps.

If she downloads more apps, her iPhone might become almost impossible to navigate through the pages and pages and pages of apps that serve no purpose whatsoever but were FREE become difficult to use.

And it that happens, she might moan and complain incessantly to her hubby that she can't listen to music OR sync her iPhone to the Nike site be sad that her iPhone is difficult to use.

And if she complains to her hubby, he might buy her an iTunes card for Christmas and INSIST she go legit so as to stop the constant whining.

If she gets and iTunes card and deletes the contraband software from her iPhone,

Chances are,

She's probably going to want to download some apps.





With apologies to both author Laura Numeroff and the fine folks at the Apple Corporation, who have nothing to do with the cost of apps, I hear.

Sarcasm: apparently, it's hereditary.

"Too bad I don't have a tomato to throw at your head."

"Mama, let's pretend you are on fire."

"Where's a Japanese restaurant when you need one?"

"For dinner I want those, you know, chicken arms."

"Hypothetically speaking, you are not the ONLY boss of me, you know."

Texting with my Sis.

My Sis B and I came pretty late to the texting game.  

Being simple farm girls, we believed phones to be for - GASP! - talking.

However, in the past six months, we have both gotten new, text-savvy phones (Oh, how I love you, my iPhone) and the texting, while slow to start, has gained momentum this month.

This is important stuff, people.  Pay attention.

Also, it's important to note that my Sis B is a rabid yard saler, and takes my Mama almost every weekend, come rain or shine or snow...

Also, we do spell everything out and punctuate correctly.  We are nerds.  Deal with it.

Also, she will probably never text me again after reading this.  Just sayin'

October 1, 2010 4:32pm

ME: Any good finds today? 

B: Not a lot, but we didn't stay out long.  Mama found a table for a dollar.  That was pretty good.

B: Oh, and two hula hoops.

ME: We don't need any hula hoops.

B: Neither does she.

B: Oh, and I found a man.  I didn't get his name, though.

ME: Oh dear.  Did you at least get his number?

B: No.  It was a short romance.  Ended when I went to the bathroom.

ME: Oh dear...

B: It's ok.  I just loved him a little.

October 2, 2010 6:49am

ME: I was thinking about making a Sonic run before I meet you guys today.  You kids need anything?

B: They don't open until 9:00.

ME: 9? Really?

B: Yeah. Really. Don't ask me how many times I got there at 6:30 before I figured it out.  Remember, I had to study harder in school.

October 3, 2010 11:32am

ME: You kids yard saleing today?

B: Yep.

ME: Kinda cold.

B: Yep.
B: We're in Lewisport.  Kinda cold.

ME: Finding anything?

B: Not much.
B: Got a free camera though.  I must look bad or something.

ME: It's probably your hair.

ME: I ran into D (former boyfriend's sister) today.

B: Did she recognize you?

ME: No.  She kept looking at me like she thought she should know me, but I was so busy twitching my face around and trying to avert my gaze from M (former boyfriend's mother) that she probably thought she remembered me from drug court or something.

B: Was she in drug court?

ME: Who knows?  But I really didn't want to spend the afternoon playing catchup with them. 

ME: You understand, right?

ME: It would be like you catching up with the B family (her former boyfriend's family), except these people aren't all dead like the B's are.

B: I did see him (her former boyfriend) that one time...

ME: He sure was hot.

ME: And such a gifted musician.

ME: It's a shame about that leg, though...

B: I know.  I can't believe I let him get away.

October 8, 2010 8:33am

ME: Mama said you needed to do some work in your garden but you hadn't done it yet.

B: I'll do it today.

ME: When?

B: I'll do it today.  This afternoon.  I promise.
B: If not today, I'll do it this weekend.

ME: You're running out of time.  Your vacation is almost over.

B: I still have Sunday afternoon.

ME: Isn't Monday some made up holiday?

B: Yes, but I have to get my eyes checked that day. I. Have. To.


October 9, 2010 5:00pm

ME: What time are you going to get here to pick these kids up?

ME: Soon, I hope.

B: Oops.  Did I forget something?

ME: Yep, you're late.  Better hurry.

ME: I can't believe you forgot.  I've been telling the boys all day that Aunt B would be here at 5.  They will be so disappointed.

B: They will be disappointed?

ME: Devastated.  If you leave now you can make it by 6.

October 9, 2010. 5:44pm

B: I just boiled an egg for Mama.

ME: How did that go?

B: Good, thanks.

October 10, 2010 1:59pm

ME: If you would like to come hold my baby on your lap indefinitely, I will do your gardening.

B: Hmmm. I Might do that.

ME: When can I expect you? He's getting heavy.

October 11, 2010 8:32am

ME: Are you en route to get your eyes checked? If not, you better get going.

B: No, I've almost decided to wait till tomorrow after work.  I hate to leave the comfort of home.

ME: No no no no.  You said you have to.  Get your ass up and do it.  Btw, how's your garden?

B: I like being at home. Really. Garden is not done yet.

ME: I cannot abide a lazy person.

B: I'll get some work done today.  I promise.  I might wash the house again.  Stupid dead bugs.

ME: It's your last day off.  Try to be productive and not waste it.

B: Thanks for the reminder.

ME: I'm here to help in any way possible.

B: Yeah, I've noticed that.

October 11, 2010 11:03am

ME: I may need an intervention.  I can't stop buying cute clothes online.

B: Does RJ know you are spending the grocery money on clothes?

ME: He's still eating.  He doesn't need to know.

B: And that you're online all day when you should be watching his kids while he's hard at work?

ME: I shop from my phone.  Cj is on my lap right now.

ME: Maybe I need a pool boy.

B: Make sure he doesn't speak English.  I hear that's the best kind.

ME: I don't take with foreigners.

B: I heard about that.

October 12, 2010 6:29pm

ME: How are your eyes?

B: Oh, I put it off again and got a haircut instead.

October 14, 2010 5:35pm

B: Are we still speaking?  If not, please disregard this message.

ME: Yep.  But I was afraid your eyes had rotted out so I haven't texted you lately.

B: I'm going tomorrow.  Really.

October 15, 2010 6:28pm

B: Eye exam. Check. Was just a little rotten.  Not very much.

ME: Oh good.  I was getting worried.  I really don't want you to go blind.  Because then we'll have to put Mama in a home.  And they don't have yardsales in homes.

The real me.

This post is part of the Writer's Workshop from Mama Kat from Mama's Losing It.  If you don't know Mama Kat (which I can't imagine is even possible), head on over to her blog and check her out.  But not in a creepy, I wanna lick your toes kind of way.  In a nice, I wanna read your cool blog kind of way.

I hate to have my photo taken.

This has not always been the case.

When I was a teenager, my friend Amy and I would dress each other up like baby hookers and do each other's makeup like baby hookers and take roll after roll after roll of pictures of each other using our trusty 110 camera.  We would then send the film off in the mail and wait anxiously for them to be developed and returned.  There wasn't much to do where I grew up.  For real.

Somewhere along the way, I lost interest in being photographed.

And some time after that, I started to loathe it.

I can't pinpoint an exact time or even time frame that this change occurred.  I just know that there are some pictures of me and RJ early on in our relationship, but none in the past few years.  And there are only a handful of pictures of me with zj, and only two known photos of me and cj.  One is below, and the other was taken by my friend Natalie last week.

The photo I use for my blog and for my profile picture on several other social sites has a book covering up half my face.  While I did it to be funny, I also did it so as not to have to put my picture out there, repeatedly, for the world to see.  I'm not sure why, exactly.  I'm not hideously deformed, I have all my teeth, and a semi-regular waxing keeps the mustache under control.  But still, I avoid having my photo taken.

When I read the writing prompts at Mama Kat's for the week, my mind immediately dismissed number four.  Because that prompt said "share a photo that represents how you see yourself."  For some reason, the words "share" "photo" and "yourself," when used in the same sentence, creates a vortex in my field of vision.

But I kept coming back to it.

So I decided to do it.

RJ snapped this pic of me a few months ago, and for once I didn't grab the camera and delete it.

Because this is how I really see myself.

Dude. I'm guessing she gave you a fake name, too.

The other day, I remember it well, it was a Sunday morning,  my cell phone rang, and the number that popped up on the caller ID was not one I recognized.

So I ignored it.

Because that's how I roll.

A few minutes later, it rang again.

I ignored it, again.

This went on throughout the morning, with increasing intensity.

After a while, I got a text message.  It read, "Its mitch i guess my keys slipped out in ur house call me back and let me no."

Oh, poor Mitch.

The scenario, at least part of it, became clear to me pretty quickly.

I saw a random hookup on a Saturday night.

I saw a  girl give the guy the wrong number as she pushed him out the door, promising all the while they could get together again really soon, like maybe next weekend.

I saw a drunk-ish guy walking somewhere, maybe a buddy's house, maybe somewhere to catch a ride.

I saw the guy get pissed off when he realized he left his keys there.

I actually did see all the phone calls he made to the number the girl gave him when he realized his keys were in her house, probably across town.

I felt bad for Mitch.

So I texted him back.

"Hi Mitch.  You have the wrong number.  Sorry."

And I never heard from him again.

But I didn't delete the text from my phone, and I've wondered about poor Mitch from time to time.  Did he ever get his keys back?  Did the girl reconsider and look him up later?

Maybe someday I'll text him just to check in and see how things are going.

And then again, maybe I won't.

A Possum Story.

The other day, I got an email from my Sis B.  It said, in it's entirety, "If you need something to blog about, ask S (our other sister) about the possum on her porch."

So I did what every good sis would.  I jumped on Facebook and posted a message on her wall.  "I hear you may have a good story about a possum."

Days pass.  Nothing.  No response from my Sis S.  A couple of our equally redneck cousins commented, asking her to hurry up and tell the story already, but still nothing.  Sis S is not known for her... ahem... punctuality...

Anyway, today my Sis B called me to tell me another long and equally complicated and redneck-y story about an air conditioner, and while I had her on the phone, I asked her about the possum.

This is a story told about tenth hand, so all mistakes and embellishments are my own.  Sis - you had your shot to tell it as the truth.  Now it will just be legend...

Late one evening last week, my Sis S and Niece K were coming home from a day of shopping.  It was late in the evening, as it often is when they get home, and Niece K was carting dinner - a bucket of chicken - into the house.

It was dark, and the only light was from the single bulb on the front of the house.  As Niece K approached the porch, perilously clutching the bucket of chicken, when she heard a noise.  It was something like a growl, something like a hiss, and altogether BAD NEWS.

Apparently, a possum had made its way onto their front porch and had somehow gotten its foot stuck in the boards that made up the porch.  Possum stuck = Angry Possum.  It was hissing and growling and really, really inconvenienced.

Now, possums aren't pretty on their best day, but this possum was MAD.  At this point, options were slim.  It was late, they were tired, they were hungry... oh wait.  They had the bucket of chicken with them.  Chicken legs in hand, they debated what to do.

Finally, it occurred to one of them that my brother-in-law D was inside.  They were outside, trapped by the possum, but... THEY HAD A CELL PHONE.

"Ring.  Ring. Ring."

B-in-L D answered.  "Yeah."  That's how he always answers the phone.

Sis S: "D, can you come outside for a minute?"

B-in-L D: "What the H!@*#$)(.  I was asleep.  What the #*%&)# do you need me to come outside for?"

Sis S: "D, just come out here."

So after much stumbling and grumbling, D wanders out, to be met by... Mad Possum.  

Possum had enough range of motion to turn around and hiss and growl at D, too.  Talented Possum.

I'm not totally sure of the exact order of events at this point.  I know that it involved a broomstick, some squealing and a LOT of cussing.  But B-in-L D managed to free the possum and Sis S and Niece K made it inside, safe and sound.  Just another night in redneck country...

No possums were harmed in the telling of this story.