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Wednesday, November 27, 2013

Fishy, fishy, fishy, fish...

Monty Python's "Meaning Of Life".  Anyone?  Anyone??
Irrelevant to the story anyway.

I'm going to walk you through an experience I had recently while doing laundry.  You know how you dread the children accidentally leaving crayons or markers in their pockets on laundry day?  Or perhaps you've left gum several times in your pockets and never seem to learn your lesson?  Here's a new and perhaps more frightening experience.

I was removing the wet clothes from the washer into the dryer, little piles at a time.  Suddenly, I saw it.  My eyes got big and the only noise I could hear was coming out of my mouth, "Noooooooooo. No. No. Oh god...no."
Pen?  Nope.
Crayon?  Nope.
Gum?  Nope.
Fish Oil Capsule from when I'd planned on taking my daily vitamins?  Yes!!! Ding! Ding! Ding!

The capsule was swollen and very, very empty of its contents.  I slowly lifted the damp clothing in my hands and brought them to my face to inhale what I anticipated was going to be the scent of garbagy-stinkiness along with Downy freshness.  I could feel the slight lump in my throat when I looked down and saw a second capsule and simply knew, my favorite clothes would probably have to be burned.  But wait!!  I didn't smell the fish oil.  I grabbed another handful...nothing.  Anyone who takes fish oil capsules knows how good they are for you, but also the unpleasant smell of the pill.  All I smelled was Downy.  Downy, Downy, Downy...I LOVE DOWNY!!!

Clothes saved and no tears!  But I saved the capsule as a reminder to be sure to have my head pulled out of my ass before washing anymore clothes.

However...that is not the end of our story.

After some time had gone by, I did discover one casualty of the fish oil capsule debacle.  One of Farrah's long sleeve white tee shirts.  It took one (or two) for the whole team.  Thank you, Farrah's shirt.  May you burn brightly out in a garbage field somewhere far from my home.  You smell awful.

Monday, November 25, 2013

Accidental Porn

Yes, the title of this is odd and the direction the following stories take might make you cringe...but, I think that's the point.  True stories always do that.  Keep in mind, if you're not comfortable with porn, don't read this blog.  And also, we can't be friends.  (Kidding)

Last night, Farrah didn't want to sleep alone and I knew the only way to make it so she didn't feel alone was to turn on her TV.  I've never used her TV before because I'm really not a huge fan of her using it. I will let her watch her Disney movies on her portable DVD player or a show on the iPad from Netflix, but that's it.  Well, when the football season started, I paid to have cable installed so that I wouldn't miss any games like I did last year.  I'm cheap, so I will probably cancel after the Seahawks take the SuperBowl, but that's a whole other story.
Well, the deal I got with Charter was for the price of 2 DVR boxes, I could get a 3rd at no extra cost.  Hmm, 3 TVs, 3 boxes, game on in every room...I wouldn't miss a thing.  Wise decision.

I have yet to have the game turned on in Farrah's room.  I'm pretty sure we've used the TV at least once when she had a sleep-over, but that was a while ago.  So, I walked Farrah up to her room and grabbed the remote and we sat on the bed while the TV warmed up making a slight humming sound and the screen brightened the whole room from a still image of...(drum role) some chick getting it from behind with her big ol' pancake boob and her "Oh" face.
"FARRAH!!! COVER YOUR EYES!!!"
Holy shit.
"What's the matter mom? Why can't I look?!"
Thank god.  Those two questions told me she didn't see a thing.  So while she kept her eyes closed, my brain was trying to process what the hell I was seeing on the TV.  I don't know why I kept staring at it and wondered how the hell porn got on this TV, and I don't know why I started laughing hysterically.  I couldn't stop laughing.  It was one of those fucked up moments because it was soooo close to me having to have a very uncomfortable conversation.  I turned the TV off and sent Farrah downstairs to finish getting things pulled together for bedtime and while she did that, I turned the TV back on to see if the picture had gone away.  Nope.  Still there.  And the lady's smooshed tit was still gross.  Obviously, it was from the DVD player that had never been used by me.  Nope.  DVD player was not only not turned on, but unplugged.  I don't pay for porn channels...that I know of...I might have to check that out.  So, in the end, I simply changed the channel and the forever paused hump scene was off the TV forever (unless I'm paying for porn and don't realize it).

Another wonderful moment in the world of pornography happened to be at a place I used to work at and the incident was years ago.  The DVD player was broken in the daycare of the facility I worked at and I brought an extra one from home.  Unfortunately, at the time, Mike and I hadn't inspected the contents of the DVD player.  One of the staff was installing the DVD player and got it up and running just before the kids came in.  While I was on the phone in my office, the gal working in the daycare walked up to my desk, placed a DVD on the corner of the desk and whispered, "I think this belongs to you."  Curious and hoping it was a long lost movie I'd been missing forever, I took a look.  Annnnd that's when I kinda died.  I'm pretty sure I screamed from shock and then curled up laughing out of control.  In Mike's handwriting, it read something along the lines of "Fun Times", "Fuck Times", or more likely "Kathy's Favorites".  Oh. My. God.  And since I have no shame (obviously...look what I'm writing about), I grabbed everyone I was working with and told them what had happened and showed them the disc.
The girl who'd hooked up the DVD player told me that what appeared on the screen was a bunch of thumbnail menus to pick from and she'd immediately shut it off and brought me my movie, again missing the time that the kids walked in by only a few minutes.  Clearly, her brain works a lot faster than mine when it comes to seeing sex on TV.  I stare at a still frame of some gross chick from the 90s, with her 90s hair in a ponytail, and her 90s weird boob, and the 90s guy with his 90s hair behind her.

Gross.


Monday, October 07, 2013

Parenting At Its Best...Or Worst

Farrah is back in school and is now in a public school.  She has always attended private schools and this has been quite the transition.  Her classroom size has gone from 12 students to 25.  With that, she has experienced more encounters with more children...good and bad.  But of course, I like to talk about the bad because when they're as young as this...it's kinda funny.  (Keep in mind...she has 100 times more wonderful experiences than bad.  There, that's my disclaimer).

Well, she's come across other kids and their not-so-great behaviors.  Annnnd, I always seem to have the right advice to give my sweet, darling daughter.

Farrah:  Mom, the girl who sits behind me, Alyssa, always hits me with her chair and hurts me.
Me:  Well, I'm sure she's not doing it on purpose.  Does she say 'sorry'?
Farrah:  Sometimes, but when she says it, she says it RUDE like this...sorrrrreeeeyyyyy.
Me:  Hmm.
Farrah:  And she stepped on me yesterday and said 'sorry' that way and she didn't mean it!
Me:  Well, if I were you (here it comes...Mother-Of-The-Year), I'd tell Alyssa, "Ya know, Alyssa. I don't think you are sorry" the next time she says sorry like that.
Farrah:  She really isn't sorry.
Me:  I know.  And maybe you need to call her out on it.  Let her know you see right through her insincere apologies and you'd rather not hear it.
Farrah:  What does insincere mean?
Me:  It's not heart-felt.  Just tell her that you don't believe that she is sorry when she says it and to not even bother wasting your time with here insincere "sorries" because it just sounds ridiculous.


Today, this happened...

Farrah:  Today, Cooper said my mom was a hamster.
(Tears starting to form in her eyes as she hugged me)
Me:  I'm a hamster? I guess that's better than a pig or a cow.
(She laughed)
Farrah:  He is the worst person I know.  And mom, I told him that.  I told him he's the rudest person in the world.
Me:  The whole world?  Wow, Farrah, that's impressive.
(Then I start to chuckle as I proceed with my awful parenting skills)
Me:  Maybe you should tell him that, Farrah.  You should say, "Ya know what Cooper?  Out of 7 Billion people...you, Cooper, you are the worst of them ALL!  Congratulations on being the worst!"
(I started to clap for Cooper)
Farrah:  There's 7 billion people?
Me:  Yes!  And apparently Cooper is the worst!  Can you believe you've met the worst person?  That's crazy.
Farrah:  Well, he is rude and I don't like him saying mean things about you.
Me:  Pshh.  Cooper - Pooper.  (GASP!!)  Don't say that!! Don't say that, EVER!!

Ugh...and guess who just won a ticket straight to hell if her child remembers I said that...this gal.

I suppose the good thing about all of this is I've taught Farrah some new vocabulary (she already knew "pooper" so that wasn't a new word for her), how many people are on the planet, and the technique of calling people out on their bullshit.

And yes, I did recite:  Sticks and Stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me.

I accidentally said, "Some names hurt, but you'll never say them."

Farrah:  Like the "F" word?
Me:  Agghhh!!!  FARRAH!!!


Sunday, September 29, 2013

Real Friendships

I've been reflecting on some incidents in my life lately when it has come to friendships I have.  I will change some verbiage to protect people, but here are a few examples of truly good friends...

"Oh, her?  Haha...don't worry about EVER seeing her here ever.  I took care of that and it should never be an issue.  I did that a while ago because I can't stand her and didn't want you to have to worry about seeing her, either."


"Yo, Kath.  I don't like how that person is affecting your life.  You know I know people, right?  I can take care of it.  I can make that person go away, you just say the word.  All it'll take is a phone call and it's no longer a problem."

"Oh my god, you did what?!! LMAO! No, I won't judge you, I love you!"

"If that person ever hurts you, I don't mind driving the 3 hours and hurting them."

"I'm giving people nicknames that I can't stand on your behalf... like Head-Fuck-****, or ****y."

Thank you to my friends who've shown me, in some cases, "unique" ways of expressing awesome support and friendship.  I heart my friends.

Monday, August 26, 2013

Diet Tip

So, I've discovered a fabulous diet that really works.  Many out there will argue with me, saying that it is unnecessary for me to be on a diet, but I disagree.  Not all diets are meant for just losing weight or gaining weight...it is simply a lifestyle choice in what we decide to put into our bodies.

I've been working on putting healthier and cleaner foods in what I eat every day to put in my body.  Deciding to push the processed foods out of what I eat has, unfortunately, been the most difficult part, but little by little it is changing and therefore, it is rewarding.  More vegetables, more fruits, more fresh meats and less crap.  This is what I've been working on.



Here's where the actual diet comes into play.  What?  No, that wasn't it.

When I go to my parents' house and stay for the weekends, they feed me.  I mean REALLY feed me.  Luckily, they continue with the pretty healthy foods, as all the fruits and vegetables come from their garden and they are in the process of purchasing cattle for their new freezer.  Best of the best.  My mother is an excellent cook and makes amazing meals.  I was raised on this kind of food.  I was also raised with a grandmother who would constantly tell me I did a "good job finishing everything on my plate".  Even though she's been gone for over 6 months, I can still tell she's watching me and making sure I finish EVERYTHING on my plate.  She was never unpleasant about it, just encouraging.  Well, I ate amazingly Friday night.  I ate so much...I looked 4 months pregnant.  I am NOT exaggerating.  My stomach pushed out so far, Farrah and I were laughing about how big the baby was.  No baby...way too much food.

I asked my mother for a laxative.  Nope.  I needed that out of my body STAT!!!  I couldn't imagine how I was going to feel the next day considering I could barely stand up without moaning and whining that I ate too much food.

Saturday...nothing.  No action, no relief.  Still ate and still ate healthy as always.

Sunday...another story.  Here's the diet:

Eat healthy for a long period of time with lots of vegetables, fruits, nuts, light carbohydrates, various proteins, and take your daily vitamins.
Next, go to the County Fair and pick something that looks relatively healthy.  Like Crepes.

That's it!

All it takes is about 30 minutes for your body to give you a single cramp that says, "You son of a bitch. What the fuck did you just do?"

Drive home.  Drive fast.  Breathe.  Drive faster.  Breathe.  Stop the car and wait for the next cramp to hit HARD!  This one will feel more like labor.  If you remember being in labor, you do some "hoo, hoo, hoo, hee, hee, hee" to not pass out from the pain.  Your upper lip will begin to sweat and you WILL get dizzy, so be ready.
Go take care of "business".


Congratulations!!!  You just lost 5+ pounds!!!  Drink lots of water because you might be dying because you just ate fair food.  But if you survived it, good for you.

Unfortunately, this diet is something that you can only count on when you see notices that local fairs are on their way.  So, if there's a big event coming up like a wedding or a vacation, hopefully the time of the event is the day after a fair.  Go to the fair, shit your brains out, and watch the pounds melt away and be pleasantly surprised with how fabulous you're going to look!  You'll want to die...but you'll be gorgeous!




Friday, August 16, 2013

Number 2

I've been meaning to write about this for quite some time, but have neglected my duties to keep the entertainment going.  So, sorry 'bout that.

Here's the thing...I went to a coffee shop a while ago to try on a different atmosphere for my writing.  The place is a quaint and cute little coffee and wine shop.  They cook very nice lunches and dinners served with hard-to-find wines.  There's a nice couch, a fireplace, cute tables and chairs everywhere, and an entire area that used to be a roll-up garage, now an eating area.  It's really quite lovely.

In the mornings, it tends to be busy with people sitting around drinking their lattes and mochas and drips, all the while chatting up a storm.  Well, there's a reason people come into any and all coffee shops.  There's a reason they drink it at home.  It's not necessarily always for the caffeine.  Coffee serves another purpose.

It's to poop.

Don't get shy about it because we all know it's true!  Coffee helps you poop, therefore keeping you regular.  The regular routine to go get your morning cup of java is to also help your digestive system move things right along...at a nice and easy pace.

So, why bring up the coffee shop, you ask?  Well...it has one (that's right) ONE bathroom.  A unisex bathroom!  Even better...no smell-swell spray.  Who the hell thought this was a good idea and what inspector signed off on a restaurant to have one (that's right) ONE bathroom?!!  The two times I've ever been there, I only needed to go in for a number 1 that first time, but after some dude did a number 2.  Gah!!  Serious?  The second time I went there, I knew better.  But guess what I was eating?  I was sharing fondue.  Fondue is CHEESE, yet another reason to have to run to the bathroom.  The one, ONE bathroom.  I didn't need it because I was too busy having wine to give a shit (pun intended!).

I suggest that when choosing a coffee house to frequent, choose one that has more than one bathroom.  And if your purpose is to help you go number 2, perhaps save that for home.  It's better at home anyway.


Sunday, June 23, 2013

Dirty Little Shakespeare Mouth

I don't think I should even bother asking the question:  "Does this happen to other people?"  Because I'm sure that it doesn't.  I'm weird, so I get weird thoughts or ideas that pop into my brain.  Sometimes the ideas are brilliant and sometimes the thoughts are very intriguing.  However, this happens to me from time to time, and quite honestly, I have no idea why.

In my mind, I'll have little conversations about what is going on around me and wonder how it would sound if I spoke them out loud...in Shakespearian tongue.

Why?

Why the hell would I do that?  Well, again, as stated before...I'm weird.  But also, I think it's funny.  I think it would be funny to get mad and speak in Old English combined with my regular ways of communicating.

For example:

"Why, pray tell, would you fucking even say that shit to me?"

"Dost thou not enjoy what I made for dinner and slaved over for hours and hours?"

"I say! Henceforth, your room had better be clean or I swear to Christ I'm throwing away all your toys!"

"Ah, behold the fair maiden who goeth horseback riding at her horse camp so I can get some mall-time in."

"I beseech you to tell me the god damn truth!  You know I hate being lied to, fucker!!"

Those are just some of the crappy examples I randomly came up with.  There are so many others tucked away silently that will never escape.  But really, I have no idea why I think up stupid shit like this.  I do think it's funny though.

Mind you...these are examples and not based on anything true...except maybe the clean room.

Wednesday, June 05, 2013

Uh Oh...My Geek Is Showing

I have a confession to make.  It's embarrassing, but well, it's me.  Sometimes I watch cheesy TV shows and/or movies.  When I do this, I tend to pay attention to parts of the shows that don't matter.  However, it seems to matter to me enough, that here I am, writing about it.

We'll start with Hunger Games:

Nope.  I haven't read the books.  After reading several books that have some seriously hot and heavy sex scenes in them, the Young Adult books are not ones that draw me in.  So, I'm going to bring something up that is probably explained away in the books, but whatever.
Why does it seem like the movie is confused and takes place back during the great depression as well as somewhere in the freaky future?  Is that our choice?  Look like dog shit...or look like fancy dog shit with weird eyelash extensions?  I choose neither, thanks.  Also, when the kids are being shuffled in, what's up with their "looks"?  Every time I see that scene, it reminds me of a documentary on the holocaust.  Why do the boys have their hair parted that way?  Why are the girls wearing Mary Janes with short socks?  Why are they "dressed up" in shitty clothes for their possible and inevitable death?  And the colors are all sad blues and greys.  Gah!  If I'm destined to be picked from that jar, I'm wearing a RED tank top with sassy jeans that screams "Pick me! I'll take those sons of bitches out!!!"  I'd die, of course, but I'll die in style.
I suppose I put this movie on at night as part of my sleeping ritual because those dull clothes put me to sleep in a matter of minutes.  I win.

Next...(so embarrassed)...Vampire Diaries:

I will admit...it is entertaining.  While sick all last week, I chose it as my "I feel like hell and want to be dead now" show and it started, I slept, and it stayed on playing one episode after another.  What I learned from this show is, holy shit, this is the richest town in all of America!  I want to move there as long as it isn't my tax dollars paying for the extravagant fund raisers, and balls, and dances, and parties.  Also, I could do without all the supernatural peeps in town.  So many douche bags there!  Okay, but here's what gets me...the constant black tie events and the high school dances.  Are you kidding me?  I went to a high school that had money, but not billions of dollars which their town and school seems to run off of.  Stashes of it!  There is an episode where there's some 60's dance and they just HAPPEN to have a VW bus as "decoration".  Why?  They were busy painting it and the whole school participated with big smiles on their faces, painting posters 'n shit.  Who has time for that?  Do any of those kids have jobs?  Don't they have homework?  Does anyone know how much paint costs in that town?  Do they realize I'd love to have that VW bus that they ruined with weirdness?  Dammit!  And everyone there drinks like a fish!  Oh man, there have been times I've seen that show and I would think to myself, "Mmm, a glass of scotch sounds good right now."  I've never thought scotch sounded good...ever.  But, holy crap, Vampire Diaries sure makes it look delicious!  I might have to consider stocking up.  They are doing a genius job at marketing the hell out of alcohol and it always looks so tasty and refreshing and everyone is drunk and dancing and having fun!  See!!! I want to move there!

Finally, and most humiliating of all...Breaking Dawn (Twilight):

How the fuck did she get pregnant?
When she was on her period, did he stay away from her - like miles and miles away?  Here's the thing:  these "vampires" are supposed to be made out of stone, frozen for eternity (and sparkly, too!).  When they finally did the deed...um...what exactly GOT her pregnant?  For crying out loud, the books say they can't even cry because everything about them is frozen SOLID.  So what the fuck went into Bella's vagina and made her pregnant?  Rocks?  Ice cubes that melted and suddenly became sperm?  And sorry, but how did Edward get a boner?  It takes blood...which is a fluid, to get hard.  If he was already hard because he's made of stone now, does that mean that poor guy was walking around with a boner for the past 100 years.  (Don't even get me started with that whole pedophile freakshow). That part of the storyline was pushed away so much because everyone was so thrilled that the 19 year old girl was pregnant! Congratulations on something so freakin' weird.
And then there's the weird baby-child.  I do not get why the hell the director went down the path of insisting that the baby/little girl look the same always like in real life.  Well, it isn't real life.  It's a fucking movie.  Find a baby and use it.  Find a little girl and use her.  Then find a little girl that is practically her twin that's just a little older and use her.  What is up with the computerized face??!!  It freaks me out and it's awful to look at.  Ugh!  They should've simply used a Cabbage Patch kid at that point because it was just too ick for me to look at and not ruin it even more.



Weeeeeeeird

Sorry, I tried to find a clip or something to show how the face doesn't match the head.  I CANNOT be the only one who is bothered by this!!

Monday, May 20, 2013

Wooly Mammoth Surprise

Farrah and I are watching "Walking with Beasts", a show from the BBC on Dinosaurs and other animals.  We just finished watching the episode that included the Wooly Mammoth.  As with every animal show, this one likes to show how the extinct ones used to do the nasty.  And I wasn't paying attention until this happened:

Farrah:  (laughing) Mama look! He's climbing on her back!  Hahahaha!

Me:  Oh!  Well, um, I think he wants a piggyback ride because they're going for a very long walk.  He must be tired.

Farrah:  That's funny!  He's so much bigger than her and she's going to give him a piggyback ride?  THAT'S SO SILLY!  Hahahaha!


So, yeah, I had to find a clever way to explain away the humping happening on the screen.  The male Wooly Mammoth was giving it to the female real good and I had to say it was a piggyback ride.  Admittedly, I am grateful for the fact that I see the world as one big cartoon so that I could shut that extinct-animal-porn down as fast as I did. We were watching an "R" rated documentary and didn't even know it.


Sick.

Monday, May 13, 2013

Dear iPhone

You do this to me often, and quite frankly, I've had it!  I type a word and you change it.  Why?  Are you in my mind?  Do you know what I'm thinking?  NO.  And yet, yes you do know.  You have the capability of picking up on frequently typed words and plugging them in for me as I type which is much appreciated.  However, when have I ever used the word "ducking"?  Every single ducking time I want to type the word duck you're reminding me to be a lady or some shot.
Knock this shot off or a swear to ducking Christopher, I'm going to simply continue to birth about it.

Sincerely,

Katy (what?!!)


Wednesday, May 08, 2013

Weeds

You know what I'd LOVE to have in my backyard?

Stamped concrete.

I mean, look at that.  It's beautiful, it's clean, it's low maintenance, and it has no weeds.

My yard?

Weeds.  Lots and lots of weeds.

See?!!




My weeds like to grow very fast and very tall.  Also, they're super fun when the root is 2 feet long.  Awesome.  Why does my back hurt?  Why is my rotator cuff on fire?  Weeds.  God-damn-son-of-a-bitch-weeds.  Some come out with ease (and by ease, I mean I'm not grunting through the process of yanking it out of the ground).  Some like to look like they'll be a piece of cake and then SURPRISE!! Thorns.  Bastard weeds.  I left once for a week and came back to my backyard covered.  I sprayed them with super-duper weed killer that just made them wilt and the root stayed strong like a big 'ol middle finger waving at me.  When I did spray, I used the kind that attached to the hose.  Half way through the yard, I realized the can was empty and I was now watering my weeds.  They flourished!  They're so lush and green and...impossible to deal with.  I have my own solutions to this problem of mine, however it is currently over 90 degrees.  I can pull the weeds in a bikini, but that's one of those things you "shouldn't" do in a bikini.  It just looks...wrong.  Also, the tan lines could get all weird from squatting and pulling.  So, I have to wait until it cools off just a little so I can go on the attack.  I will kill the shit out of these weeds.  Kill them until they are DEAD, DEAD, DEAD!!!  

You know what's fun that happens when pulling weeds in this terrain?  Beetles!  Spiders!  Ants!  Snakes!  And don't forget my favorite...WASPS!!!  They all like to show up for the weed-pullin' party.  They're not invited, but they crash the place and I run the risk of shitting my pants.  So, yeah, not excited about the task before me...but I can handle it.  If not...I'll convince company that it's my garden and of course tell them to not step one foot out there.  Twig...she's on her own.  I hope she survives!

Monday, April 29, 2013

So Many WTFs...

What's this?

Ewww...right?

Is that a...a...um??


NO! NO! NO! FARRAH GET THE HELL OUT OF THERE!!!!


Surprise!  It's just a blow up elephant bouncy house.  A totally innocent elephant with a dick for a trunk.  What kid doesn't love to play in something a little unknowingly pornographic?


This thing was at the Apple Blossom Festival.  This erotic elephant with its eyes rolling back in its head was chosen ON PURPOSE to be one of the many fun toys for kids to play in.  I took one look at it and thought...where's my damn phone...I HAVE to take a picture of this!!!  Keeping my ears open, I heard every adult around giggling and wondering...um, what the fuck?  It was rad.  I turned to a couple and said, "Are you seeing this?"  We were all laughing.  One lady said, "WHY A PURPLE TRUNK AND PINK END?!!!  ARE YOU KIDDING ME?"  It was so awesome.  While she didn't know why she was taking my picture, Farrah took a great one of me.  I knew the moment I saw the "exit" that this thing was getting on my page immediately.  Here's the thing...It obviously looks like a penis.  However, it also looks like a vagina.  It is a hot mess of sexuality on a children's toy.  It's a little like Disney artists who get a little bored and simply say, "Yeah, I'm going to stick a dick riiiiiight there!  They won't notice until I've long retired and it'll be too late.  Muahahahaha!"  

So, I looked at it and thought each child that exited the "tip" were a representation of the sperm that made it.  Hooray!!  Then some would come out and they'd open the exit real wide and I'd think of childbirth.  It was a rebirth!  Sometimes, it got frightening because some of those children came out in the breach position.  That's scary.  

In any case, the maker of this "blow-up-elephant-doll" is either a humorous genius, a bored genius, or some completely messed up pedophile.  Did he run out of grey fabric?  Even that would be disturbing, but I honestly feel there was a lot of thought put into this monster dick.  But even better?  The people who ordered this for Apple Blossom thought, "Yay!  Perfect!  We'll order that one for the little kids to play in because it is simply adorable and innocent.  It is free of weird looking beastiality because we would totally not be okay with that."

Well, folks who ordered that thing for the Apple Blossom Festival...you had several young children playing in and on a giant dick.  Well done.  Next time when planning things out, go through your personal "toy" drawer and if anything looks remotely close to any of those things...make sure you choose a different thing for the young children to play on.  If YOU want to play with it, fine.  Just don't expose our kids to that shit just yet, thanks.

I recall hollering to Farrah to hurry up and get the hell out of there!  WHERE WAS THE HAND SANITIZER?!!  

Gewww.

Saturday, April 27, 2013

Unreasonable Fear of Water


Back when I was in my teens, my friend, Jen, and I would go out to the Puget Sound and lay out on air mattresses and float and sometimes go swimming in the ridiculously frigid water.  We always had a good time doing this...until one fateful day.  The Puget Sound water is very dark and therefore, you cannot see a damn thing.  Sometimes, you can't even see your feet when looking straight down.  It's not because you're out swimming in crude oil, it's because there is a pretty big drop off out there.  This one day, Jen and I were out swimming in the coldness when I used some of my best acting skills to date, "Holy shit!! SOMETHING TOUCHED ME!!! WHAT WAS THAT?!!!"
Whoops.
Jen proceded to crawl on top of my head to save her own ass from the nothingness that had just not touched me.  She certainly proved to me that day...that I could go fuck myself.  She was going to live while she pushed my body down further into the mouth and throat of whatever was trying to attack us so she could get away while it choked on my body.  Did I mention we were best friends?  Yeah.  That moment always made me question the validity of that title.

The movie "Ghoulies".  One of the ghoulies was a water monster.  A scene from the movie during a teenage party (always, right?) the ghoulies came out to torment and of course, eat and murder people.  Well, the water-ghoulie popped it's head out of a toilet.  I was pretty young when I saw that.  You can imagine the thrill of using toilets after that.  Have a seat and hope to god a weird green monster didn't bite my ass off.  (That visualization could go in so many gross directions, but feel free to use your own imagination there.)

Swimming pools and sharks.  Why not?  Sharks swim in pools, right?  No, they don't.  But in my mind, they do.  They still do if I am in a pool by myself and there is a deep end.  The good news about the fear of sharks in a pool?  It makes you swim VERY fast!  Always helped when racing.

Lakes.  I have been in many lakes in my life and one of the things that pops in my mind from time to time is..."How many dead bodies are at the bottom of this lake?"  The answer...A LOT.  Of course there is!  In my own lifetime, I've heard of this person who drowned, that person who drowned, bodies found, bodies not found, blah, blah, blah.  However, the lakes have been around for a very long time and at the bottom of those very big and very deep lakes are very dead bodies or at least, bones. SO, when out on a Jet Ski or a ski boat and somehow I've managed to "fall" into the water, I'm wondering if and when a skeletal hand is going to reach up and pull me down.  I do not want that to happen to me.  Not just that, I think about things like, oh...the Lochness Monster, or even better...WHALES!  Which makes sense, of course, because everyone knows whales live in lakes and attack people everyday.  If I've ever been in the water, I've often thought about whatever evil is lurking below me and creepily watching for the perfect opportunity to eat the bottom half of my body.  I think that would suck.


Friday, April 26, 2013

This Guy...

...is sitting right next to me.

Have you ever been around someone who can't just sit still when seated?  This person's leg is in constant shaking and tapping motion like they're listening to music with a crazy-fast beat to it (only they're not listening to anything at all)?  This person always looks like they've got a lot to say and are thinking way too hard how to formulate a sentence.  This person gets up an unnecessary amount of times to walk to the restroom.

This person?  Yeah, we all know him or her and we want to tell them politely, to put the straw away and save the cocaine for another time when they're nowhere near us.  At least that's me.  Settle the fuck down and stop with the crazy leg action!

It could be some nervous behavior he has, but still.  There was a day that I was walking out and as my feet were heading for the door, I was presented with an interview that I was not prepared for.  Question after question and I fired back with my answers as fast as I could in order to escape.  I had my keys in my hand and all my shit packed up and hanging off my body, but he didn't read this as a sign of "I gotta go".

Plus, it makes me nervous if he's sitting near me (which is all the time) if I don't have my headphones on, I'm going to get trapped in a conversation when I've got shit to do.  Also, it feels like a mini earthquake is happening all around me and I'm not sure if I should duck and cover or get up and shove him off his stool.  Option B sounds best.

I know a lot like him.  Some, it's not as annoying as others and it is somewhat tolerable.  Others, I want to punch in the throat.  The ones that can't sit still when you are having a meeting and all you can read in their face is they can hardly wait for whoever is speaking to shut up so they can have their turn.  That's a good indicator that the bouncy leg person wasn't listening at all.  These are the ones that drive me crazy.

Really...put down the straw, in fact, throw it away.  The cocaine induced ideas are probably not that good.

Pocket Full of Sunshine...

Sometimes people simply fascinate me.  The good and the bad.  But, honestly it's the poops-in-the-pants people that are the most intriguing.  I don't know why, though.  I guess it's because I look at life as just...life.  It happens.  Good and bad.  It is up to us as to how we intend to deal or not deal with the life we have, the cards we've been dealt, and people and circumstances that are a part of us whether we like it or not.  Twice today, I have been seated by women that look at the world as a place that everyone but them, have taken a huge dump on.  Life is shit.  Life is shit...because everyone else shits on it.  No, ladies, you're shitting on your own life.
My poo-poo platter is over flowing onto side dishes, soup bowls, bread plates, and even into my coffee cup.  Gross.  But, guess what I do?  Not what these women do.  If I did what these women did, I would be in such a sick place in my life and close to being on my death bed just like one of them is.  One of the ladies that I've been listening to is ill.  She's not well at all and my heart goes out to her...until she speaks.  What she has is sucking the life out of her...but so is her behavior.  Everything that she has talked about for the past 2 hours has been about how she plans to "tear a new one into so-and-so" and  she's going to "sue this person and that person" and "how dare they treat me like this" and I could keep going but I don't want to catch what she has, nor do I want you to.



The irony?  As soon as this woman's friend left, she turned around to face me while I was typing about her as if she sensed it, she reached out her hand to introduce herself, and she took a seat at my table.  Umm..did this actually happen?  It did.  It did happen.  So, the conversation she had been having with her friend started up with me.  While I bitch about people's poor behaviors, I do try to take an opportunity like I had with this one and turn the tables on her.  She went on and on about her illness, her "horrible" ex-husband, the judge that handled her case (10 years ago, mind you), and how there's a conspiracy where people are out to get her and ruin her life.

The one question I asked to get her to stop talking for even a second:  "Is there anything you're happy about?"
"Of course!! I'm happy to be alive!!" but this was answered with such cynicism, it was as if she wasn't really happy to be alive.
I tried again:  "I get that you're happy to be alive, isn't everyone?  But WHY are you happy to be alive?  What brings you joy everyday?  What makes you smile?  What brings you butterflies each day?"
(Obviously, I was trying to get this lady to dig deep inside herself and stop pointing her sick finger at everyone else)
This question made her breakdown crying.  I felt bad for only a second.  She proceeded to tell me the things that made her truly happy and even though she cried while telling me, she was also smiling.  First time I'd seen this woman smile since she sat down.  I pointed out that she should be able to feel her own energy shift in a happier "feel-better" place when she focuses on that stuff rather than all the other bullshit.  That's all that it is.  Bullshit.

Sorry.  I know she has a rough go of it and times are tough for her and in her opinion, she needs to get revenge on any and all people that have fucked her over and they ALL have it coming.  Really?  Do they?  She's sick.  Not even knowing this lady, I felt like I was her fucking therapist of the obvious.  Did she really think her time was best spent going after her ex, the old judge, the doctors, her neighbors, and anyone else who's done her wrong??  How about spend quality time with her kids?  That sounds better.  How about doing anything that makes her happy and brings GOOD excitement in her life?  She was intrigued by me because she saw I was writing a book.  She was too!  Well...not really.  She has a title.  And...it's going to be non-fiction based on her life.
I did the one thing you don't do to writers...I gave my opinion.  I know better, but...I know better.  I told her the beauty of writing a book that is Fiction is you can take your own personal life experiences and put them into a story and give them to a character that is NOT YOU so you don't have to relive your own piece of crap life.  That's how you write a great story.  Take real life situations and twist it into someone else's life and make it about them and not you.  It is also a release.
I asked, "Do you journal?"
"Well, of course I do."
"Do you burn it later?"
"No. Why would I do that?"
"If what you're writing about is awful shit that isn't something you want to relive by going back and reading it a week from now, a month from now, or even a year from now...burn the damn thing.  Let it go!"

Here's the thing...I am not a therapist.  I do not walk around thinking my life is perfect, because I know it's not.  And when it comes to this kind of crap, I am not a know-it-all.  However, I REFUSE to let go of who I am which is the person who will forever look at the bright side of everything regardless of the current situation.  That being said, I will also use the healthy therapy of losing my shit and breaking down crying hard when it is very necessary (and very private).  And when I'm done doing that...I'm done.  Back to life.  Do I want revenge on people that have fucked me over?  Sometimes.  But do I want to waste even parts of my life doing that?  Fuck, no.  I just want to LIVE my life.  I don't like to dump my shit on others and try to make them as miserable as I might be in that moment like that woman did.  It was weird.  Even faking it is healthier and can even feel better!  So, my hopes for that woman is that maybe she heard me.  Just a little.  However, hearing how the ugliness and hateful words escaped her mouth...she is doomed.  She will not get healthy.  She will lose her battles with all these "evil" people.  And most important, the things that made her cry because they brought her so much joy will be forgotten and she will miss out on LIFE.
Whatever shit we're going through in our own private little lives, we should never let it consume us or define us.
Fucking fake it if you have to!  It's so much better to be around that than being around a true Debbie-Downer.  I mean...she was a professional of unhappiness, bitterness, hatefulness, and misery.

She probably needed a hug...but I didn't want to be further exposed and end up catching her "Hate".  

Tuesday, April 09, 2013

Totally Inappropriate

I've been working out since I was 15.  When I began, it was at my high school and the only opening they had was with all the football players.  The class was filled with about 25 guys totally juiced up with natural testosterone and me with two other girls.  This was not your typical weight lifting class.  The beauty of it, though, was the fact that the guys in the class took their lifting very serious.  Loved that.  So, at the time, I learned along with my small group of girls how to push it hard.  Since the weight lifting coach was also the football coach, there was no room for a bunch of pussies.  The one day we had our "max" day was where we would lift once as heavy as we could with perfect form.  It also included max pull-ups, dips, bench press, etc.  I remember benching my own weight and having 8 guys  around me saying, "GO! GO! GO! DO IT!! PUSH THROUGH IT!!!"  It was rad.  I was one of them.  I also held the record for most dips for the school ever.  (I had freaky big triceps).  Again, I had the encouragement behind me the whole time.

Well, since those glory days of radness in high school and true support of my friends (guys and girls) who had the same goals - staying fit and getting stronger - I've continued that path ever since.  While I've always worked out since, the last 2-3 weeks I've decided to really physically push myself by incorporating more cardio, lifting heavier, and trying out new things I've never done before.  I've stepped it up a bit.  Lifting, and lifting heavy, is a bit of therapy and it is something I can see if I'm just kidding myself or if I'm truly giving it my all.  I know I can curl the 15s with ease and perfect form, but can I push it up to the 17.5s?  Perhaps the 20s?  I'll only know if I dig deep beyond my tiredness and desire to simply wrap it up and fucking go for it.  And I do.  I'll throw extra plates on when benching, I'll do Burpees and incorporate a push-up in the process making it more difficult, I'll make it a daily regiment to do the kettle bell swing to keep my butt tight, lower back strong, and shoulders defined.  I'm taking care of ME.  I need this right now because it is a part of my life that I absolutely love and am passionate about.

I've never competed, but the thought enters my mind from time to time.  Way too late for the Emerald Cup, but maybe another show.  The men and women who compete have a grueling regiment that they have to do every day.  It includes crazy workouts, incredible dieting, and ridiculous amounts of water and protein and vitamins.  It is a lifestyle I am quite familiar with whether I participated on stage or not...I have lived it.  Part of living it is looking for and at the physical results.

I know I now live in a very conservative town...but c'mon.  I've been working hard enough to feel comfortable to wear a sports bra as my top to be able to see the results with my abs, obliques, and back.  I wore it today.  I have three others - black, red, white.  I'm not stupid.  The white one is too much boobage and it truly isn't serving the purpose of wearing a sports bra anyway.  I'd be too busy looking at my own boobs making sure I didn't have a wardrobe malfunction.  However, the other ones I have, I have worn for quite some time.  Again, the purpose is to see what the hell I'm doing and if it is working.  I'm not one to walk into the locker room and pull up my shirt and pose in front of the mirror. But again, in the bodybuilding world it isn't unheard of for a guy to pull his shorts up as high as they'll go to see how shredded their quads are, take off their tank tops to see their pecs, deltoids, abs, etc.  While others would view it as odd...it is a fucking sport!  I'm not 100% sure that I wouldn't compete, but I'm going to have my body in rockin' shape for this spring and summer, dammit.  I need that for me.

So...I wore a black sports bra today and workout pants.  I worked my ass off today.  I needed to get things out of my system and it came in the form of pushing myself hard and watching as my abs got tighter and tighter.  Tight abs on a chick are rad, I think!  So, during my workout that honestly, was NO DIFFERENT than any other as far as interactions with people and the intensity level I was going...I was suddenly approached by a Gold's employee.  I knew exactly what he was going to say and where it was coming from.  "We've been receiving some complaints about your attire and you need to know the dress code is t-shirts.  Sorry to be the bearer of bad news."  And he was sincere, but probably more uncomfortable when I asked, "Who has been complaining?  Men or women?"  "Women."  My response was, "Of course it is.  Whatever."

I worked out at my old gym constantly in sports bras/tops all the time.  The most shit I'd ever get was being told, "Kathy, are you just walking around flexing?  You look stupid." (Thanks, Gavin.)  But that's it!  NEVER did I encounter issues with other women.  Several others wore similar things, too.  I'd never experienced cattiness from women.  And here's my thought, right or wrong.  Keep in mind...if you don't like what I'm about to say, sorry.  You chose to read this after reading the disclaimer.  If you're unsure, then go back and read it again:

Why on earth would I wear that?  BECAUSE I CAN AND I EARNED IT!!!  The fact that a handful of women saw me working out and decided it was "inappropriate" and "distracting", then they don't know what the hell they are doing or why they're there.  "Oh my god, look at what she's wearing.  Jesus, she's doing an exercise that is so difficult to do and wearing that?!!  I can't even sit on this machine I'm not even using any longer.  She makes me sick.  I feel it is my civil duty to complain about her top!"  When I workout there, I don't shake my ass.  I don't shimmy my shoulders to make my boobs bounce around.  I NEVER stretch or do exercises that are where I'm horribly on display if anything I'm doing could be looked at as being even remotely provocative.  That just simply isn't my style.

Did it make those women feel better to tattle on my top?  Did it improve their workout skills?  Did it make it so their difficult areas were suddenly gone?  If I worked out in a bikini, I could see how that might be inappropriate and distracting.  Duh.  However, the clothes I wore were specifically developed for what I was doing!!  Otherwise, what's the god damn point that Nike, Reebok, REI, Adidas, Russel, or any other athletic company would make these?  Let's see what makes sense here...

Good

EXACTLY what I wore today, only the top was black.

Normal workout attire...why else is it made?

Um...uh uh.

No, no, no.

Nay!

So, there it is.  Not everyone is built the same way and not everyone can wear the same clothes, but give me a damn break.  If these women worked out at my gym, do I get to say something to the front desk about how my eyes are burning?  Sure I can.  But would I?  Hell no!!!  They are comfortable in what they are wearing...so they are left alone.  As I should be, too!  Whatever...gonna buy a few sheer tank tops to go over my sports bra tops.  They say one word...I just might flip out.  And by flip out, I mean I'll do cartwheels all the way from one side of the gym to the other...then they can complain about how I'm "distracting" or acting "inappropriate".





Monday, April 08, 2013

Burnt Roasted Turkey Drippings

Mmmm...roasted turkey.  Sounds delicious, huh?  Not if it's in your coffee.  Today, I killed my legs at the gym.  I pushed myself to the point of choking back my gag reflexes.  At least an hour past my workout I was coughing because my lungs were wanting to jump out of my throat for the abuse I had just done to my body.  My normal daily routine consists of dropping off Farrah, hitting the gym while guzzling water and apple juice on leg day, protein shake, then off to Mela for coffee and writing.  Well, it was so intense and incorporated massive cardio along with the lifting (anyone who knows me, knows cardio is my nemesis), that I just wanted to crawl into bed and sleep.  That is not an option as it is not part of my day.

Instead of my usual mocha, I went for tea.  I had a feeling if I went for the rich snickers breve, puke was on its way to the carpet at my feet.  I'm an excellent customer and wouldn't want to have that happen.  And if it did, I already told Justin I'd leave it there and take off pretending it didn't just happen.  Public puking is embarrassing!  So, tea it was.

Here's the thing.  There isn't as much caffeine in tea as there is in coffee.  So, I've been nodding off here and there.  I can't do shit when all I want to do is lay my head down and sleep.  Not cool.  So, I went up to the front counter and whined to Justin about what the hell I could do (I was hoping he was going to tell me they sold that 5 hour energy shot).  What he offered me was something I'd never had in my life in all the years I've either worked as a barista, running a coffee shop, or simply drinking coffee for forever.  Taking a shot of espresso.  He made it and handed it to me.  "What do I do with it?  Do I add sugar or something?"  He just shrugged his shoulders and said, "Just throw it back and chase it with your tea."

What?

Did he just give me tequila?

I did as he suggested.  I had no idea how completely disgusting and rancid shots of espresso were.  No idea at all.  See the title of this post?  Yeah.  That is exactly what the flavor of the shot was.  I'm curious if one of the roasted beans they sell is titled "Burnt Thanksgiving Dinner" or "No Gravy Because the Drippings Are All Ash".  Sick, sick, sick and never again.  Am I awake?  Yes, yes I am.  I will give them that.  The task to remain awake was accomplished and here I am typing away about a shitty shot of espresso.  Because that's so important.  Alright, back to work.

I wonder if that shot had the power to give me a bleeding ulcer...I'll find out later.

Saturday, April 06, 2013

Getting a Word in Edgewise

I've learned some things over the years that are important life lessons...

One of which is I used to be notorious for interrupting.  I'm not saying I've mastered the skill of keeping my mouth shut and my mind focused on the conversation taking place in front of me 100%, however, I do get to say that I'm much, much better.  I have learned to ask myself if what it is that I want to interrupt with is truly that important and is it important enough to make the other person feel like shit for a few minutes while I throw in my own opinion?  Yeah...not usually.  Unfortunately, others have yet to learn this skill.  Not just learn it...but throw in a little bit of effort to implement it in their daily routine.

Have you ever had a conversation with someone...a totally benign conversation that you want to actually participate in and find that you're listening to a monologue instead...so you try to add a little something to make it a dialogue resulting in a louder volume from the other person?  Yes?  Do you unknowingly find yourself getting louder in the process?  Yes?  Then it's time to just throw in the damn towel.  You will not be a part of this conversation, I have learned.  I get talked at rather than talked with.  Just nod at the person with a smile on your face and remind yourself that whatever fun facts you were planning on sharing are stored nice and neatly in your brain and it's just too bad they didn't zip it for a second and let you interject with some really great stuff.  Given that I like to talk, to communicate, to tell stories, to learn things and debate things...I am the sort of person that requires that dialogue, not monologue.

I did catch myself last night with my brother, being the interrupter.  I had actually listened to what he was saying and what he was talking about, but in my opinion it wasn't flowing with the subject matter at hand.  We were discussing Lithium batteries.  Riveting subject, right?  I was sharing about information that I'd learned to prolong the life of the Lithium battery and he started in about something that was invented by students at WSU.  Of course, I interjected because I felt what I had to say trumped his silly comment of the WSU students and it halted at, "Are you seriously going to interrupt me and not let me even finish what I'm saying?"  Well, holy shit!  Nope. Not interrupting.  Please continue, brother of mine.
He proceeded to tell me about the invention and whatnot, and then I requested permission to piggyback on his topic.  And I still trumped his topic. BAM!!!  Kidding...his info was rad and mine was equally rad and if you put the two rad ideas together, it would be full of epic radness.

Then there are the times when someone is talking and talking and talking and talking and you just want to say a little something, but all you manage to get out is, "Bu...", "I think...", "Um...", "How di...", "Hey...", but all you truly get out is a "son of a bitch mother fucker" under your breath.  They don't hear it of course, because you're polite...just like me.  I've also caught myself pulling at my own hair and throwing myself onto the nearest couch, bed, or board of rusty nails when this happens.  It truly drives me crazy.

So, as I continue to grow and learn....I find that my skills in not interrupting are getting better and I choose to just listen and nod.  Besides, honestly, to be a great communicator, you must be a great listener.  But that goes both ways folks.

P.S.  Not directed to anyone....just reflecting. :)

Monday, March 25, 2013

Mind Blown

Farrah is smart.  I mean...reeeeeeally smart.  In fact, she just read what I wrote.  Just now.  And then just now, again.  And she's laughing while she reads this out loud.  I'm going to have to make her stop reading this so I can keep typing.  (She just asked me, "Why?")

Okay, so obviously she can read... with very little to no help.  She can do her homework and read the directions to herself, she'll grab books and read to herself when she goes to bed, and she can even read a book silently while riding in the car (without getting car-sick!)  We'd been working together on reading the classic Dick and Jane books for a few years.  The school she goes to has worked very hard with her since she started attending, and helped her harness her skills even more.
With her reading, comes writing.  She's learning to spell words and write sentences on her own.  That's two different abilities that come hand in hand.  The fact that she knows how to spell the words and formulate a complete sentence freaks me out!!

Um...she's 6.

Math.  She can freakin' do math!  Not the basic 1+1=2, but 10+4+5=19.  What?!!  And 10-4=6!  Holy shit!! Are you kidding me?!!
I told her I was going to probably stay in Issaquah while she's on her spring break.
Farrah:  "Where's Issaquah?"
Me:       "It's near Seattle."
Farrah:  "Oh, Seattle is in North America."
Me:       "And it's in Washington."
Farrah:  "Washington is next to the Pacific Ocean."

What the hell?!!  Why?!!

Yeah, she's still only 6.

For the longest time, Farrah has wanted to be a paleontologist.  Her desire to know more about dinosaurs and fossils hasn't so much faded as it has simply been put on pause as she puts her focus on living and breathing animals.  She now wants to be a zoologist or ethologist.  Essentially, they're very much the same.  But why the hell do we know that?  Because she wanted to know!  She doesn't like telling people that she simply wants to "study animals and their environment" but what that title of occupation would actually be called.  I mean, what 6 year old wants to sound silly when being asked what they want to be when they grow up?

Most don't care if they sound silly...because it's not silly.

Farrah has memorized pretty much every episode of Wild Kratts from PBS.  She's learned everything from colossal squids to the basilisk lizards.  She and I have watched several shows on animals from NOVA, Discovery, and National Geographic.  Why?  Because she wants to.  She has watched shows on Tigers and has been extremely upset when learning that they are endangered.  When her class spent time learning about them, she interjected and provided more information that her teachers didn't have.  Mind you, her teachers don't hold back with their teaching styles.  When learning about bears, they don't talk about them like they're cuddly little brown bears that like to eat honey, but rather about their habitat, what they hunt and eat, and the dangers they face such as poachers.  Why?  Because they do.
Tonight, Farrah turned to me and out of the blue said, "Did you know that cheetahs can run up to 70 MILES PER HOUR?!!"  Yes, I did know that, but how the hell does she know that?

She's 6!!!

Not only is she learning about these things...she's retaining the information.  It's fucking weird to me!  Awesome as hell, but weird too!  She tells me stuff and I'll say, "YOU'RE FREAKIN' ME OUT!!!" and she'll just laugh at me.  She corrects me when I pronounce an animal wrong. Sorrrrry!  When getting ready in the morning, it takes twice as long now because she's sharing about something she's recently learned about...like planets, a country, a type of tree, an animal and it's lifespan, why the damn sky is blue, how to spell her favorite words, math problems, the difference between mass and liquid, and all the other stuff that has been crammed into her brain.  Oh, and she speaks Spanish, too.

Still only 6.

I'm not bragging (well, yes...yes I am), because she isn't the only child attending this school.  It is a small school so the curriculum is strong with only 12 students in her class.  I'm just floored every time she opens her mouth and something brilliant comes out.  And then...I laugh!  I laugh at her!  Not because I'm making fun of her, but because it's blowing my damn mind!  She just shouted down the stairs something about termites and how important they are and Africa and blah, blah, blah...I have no idea what she's talking about.  However, I trust that whatever she just said was correct information being shared.

The funnest part about her being a smarty-pants is her maturity level is pretty high for her age, making her absolutely rad to be around.  She understands jokes that would go over most kids' heads.  Other than the shows she learns from, she loves the same shows as me.  Not because she wants to like what I like, but she'll watch and actually laugh at the same comedy I watch.  When we laugh at the same time when watching a show, my heart feels like it's going to blow up with pride.  I love that my girl has an incredible sense of humor that she and I can actually shoot the breeze and make each other laugh until we cry because we're enjoying each other's company so much.  We have fun!  There is yet to be a day or night that she and I haven't been in stitches from laughing hysterically with each other.  How freakin' cool is that?  So cool.

Her latest trick?  She gives me directions to places.  She's paying attention enough that I'll let her tell me how to get home, how to get to her school, and how to get to the store.  All I can do is shake my head and smile.  I'm so grateful for such an amazing little person in my life who happens to be my favorite person in the world.

Just now...

Farrah:  "Do you like lions?"
Me:       "Yes, why?"
Farrah:  "Well, people say that lions are nasty, but they're just trying to survive and feed their cubs."
Me:       "Okay."

I love my rad kid.

Wednesday, March 13, 2013

Awwwwkward

I am doing some research for my book.  Part of that research requires me to look up pictures of men or women who may give me inspiration for a character's "look".  I like to drag a picture or two of the beautiful people out there and put them in a file on my desktop with the character's name on it.  That way, I'm able to go back from time to time and know where some ideas originated from and to provide me with new and fresh ones, too.  Well, since I do most (if not all) my writing at a very public coffee shop, it's very likely someone could walk by and see what is on my computer screen.

Did you know if you looked up "strong male models" you get a whole lot of "naked"?  In many of the pictures, the models are discreet enough to hide their goods, but anyone walking by has to be wondering why on earth I decided to look up porn while here.  I can see that the man business is covered for the most part, but if some passer-byer glimpses at my computer they have to be thinking "Dirty, dirty slut." Maybe not, but that's what I'd be thinking and I just assume everyone thinks the way I do.  Mind you, there is a post in here when I was doing a search for 3" pens and what popped up was a whole bunch of 3" penises.  My computer was not in viewing range at that time...but, still.  Awkward.

So, I've been looking at a whole bunch of half naked or almost completely naked men while in public and SOLELY for research purpose.  And I have found some that have been useful.  However, I look like some filthy perv that is mischievously hunched over and hovering over their computer trying to hide the screen from looky-loo eyes checking me out checking out hot half naked men worth checking out.  It's actually funny how guilty I feel when I'm looking at this, but I am WORKING!  Believe me, I know which sites to visit if I really want to take a peak.  What I'm looking at is not even close to any of those sites.



Now, I am writing my blog to appear that I am "working" on something rather than gawking at the bodies on my screen.  I HAVE to get back to looking at these pictures and I hope no one looks over my shoulder.  Then again, whatever.  So what if I'm looking at nakedness.  I'm not a naive prude.  The point is I don't look at that shit in a coffee shop...that's for the library.

Just kidding!!!  I don't go to the library.

Monday, March 04, 2013

Helping Out at School

Today, I came to Farrah's school to put together a class project for them.  Farrah asks me on a daily basis the following:
Farrah:  "When is spring?!!"
Me:  "It's March 20th."
Farrah:  "How many days until spring?!!"
Me:  "Let's count how many days until...MARCH 20TH."
Farrah:  "WHEN IS THE SNOW GOING TO MELT?!!  WHEN WILL IT BE SPRING, MAMA?!!"
Me:  "FOR THE LOVE OF GOD...SOON!!!"

So, I came up with the idea of having the kids in her class each color two flower petals about the size of their hand.  Each day, one of the kids will take a petal and add it to the outer lining of the center of the flower (which has all their little signatures on it) until they reach March 20th.  At this point, they will see how close they are getting to spring...and the questions will stop.  This was possibly a selfish move on my part to get the questions to go away and stay at school, but at the same time ended up being educational, too.

When I was there, I had to go over the reasons why were doing it and ask the kids questions:

Me:  "What does it mean when it's finally Spring?  What happens?"
Child 1:  "Flowers bloom."
Me:  "That's right!  What else?"
Child 2:  "Flowers start to come out."
Me:  "Yep. That's right. Anything else?"
Child 3:  "Flowers on trees start to show up."
Me:  "Yeah, everything starts to blossom.  You want to know what else happens in spring?  Bears come out of hibernation!"
Everyone:  "GASP!"
Me:  "Oh, and bees start to fly around!"
Everyone:  "GASP!"

Hahahaha...I'm awful.  But shit, c'mon.  These kids need to know that they could be leaning over to smell a flower and notice that there is a bee getting it's pollen and has its stinger pointed right at their nose at the same moment they look up and see a black bear charging for them.  They must be prepared!

Anyway, the project was a huge hit and it will assist in getting the kids ready to actually be excited for upcoming outdoor activities.

Wednesday, February 13, 2013

Twig's Problem

Twig has a problem that I am not okay with.  Excited pisser.  I love dogs, but I HATE the surprises that come along with them.  I don't like walking into a home that smells like dog pee or cat pee.  Oh shit, does mine smell like that?  How would I know?!!

My conversation with Twig this evening:

Me:  Twig, this, uh, "problem" you have?  I don't like it, and quite frankly I am getting sick of it.

Twig:


Me:  Don't act so surprised, Twig.  This has been going on for a while.  I've had it!

Twig:

Me:  Dammit, Twig!! Look at me when I'm talking to you!!!

Twig:

Me:  That's better.  Now listen up!  I curled up in a blanket this afternoon and it smelled super wonderful like Downy.  It was awesome.  And then I pulled it closer to my face, and guess what I smelled, Twig.  Guess.  Yeah, your nervous dog piss.  At some point you got excited and had an "accident" on purpose on my fucking blanket.  So, what do you suppose I should do about this other than wash the damn thing again?  Huh?  Why can't you answer me?!!  Anyway, I think you got the point.  You should be ashamed of yourself and learn to control this problem of yours better than you are.  It's like you're not even trying.  Sometimes...I think you do it just to get me mad.  Bad dog.

Twig:

End scene.



Thursday, February 07, 2013

People Skills

There is a young man that walks up and down Wenatchee Avenue everyday.  He's tall, a little lanky, has an attractive face, a nice smile, and is friendly...when he comes up and asks for "spare change".  Um...really?  Really?



Really??

He knows better than to ask me anymore because I just laugh at him.  "Do you have any spare change?"  Nope!  (Actually, I do and it would probably make my purse lighter, but c'mon.)  When he sees me coming up the hill, he just chuckles and goes to the next customer.  And to his credit, he has managed to convince people to give him money.  AND he hasn't had to expand on his location.  There's something there.  Potential, perhaps?  Yes, I believe so.  I've wondered if I should just scoop him up and take him into the coffee shop, sit him down and ask him what his deal is.  Is he incapable of getting a job?  Can he not move to an area that might have more opportunities?  Is he retarded?  What the hell?  As far as what I can tell, he seems to have excellent people skills and sales abilities.  He could be very useful in any business that required a sales associate or someone in customer service.  However...maybe the pan handling IS his job!  Maybe he's so damn good at this...I should be taking advice from him??

I've often thought what the result would be if I got dressed in one of my "once I was a real estate agent" outfits, great heels, have my hair and makeup all done and stood on the corner of a somewhat busy intersection with a sign that read:  "Don't feel like working."
Might as well be honest about it, right?  I mean, really, who doesn't like someone to cut through the bullshit and just come out with it?  "I don't want to work anymore."  "Lattes are expensive."  "These awesome shoes hurt my feet and I need to get a better pair, but they MUST come from Nordstrom." "I'm saving for a trip to Bora Bora."

I swear to god...I want to do this so bad.  Not even joking.  Why?  Why the hell not?  Is there a rule?  Do I have to look like shit to beg for money.  Okay, wait.  I wouldn't beg.  That's not me.  I wouldn't even ask.  If a car stopped, I'd just put my hand out and say, "Money."  See, no bullshit, no pleading, no unnecessary story telling.  Just the facts.  My hand is out waiting for money to be placed in it.  And no way would I go spend my pan handling money on booze.  That's trashy.  I'd go get my daily mocha because I'm classy like that.

Thursday, January 31, 2013

Grandma Virginia

Saturday, January 26th, my Grandma Virginia passed away after a beautiful and long life.  She was a big influence on my life in so many ways that I may not have begun to truly recognize until the end came closer.  I'd always called her "Gramma".  I always had the silly notion that she'd always be around.  She was like my second mother so it seemed natural to believe that.  As her health began to deteriorate, I began to do things that I can honestly say I'm proud that I did.  The book I'm writing...she's in it.  I'd asked her permission when I first started the book, far before she was ill and her only request was that I didn't make her "a lady of the night".  Gross!  Of course not!  But her role in the story is important and I'm so happy she's in it.  I didn't just use her name...it's her.
When she began to grow more and more tired, I took her to her room and brought my computer with me.  I have only shared my story with one person.  I sat with her and essentially read my Gramma asleep as I read her the prologue to my book.  She gasped at moments and let out an, "Oh!" here and there.  I took that as a sign that it was either good...or horrific.  I don't know.  However, knowing Gramma, she liked it.  I also proceeded to tell her the premise of the story and the direction it was going to take.  It was a proud moment for me to be able to share something with her that was quite personal and dear to my heart.

My Grandmother, Virginia Kochrian, was an amazing woman.  Her heart was big, her hugs were strong, and her kisses and "I love yous" were given all the time.  The memories that I have of her are truly endless.  The legacy that she leaves behind is a great one and I can truly say I feel blessed to have had the honor of being one of her many grandchildren.  Gramma was a tough woman with an unbreakable spirit.  When my grandfather passed away, she knew she had her family to pull her through.  And though there was a loss that left a large hole in her heart, the love of everyone in her family pulled her through the tough times.

Grandma Virginia was one of the last "true" grandmothers.  She did things that grandmothers simply don't do anymore.

The wonderful things I remember of my Gramma...

Knitting blankets for every grandchild
Teaching me to knit when I was very young (but it only ever turned out to be a short scarf or small oven mitt)
Laying on Gramma's lap for back rubs while she talked to mom and dad.  If she stopped, I'd jerk my back to remind her I was still there.  This was a constant thing for us.
Candy for when we walked through the door for all of us grandchildren.  Mostly Andes chocolate mints.
Dinner almost every Sunday with Gramma and Grampa.
Gotta finish everything on our plate...if we did, "Good job!" even in my 30s. But always encouraged to eat more, of course.
The beautiful garden she and Grampa tended.
The pink bathroom with green wall paper that always smelt like roses.
The guest room that I'd always stay in if I was sick as a child or needing to get away as an adult...the furniture belonging to my Great Grandma Ruth.
MARINERS!
SEAHAWKS!
COUGARS!
STOCK MARKET!
The wood stove...Don't touch it!  It's hot!  (Why was it where people always had to walk by?)
Lover of gambling, slots were her favorite.
Dancer
Strawberry blonde hair
Our drive to California and talking the entire drive.  We didn't turn the radio on even once.  I learned so much about family history.  We had a plantation?!!  Wow!
Gramma and WebTV and the discovery of Col. Fribley from the Civil War on the internet.
Her chair and Grampa's chair.
Me choking on an ice cube while she and mom ran around frantically trying to get me warm water. I got out myself.
Her humming along to her music.
Her locket with Grampa's ashes placed inside.
Gramma sneaking into the delivery room thinking I wouldn't notice...I did.  No way I was kicking her out when she wanted to see the birth of one of her great grandchildren.
Farrah and Gramma sharing moments for years with her locket. Farrah was so fascinated by it.
Remembering Grampa's reaction to the locket when Dianne said how much it was (for their anniversary)...I thought he was going to have a heart attack right then.
After Grampa passed away, Gramma and I still had the tradition of calling each other...she'd wish me a happy birthday and I'd wish her a happy anniversary.  It was a special date we shared.  We never stopped doing it.  (Not sure who I'm calling this year...)
Rhubarb sauce
My favorite cookies she'd bake (one had potato chips in it!)
Spending hours going through photo albums with her.  She'd tell stories about her friends that I didn't know, but I always listened because she loved her friends so much and always wanted to share stories.
The light-up globe and always looking it over.
The wooden blocks.
The arc.
Falling from the yellow stool to hit my cheek on the corner of one of the wooden chairs, leaving a permanent scar on my right cheek bone.  I love it!  I curled up on the couch, on the pea green pillow, wrapped up in one of her knit blankets until mom could rush me out to the dr.
Holidays!  Christmas and Easter were always so special.
Dinah!
Cherry pies, Boisenberry pies, Peach pies
Making jams
Flodda mornings
She looooved sweet pickles.  I wasn't a fan, but I indulged with her.
The awesome sandwiches she'd make because I stopped by and she figured I must be hungry.  Last favorite sandwich was a pork sandwich made from Chinese pork slices, spicy mustard, and lettuce.  So good!
Newspaper clippings.
Romance novels.
Polished rocks.
Mirrors in her bedroom that made it look like I was part of the Rockets...I'd dance and kick my legs on her bed and my several reflections followed suit.  We were a fantastic group of dancers!
Sitting out on the back patio under her giant fuscias.
Strawberry milk.
Vacations to Hawaii.
The trip to Maui with just me and Breann.

My list can go on forever, and who knows, I might come in from time to time and add to it.

But my very favorite memory of her and Grampa was when Breann and I went to Maui with them, and Grampa chased Gramma around the condo pinching her butt.  I was 12 and remember thinking...I want that in my life.  This is the type of love I want to have.  Forever love.  They were two people that I looked at and could feel their love for one another no matter what.

Gramma, I will miss you dearly.  However, knowing that you are joining Grampa warms my heart and comforts me.  I have more memories than many people have of their grandmothers, and I truly feel blessed for that.  You were an awesome woman, strong willed, and compassionate.  Your qualities and strengths are ones I hold onto and hope I inherited.

I love you forever.



I will miss you, Gramma.