Grandma Kathy

I am a Grandma today!  Alex and Joanie had their daughter, Reese Elizabeth Moody.  I couldn't be happier to have such a beautiful little addition to our Moody family.  Farrah is super excited to be an Auntie!  How cool will it be for Reese to come over and play?  She'll have someone to play with (other than me and Mike).  Farrah has been practicing holding her doll just right so she will know how to hold Reese.  Mike and I went to the hospital tonight to meet our Granddaughter and she's gorgeous.  She and Farrah have matching toes!  Mike was beaming with pride.  GrandpaMoo.  ; )  Alex and Joanie, I'm so proud of you two and I love you both to death!  Thank you so much for bringing Reese into such a big family that is full of a lot of love.  Your daughter is going to grow up to be such a happy little person with such great parents.  Welcome to the family Reese!  You're already loved so much.

Little Miss Reese Elizabeth Moody

Proud GrandpaMOO

Special moment between my husband, my stepson, and my granddaughter.  Love you all.

One tough mama! You did such an amazing job, Joanie.  I love you and can't wait to see you in action. You're going to be a wonderful mother.  Alex and you will make it look easy.

Fifty Shades of GREAT

Yes, I read the books.  All three of them.  Beginning to end.  And truthfully, I was entertained.  Once you get through all the screwing (which I totally don't mind reading about...who doesn't?), the story is fun.  It isn't a favorite of mine, but if a book can make my eyes water a little, big points to the author.

I am a total nerd, but I kind of have to be for the path and journey I'm on.  So, I'll read anything at this time that might spark some extra imagination for me.  Plus, reading exercises my brain.  Shit, I must be a genius by now! (Kidding)

I read the first book and yawned from time to time when there were too many (is it possible, yes) "sex scenes" because every book I read gets down and dirty.  Reeeeal dirty.  Nowadays, that is what the public wants.  OBVIOUSLY, by the massive positive outcry for this book that so many have expressed.  But I'd finished a lot of other books recently and decided to go back and read Book 1 again.  Okay.  It wasn't boring as much as I just wanted to focus on the character development.  Once I got that, I started to really enjoy it.  Then I bought book 2.  Read it.  Then book 3.  Finished.

It's fun.  It's flirty.  It's rags to riches.  It's naughty (I mean down right constant CONSTANT f*cking; sometimes it simply gets to the point that you skim through the screwing so you can get back to the story), but like I said...I was entertained.  KUDOS to the author for doing something that she'd always wanted to do, take on such a risqué topic (and in three books nonetheless), and making so many women out there HAPPY that someone could appeal to what women want.
Side note:  I noticed at the grocery store yesterday where all the Fifty Shades of Grey books are, below them are about 4 other books that are all about sex.  Clearly, Pandora's sex box (hee hee) has been opened.  Thank you writers!  You're so scandalous.

I only have 3 favorite authors who's style is very much like mine and I've been lucky enough to have discovered them.  Every author has a different style, different way to tell a story, and a different way to keep readers intrigued.  There are some that get published and I'm like, "what?"  But, again, there is something for everyone.  And a story teller for everyone.  I've read some really awful stuff, but I'll admit that Fifty Shades will not go on my shelf in the "Do Not Ever Read Ever Again Even If You're Sick Or Broke And Can't Afford Any More Books" section.

Honestly, I think a BIG part of me enjoyed reading this because the author chased a dream and succeeded immensely!  How can one not be inspired by that?  So, while reading these books that had some serious effed up (but not at all horrible) parts to it...it made it even so much better knowing I was reading something that someone decided it was time to make a change and do something she'd always wanted to do.

I might start reading them again.  Like I said, I'm a nerd.  And...we'll call it "research".  ; ) 

Awwwwwwwww YEEEEEAAAAHHHHH

We bought a pool!  It's been about 100 degrees everyday this summer and will continue probably until the end of September.  It's HOT!!!  Sometimes it's too hot to open the door and step outside for more than 10 seconds.  I have literally stepped out and turned right back around to go into my wonderfully air conditioned house.  However, we've been missing out on enjoying the sunshine because we can't even sunbathe for more than one hour to half an hour even with the sprinkler giving us a little break from the angry sun.  

So we made the decision....

Time for a pool that was more than the blow-up pool that only goes up to our calves.  Can't quite afford the in-ground  pool just yet, so we went another direction.  

Jealous?

You should be, because it's hotter than hell over here and we actually get to enjoy some sunshine and not get crispy!

Moves Like Jagger...

Nope, I still have not seen "Magic Mike" but I have every intention to see it.  Nah, this is about my Friday-Night-Life.  It's not as fantastic as you'd think but I think it's pretty freakin' fun.  Sometimes I get a wild hair and plug my phone into the Bose stereo in the kitchen and blast the hell out of it.  And I dance.  Dance like a maniac.  In slippers.  Nothing sexier than that.  So, tonight started with "Moves Like Jagger" and danced like I was in a club for Farrah.  Probably not appropriate, but who cares?  She won't judge me.  When she was done eating dinner, she actually joined in the fun and I was quite impressed with her skills.  Skills she learned from watching...me.  Then one of her favorites, "Video Killed the Radio Star."  I had to chalk it up to my cardio for the day because it's damn hot out here even with the AC, but still a sweaty mess.  But TOTALLY worth it!  Mind you, as soon as I find a club I can shake what I workout so hard on, I'm grabbing a friend and going out dammit!  Because honestly, dancing in a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, kick my slippers off and finish my moves in socks...not hot.  But sometimes...it is. ; )-

Smiley

This is a dumb, but "feel good" post.  My cheeks are hurting from smiling so much and laughing so hard, and what a great way to go to bed? Why? Because for the past year, I have deprived myself of watching the Daily Show. AppleTV and Hulu decided to go out for some cocktails, go dancing and hook- up and it looks like I now have the joy of watching one of my very favorite shows. So I've watched three episodes and enjoyed several scream-laugh moments all to myself and grinning ear to ear from the moment a show would start until the credits rolled. Ahhh...back to some normalness for me that I thoroughly enjoy. Thank you AppleTV and Hulu for being smart and sharing your love of each other with the rest of us. I heart you.

Bisque-gusting

I thought of this title and figured it was so rad I might not even have to tell the story associated with it.  But then you'd be left hanging and wondering, "Kathy. What was so bisque-gusting?"  Oh, I'll share.  Warning though, it is one of those stories that suck and aren't funny or really even interesting.  I just like my title because it's so damn clever.
Here's the lame story...  I live near a Fred Meyer and the other day Farrah and I needed to make a quick stop for various crap and I wanted to get back home for the opening ceremonies for the Olympics.  While there, I eyeballed the soup section where they sell their "selected" soups.  Easy.  No effort.  The perfect dinner.  I grabbed the Lobster Bisque with Sherry.  Mmmm...sounds interesting.  Why the Lobster Bisque?  When I was 18, my parents took me out to dinner for my birthday and I'd had Lobster Bisque.  It was wonderful.  Being the silly person that I am, I assumed Fred Meyer had the same quality of soup as the 5 star restaurant I'd been to.  Of course, I expected the same damn soup.  I cooked it, sat down to watch a cheesy movie, and could feel my face contort.
It was pretty terrible.  And yet, I continued to eat it.  I don't know why sometimes I do this.  Maybe I think of starving people and I feel guilty if I don't finish.  Maybe my tastebuds will adjust and miraculously the taste will improve.  Maybe I know I spent a good hard earned 5 dollars on this crap that could have just as easily gone to the coffee shop I go to everyday for a mocha.  I just kept eating it.  What makes it so effed up was I could actually pinpoint what the flavor was that I was tasting.
Bile.
Somehow, Fred Meyer had found a way to make Bile Soup and call it Lobster Bisque.  LIARS!  You know when you are running around and you kinda over do it and a little up-chuck burns your throat.  That's bile.  That taste...is Fred Meyer's Lobster Bisque with Sherry.

Ultimately...I threw in the towel and made myself something else to eat.

It was worth having a bowl of bile just to come up with the title of this blog entry.

The soup was Bisque-gusting.  Get it?

Salad Debacle

I ordered lunch today and chose the Caesar salad as I have before, with chicken.  When the girl put the plate down in front of me, I started to chuckle.  "So...am I suppose to cut the romaine?"  The romaine lettuce was cut in long sheets about 8-9 inches long and had strips of chicken and drizzled dressing over the top.  She quickly brought over a butter knife for me and I had to shake my head.  I let her know that I hate being a complainer, but there was no way that I was going to be able to "chop" the lettuce as it should have been in the first place with a butter knife nor on the size of plate that had been given to me.  I told her I just wanted lunch but didn't want to work so hard to get the food into my mouth.  She said this was how it had always been.  Not true.  I had the same salad and loved it last week.  The romaine was chopped in bite size pieces in a large bowl with bite size grilled chicken.  She told me she would take it back to the back and have them cut up the lettuce for me.  Grrrreat.  We all know what kind of risk we take when we send something back.
She took it and and brought back what looked like the chef had taken the knife through the whole thing one time because a single piece of lettuce was the size of my face and placed in a small bowl.  When she brought it, I thanked her for trying and let her know I'll still have to cut it and I just didn't want to make a mess.  So what happened?  Every time I cut a piece of the romaine, 2 pieces would fall onto the table.  This happened about 3 times until I had a small pile of my lunch ON the table and not one bite yet in my mouth.  Eff.  This.
I signaled for someone else who looked like they were more in a management position and told him to just take it back.  He looked at it and said, "Why is it in such a small bowl?  Did you get the long strips of romaine?"  Ugh.  He looked at the mess in front of me and I said I hate to be the person to send something back, but this was stupid.  He took it back with no qualms and returned to me a normal Caesar salad.

Here's the thing...
I learned in Culinary Arts that the food you made needed to be beautiful, delicious, but also practical to eat.  This was someone trying something way too artsy and impossible to eat, and therefore not fun to enjoy.  For the price I paid for my salad, I shouldn't have been expected to do all the freakin' work.  That's how it felt:  Here's a bunch of leaves of romaine lettuce, a few strips of chicken, some giant croutons, and a lot of drizzled dressing.  Good luck not getting it all over your shirt and thanks for the money to do my job for me.

Anyway, not ordering that again.  That's not artsy...that's lazy.  No matter how pretty the presentation looks, I should still be able to eat the damn thing.

Fail.

Hand Shaker

I can't be positive that I haven't already posted about this subject matter at some point or not...but if I have, it must be because it's important.  When meeting someone for the first time, I think people should take some time to evaluate how they intend to shake the other person's hand.  First, don't have a pussy hand shake.  ESPECIALLY if you're a guy.  Nothing makes me have less faith in whatever you're going to be like when I feel like I need to bow down and kiss your hand like a gentleman.  Because I'm not a gentleman.  I'm a 100 pound woman who shouldn't have a stronger hand shake than you.  Also, don't be a sweaty mess.  Hell, be honest and even tell me as you're wiping the sweat off onto your pants that your hands are all sweaty before you touch my hand.  I don't mind.  I mind, however, suddenly having a hand that I now have to wipe on my pants.  Thanks.  Finally, there are the guys that have to either prove their masculinity by trying to break my bones in our friendly greeting.  What is wrong with these people??!  I just met some guy who works out at my gym and he introduced himself to me by squeezing my hand and fingers together to the point of almost cracking something.  BE CAREFUL!!!  I'm delicate!  Also, it makes me super angry when my hand is being gripped by a stranger and I feel like I'm already in an abusive relationship with them before I can share what my name is.  When guys do that to each other, it is positively rude.  It's almost a sign of pea-cocking without actually having to puff out the chest.  It's like a game of "who's got the stronger handshake".  Well, asses, to take you seriously in any type of greeting when shaking hands, your handshake must be firm and serious but never painful.  You're just a jerk at that point whether you realize it or not.  How about you practice shaking hands with your mother or 90 year old grandmother?  Or try with a homeless man who's lost everything.  Would you be such a jerk that you would grab that man's hand and squeeze what's left of his pride out of his hand, or would you shake it like you are truly glad to meet him?

In any case, this obviously just happened.  I should've said, "Hey jackass! Nice to meet you, but how about I take a hammer and slam it down on your hand and see if that enhances this greeting.  You'd hate me about as much as I'm hating you right now."  But, I'm not that way so I let him get away with it unfortunately and he will shake someone else's hand violently and they will suffer...and I honestly don't think he is even aware that his handshake is a total put off.  Next time I see him I'll just waive.  Protecting myself.  Geez, sweaty-hands-McGee just came up and said hello and now my right hand with it's delicate bones and tendons are also covered in someone else's sweat.  Gross.

Ssssssssssnake

For the past few days, my garage has been a stinky stinky smelly gross...place.  Couldn't think of another word there.  Well, I've been wondering what the hell I dumped in the garbage to make the whole place smell like death.  Did I roast a chicken like a month ago and suddenly decide to throw it away now?  Did I decide to thaw out some trout that we caught while camping and just keep it in the garbage can for the past 2 weeks?  Did I change a shitty diaper and wrap it up in another shitty diaper and not remember doing it?  Why, god, why did it smell so bad?  I sprayed all of my recycle cans as well as the garbage can down with a ridiculous amount of Lysol hoping that it would ward off the stench until garbage day.  Yesterday, Farrah and I were walking through the garage to head for the mailbox and low and behold...the smelly problem made itself known.  Somehow, a gardner snake had slithered its way into our garage and miraculously got its whole midsection smushed, like something drove over it.  I don't know how it would have been driven over and then drug its sorry snake ass back into my garage to live out its final hours, but something along those lines happened.  After the discovery had been made, Farrah and I had the heeby-geebies all the way to the mailbox and back.

How the hell was I going to get the evil dead out of my garage?  Every time I visualized any means to do it...I'd wiggle around as if a mouse just dove down my shirt.  But it would have to happen eventually.  Now that I knew what the source of the stink was coming from, my gag reflexes were working overtime whenever I walked out there.

So, once I picked Farrah up from Summer Camp/Summer School, I made the critical decision.  It had to be done.  Today.  But like hell if I was doing it alone!  Farrah was going to have to be my side kick in this matter whether she wanted to be or not!  I grabbed a shovel and moved certain obstacles out of the way to do what I had to do.  I knew if I watched what I was doing, I'd probably freak out.  So, I decided to use the shovel and angled it for the thrust to scoop up what I could with my head turned the other direction (I could tell part of the snake was "stuck" to the ground).  Once I felt the weight shift onto the shovel's head and I looked, I screamed like the goddamn thing woke up and I started to run from the dead snake.  This wasn't just a dead snake.  It had some sort of bulge that I had assumed was it's guts being pushed all together because on the other end, it's eyeballs were pushed out of its face.  I know.  Gross.  But it wasn't its guts.  No.  The bulge was a silly massive amount of maggots withering around having the time of their life while I watched in horror.  How on Earth was I going to scoop this thing up which still had a foot of tail that needed to be taken along with the rest of its dead body?  I gave the snow shovel a small glance, then said screw it.  I couldn't be a total pussy about this, so no to the snow shovel.  I gave my shovel one more push and made sure I had the whole damn snake while I ran with it.  Then came Farrah's role in the whole ordeal:
"MOMMY!! THROW IT IN THE NEIGHBOR'S YARD!! THROW IT IN THE NEIGHBOR'S YARD!!!"
Well, that was out of the question because, of course, they would have heard her giving me directions on where to discard the carcass.  So I opted for some rocks near a bush in the open where I prayed some other nasty ass animal might find it appealing and eat it.  Or even better, have the upcoming 90+ degree weather completely dry that thing out.

In the meantime, the area in which the snake had met its unfortunate death and stuck a little to the garage floor, I had sprayed down with kitchen bleach cleaner.  That wasn't enough for me because there were about 10 maggots still crawling around in the poison.  So I went for the gusto and poured about 1-2 cups of bleach on the whole area.  The damn things were swimming in it.  Farrah was freaking out because "it wasn't working!!!"  I let her know to just give it time.  They would not survive.  Payback for the poor snake.  The poor, disgusting, smelly, rotten, decaying, maggot infested snake that chose my freakin' garage.

I hope it goes to hell.

Look at the eyes!  Sick.

15 Years Today

15 years ago today, I had my first date with Mike Moody.  I had been looking forward to an evening with him and scared as hell, too.  It was on a Sunday.  We went to the Ponderosa Tavern even though I was only 20 at the time and he was 30.  He told the bartender not to give me a hard time for not having my ID on me because I was going to be "the next Mrs. Moody".  He even had the courage to tell me he told her that and asked me if that bothered me.  I remember smiling at him, blushing, and admitting that it didn't bother me at all.  We shared a pitcher of beer (probably Bud Light) and talked all night.  Mike was razzed by a bunch of his friends about our date and we came to find that we had several mutual friends, too.  That made things easy so that there wasn't a whole lot of awkwardness in meeting everyone.  His sister was there too.  We stayed until we felt we'd talked all that we could for the night before a work day (plus we'd been getting to know each other for the past two days always up until 6AM - this just happened to be our "official" date).  When we arrived at his house, he walked me to my car and we both said that we had a great time and we'd like to see each other again.  Then Mike said, "Would it be alright if I kissed you?" Melt.  Of course.  It was gentle and passionate and absolutely forever unforgettable.

Ironically, I had been reading a book last night when one of the main characters said the same exact thing...I smiled and started to cry.  When Mike and I were together that first night, everything about it was fun, exciting, new, and romantic.  For crying out loud, what he said to me 15 years ago, just so happened to be in a book that's 3 years old!

Happy Anniversary Mr. Michael Moody

Love Always,

Mrs. Michael Moody

Graduation 2012

On the 20th of June, Miss Farrah Raquelle Moody graduated from the Kinder-Ready program at her school.  It was held at a park on a perfectly beautiful day.  Farrah had her dress all picked out for the day which actually started in the morning at a different park where there was a bouncy house, face painting and oh god, a clown.  All the kids got pop cycles, Farrah and I sat on our picnic blanket in the back of the group (can't be too close to clowns), and when it was finally time to do the balloon tricks, L-Bow the clown walked back to give Farrah the poodle, while the rest of the kids whined about it.  Lucky.
Anyway, we got her all ready and I even did her hair the same way I did for her first day of school.  Mike was in charge of picking up some flowers, but I had to give the list of what not to buy that could make me non-functional due to stupid flower allergies. They turned out awesome.  They even put glitter on the flowers!
Well, we (parents) were in charge of bringing assigned pot-luck dishes for the post grad picnic.  This is a very healthy school so pretty much everything was green.  I thought long and hard about what healthy salad I could bring since that was my task, and I decided to go for unhealthy instead.  I made two LARGE dishes of Caesar salad with lots of cheese and croutons.  I know this post is about Farrah's graduation, but sorry, I'm giving myself a BIG pat on the back for picking something that went in a hurry.  It was almost like a relief to many when we opened our two containers of sauciness , cheesiness, croutony, and some Romaine lettucey goodness.  Are any of those words?

Anyway, the kids all sat in a line in alphabetical order and Miss Becky began to speak and immediately began to cry, which of course made the rest of us get teary eyed.  She just loves the kids so much and the teachers with all her heart.  After her speech, the diplomas were handed out to each child, along with a photo of their class, and a rose.  After their name was called and they gathered their things, it was announced what they wanted to be when they grew up.  Audrey, Farrah's best friend, wants to be a podiatrist.  What?  Then there were two heart surgeons-to-be, firemen, police officer, and other things that made me think I definitely had Farrah at the right school.  Everyone was so ambitious!  Then Farrah's turn, "Farrah Raquelle Moody!  Farrah wants to be a cooker and a singer when she grows up!"  Of course I cheered for our little girl.  She knew she wanted to be a chef before she ever even knew that's what I went to school for.  And singing?  That's just a given in our musical family.
We got lots of pictures and couldn't help beam with pride with the awesomeness that is our Farrah.  The three of us stayed until the very end.  I remember Glen, Audrey's dad look a little confused and asked Audrey if she knew what a podiatrist is (because this seemed to be a surprise to him and Cheryl) and Audrey said no.  Then he explained what it was, and then she said, "Oh yeah. That's what I want to be!"  So kudos to Audrey!

Farrah, I can't say how proud I am of you and have it mean as much as I feel it.  You have lovely penmanship, you can do math, you love science and are intrigued with planets and dinosaurs.  You are incredibly good at art and you tell me all the time, "But mommy, I'm only 5 years old and I don't know much stuff.  I need you to tell me everything!"  I will do my best and I am doing my best.  You are so bright and knowledgable at such a young age, I can hardly fathom what wonderful adult you will become because at 5, you're one of the very best people I know.  Your intuition is very uncanny and your desire to see everyone around you happy is a characteristic that at your age is not learned, but simply ingrained into your soul.  I love you so much.  You are what I want to be when I grow up! ; )

Winter Coat

This isn't about the one hanging in my closet.  I'm wondering if we, as humans, have "winter coats" like other animals.  Both Farrah and I have experienced an excessive amount of "shedding" lately and quite frankly, my vacuum can't keep up.  Thank god we have a lot of hair, some we can spare.  We moved from an area where the climate was at a consistently uncomfortable temperature except for 2 months (maybe 3 if we were lucky) out of the year.    Yes, like normal people I'd comb my hair and expect a strand here and there.  No big deal.  But holy geez!  This is out of freakin' control!!  I've been in 10 degree weather throughout the winter and in some windy and crazy snow storms on this side of the mountains.  Chilly!  Now, it's going to be 90 tomorrow.  I'm hoping desperately that Farrah and I are dropping what I can only imagine that can be a winter coat due to the harsh change in temperatures.  I also hope this stops soon because I'm sick of finding strands in every towel I grab and every pair of socks I own.  They're like magnets.  I have to constantly pull an invisible hair off of my right elbow at least twice a day.  I always get it, but it drives me nuts!  Anyway, weird post, I know, but this hair madness must end soon.

The Most Entertaining Travel Experience

About a week ago, I went to CA for business with Mike.  The trip itself was awesome and successful.  We met some great people and look forward to building some amazing relationships with them all, let alone doing business with them.

But what I'm writing about has absolutely nothing to do with that.  My lil' story begins at the airport on our way back to Seattle.  We were in a pretty long line for Alaska Airlines and it was moving very slowly.  Mike had me stay in line while he went to one of the kiosks to check us in and get our tickets.  While he did that, I watched the men on the other side of his kiosk, using theirs.  They were older men who had been standing there from the moment we walked through the door, got in line, Mike got us checked in, and got back in line.  They were there until we made it towards the front of the line and their wives in front of us began to panic.  At the moment that it looked like we were getting close, the counter ladies started to make announcements for anyone who was there for the 7AM flight to come to the front of the line.  Ummm....what?  One by one, people behind us started to make their way in front of us and I remember thinking, what the hell??  We were there on time and when the airlines tell us to be there: 2 hours before flight's departure.  These people were an hour late and their plane was loading. I remember when that had happened to us.  And we weren't moved to the front of the line.  In fact we were told: too freakin' bad and we'd have to wait until an airline had an opening for us.  OUR flight hadn't even started to board yet and we were still considered to late.  But I guess Alaska Airlines treats people different.  Once all the tardies made their way away from the front counter and on their way to security, there was one more person that I noticed.  A little old lady who held a paper that looked like it was printed from Expedia.com in her hands.  She walked up to an Alaska Airlines person and said, "I don't know what I'm supposed to do."  They proceeded to scoot her up to the front of the line.  Again, the rest of us were just waiting patiently for our turn that was actually 20 minutes ago.  I simply watched, entertained.  I had to mentally scold myself that she was just a little old lady that "didn't know what she was doing."  Yeah right.
She knew.
She knew.
She was another 8AM passenger along with the rest of us.  And off she went to security while the rest of us sweaty and tired people waited to flagged down for our turn.  We got checked in finally and we were on our way to security at the John Wayne airport.  Worst - Security - Ever.  Long ass lines in a tiny airport with SO many security personel.  While we waited in line, there was a man to our left who was in super panic mode while he spoke quite loudly in his cell phone, "I DON'T KNOW HONEY!! I'VE BEEN HERE WAITING FOR YOU!!  I'M PROBABLY GOING TO MISS MY FUCKING FLIGHT BECAUSE I'M SURE NONE OF THE PEOPLE IN FRONT OF ME ARE GOING TO LET ME GO AHEAD OF THEM. - Oh, thank you."  Yes, we let him in front of us.  Then a couple of  VIP fliers walked in front of us.  I couldn't help but smile and laugh then say, "Should I say no cuts-ees to them?  Because that was weird."  These two guys didn't even acknowledge that we were standing there and then they were suddenly in front of us.  How do you not realize you walked in front of two people let alone a whole line and not feel a little shitty about it?
So, we waited in this stupid long line that seemed to go on forever.  I made sure all my lip gloss and hand sanitizer was set aside so my purse wouldn't get searched again.  The yelling-cell-phone-man was still freaking out and swearing and sweating and pacing in his little space of nothingness.  He kept sighing really loud.  He made sure EVERYONE around him knew he was pressed for time.  We got it!  Someone even signaled that he go ahead to the next line that looked like it was moving faster, but no, security lady said, "These ladies were first.  You'll have to wait."  "FUCK!!!"  And my reaction?  Laughter, of course.  How was it not funny to see this poor guy get nothing but bad luck.  I turned to Mike and said, "Would it be terrible of me to wish that they pull him aside to get patted down?  Oh please, god, make him get searched."
I said this and knew...I had just doomed us.
My evil lil' wish backfired onto us.  But mostly because the John Wayne airport sucks.  I watched as some poor man was patted down and searched right in front of everyone without any privacy.  It pissed me off to see that.  Although I wished it on the yelling-cell-phone-man, this poor soul was being touched and prodded with everyone's noses pressed up against the glass wondering if he had a bomb hidden up his ass.  I think not.
The back fire for us that I clearly made happen because Karma is a bitch, but c'mon, was when we finally got to the ramp that pulled our crap through the Xray.  When it got to my box, the guy sat there staring at my shit.  He looked around trying to find some help, called for help in his walkie-talkie, and waited.
And waited.
And...waited.
Someone finally showed up to help with my purse.  "Oh, ma'am, you're not supposed to put anything on top of your lap top so it has to go through again."  Awesome.  So my stuff went to the back of the line to go through again while I stood there in shame.  Then Mike's came through. "WE'VE GOT ANOTHER WITH SHOES ON THE LAPTOP!!!"  Oh my god, this was getting too rad for words although I'm writing several.  Back to the beginning Mike's stuff went.  Because his SHOES were sitting on top of his computer.  VERY dangerous!!!
We made it through and not angry but a little entertained.
Time to load our plane...computers went down.  Of course they did.  And the lady who was checking us in while writing our tickets down on paper, was the same lady that made us sit there with our daughter in shame only a month or so ago after Disneyland because she wasn't 2 years old, but in a stroller.  Usually, the rules are "passengers who need assistance and those with children."  Both, thank you.  Strollers need special treatment at the base of where you get loaded.

Okay, finally the best part...
The little old lady who cut in front of all of us was sitting in front of us along with 2 other VERY old people.  I thought it was a great fitting for them.  I had a gal crying next to me for the majority of the trip and I constantly felt like hugging her, but that could've been weird.  But back to the older people... Mike pointed something out to me that he felt I just had to see.  He pointed out that the man sitting in the middle of the two woman was reading a Kindle in big font.  The font was SO big it only held 6-9 words to the screen.  AND Mike was able to tell me that the man was reading about anti-abortion on the NY Times.  I was laughing so hard, I thought I might scream.  It was too freaking funny and I just couldn't stop.  In fact, I wrote a note to myself that I would be writing about it, so here I am.  Probably not funny in the slightest to anyone reading this, but picture the font at a size 50...not kidding.  It was so big.  I wasn't sure who out of that group was driving, but I sure as hell hoped it wasn't him.

Pukes

I felt it necessary to write about this because of the magical word that came from this boring story.  I had Farrah sleep with me one night after she had an excellent week at school.  A little reward, if you will.  We sometimes watch movies together or she'll watch her own while I read.  Well, since it was a sleep-in day for us, we woke up at an unreasonable hour.  We both woke up at the same time and she looked disheveled and puffy eyed.  I could taste my ass breath and knew the greasy mess of a mop on top of my head was plastered to my skull.  I did that gross lip smacking thing that you do when you first wake up while looking at her.  She mimicked my action and spoke, "Good morning, mama."  Oh LORD!
Me:  "Farrah, your breath smells as bad as mine tastes.  Gross."
Farrah:  "Yeah, gross."
Me:  "We're both gross and smell like poop."
Farrah:  "We're pooo..ah...pukes!"
Me:  (Scream laughing) "Yes! Yes we are pukes!!!"
The word "pukes" is now frequently used in our vocabulary to describe ourselves when we are what others like to call a "hot mess".  Let's be honest with ourselves.  Hot mess?  Really?  No.  Think about it.  When you haven't showered, you passed out in whatever sweatpants and teeshirt concoction you've thrown together to fall in bed in, you can still find a piece of almond in between your teeth from your midnight snacking adventure and you look like you've been punched in both eyes because you like to rub your eyes with your fists when you first wake up and smear any leftover waterproof mascara...you are NOT a hot mess.  You are gross.  You are a puke.

Puke.

Keep in mind...this word can be used to describe just about anyone and anything just like the term "hot mess."  It's more honest.  Like this, "Oh my lord, did you see that girl? That outfit and that hair? What a puke." Caddy girls like to think they're being cute and kind when saying "hot mess" when in fact they're just ass holes like everyone else who is talking shit.  So keep it real folks.  Call it like it is.  The word will catch on and Farrah and I will be the ones who revolutionize it.  Just watch.  So try not to act like a PUKE or look like a PUKE and we won't tell anyone.  In the meantime, we'll practice the word on ourselves.

P.S.  I took a half-ass shower today, so I will proclaim myself as being a puke today.  And I will wear the word with pride until I wash it off tonight or whenever the hell I feel like it.

Bio-terrorism

Farrah is funny.  Very funny.  But at times she can take her humor to a place that crosses an invisible line.  A few weeks ago Farrah was talking to me and then turned to me and whispered that she needed to tell me something.  She slowly walked over to me and came up to my right ear and full on SNEEZED (for real).  My kid sneezed...in my face...on purpose.  I laughed so hard and so did Farrah and so did Mike, but at the same time I knew somewhere in that moment I needed to teach her a lesson.  But what lesson can you teach a 5 year old when you are scream laughing from the fact that your kid is clever enough to come up with something so funny and sneaky?  It took me a bit to calm down and let her know this wasn't okay.  Obviously, chuckling through the whole reprimand didn't help plead my case of seriousness.  I went through the whole thing that it was "rude", "gross", "not nice", etc.  Blah, blah, freakin' blah.  Whatever.  It was funny.  However...I didn't want her to do this again.

Well, two days ago she was looking at me and walking up to me slowly then WACHOO! in my face!!!  Again, I had to try even harder this time to keep my laughter locked up and try a different approach with her.  (Mind you, so you don't think my kid is a total ass, her sneezes were mostly just loud but little to no snot or spittle hit me - but how does she sneak up like that without that awkward twisted look on her face like normal people get right before the explosive sneeze?).  I ended up telling her that what she just did was against the law.  I told her if she ever jokingly spit on me (she makes spit bubbles then laughs and might get a little on me) or sneezed at me on purpose, I'd call the cops and she'd go to jail.  Her laughter dwindled away and sadness and fear replaced her smile.  In fact, she started to get a little teary.  "Why would you call the cops on me mommy?!!"  "Because what you are doing could be considered biochemical warfare against me.  What if you sneezed sickness on me?  That is against the law and I will have to do my duty and turn you in if you do it again."  "But mommy, I don't want to go to jail.  You love me!"  "Of course I love you and I don't want you to go to jail, but you'll avoid jail time or cops coming if you stop sneezing in my face."  "BUT MOMMY!!! WHAT IF I CAN'T HELP IT?!!"  "You know when a sneeze is coming on, so turn away from me or anyone else...or we'll have to get the authorities involved."  "Okay Mama."

Yeah, I won that one.  Very cleverly I might add.

Another comical moment from Farrah was last night after playing a round of UNO.  She's very good, mind you.  She beat me...again.  But it was her victory celebration that was SO funny and not something I'd expect a 5 year old little girl (except for mine) to do.  She turned around, poked her butt towards my face, said "CH! CH!  Pkew! Pkew!"  Those are supposed to be the sounds of her cocking a gun and blasting it at me.  While she did the "pkew pkew" she popped her butt out like she was firing the "gun" at me.  She's terrible and awesome at the same time.

Binky

I found this little treasure today.  I don't know what compelled me to NEED to take a picture of it, but I did.  All that came to mind were the numerous captions that could go along with this.  Right off the bat, I was thinking "this is a perfectly fine binky, what the hell? Why leave it behind?"  Or you know how sometimes babies drop their binkies and mommies pick them up, suck on them to "clean them up" and put it back in their baby's mouth? Where was the mom on this one?  WTF?  Someone dropped the ball as a mother on this little task.
OR, someone gets the Mother Of The Year award if they do clean that thing up thoroughly and has the thought, "Yep, good enough for Jr."  OR Worst Mother Of The Year award if this is just given back to the baby.  I think that's what kept going through my mind that made me laugh so hard at this.  I actually pictured in my mind a mom just picking it up and handing it over to her baby without even thinking about it except to keep the baby quiet.  You know, sometimes we moms get tired and a little retarded at times.  Some worse than others.  This was a worse case scenario.  I'm probably not doing it any justice, but if anyone wants to come up with their own caption, they're welcome to it.  I'll be working on some real ones and post them somewhere on the world wide web, I'm sure. ; )  It's lying down on a dead leaf and next to leaked car oil.  Or is that a fish tail?

What if this JUST popped out of a babies mouth?!!  That's what this baby's binkies ALL look like!! Gross.  And yet, to me...awesome.

When Kid Games Go Wrong

This morning Farrah wanted to play a game with me.  "Let's make silly faces!"  It's not one of my favorite games, but she enjoys it a lot and I think mostly because she's learned how to cross her eyes and thinks it's hilarious.  Well, we'd gone a good 5 minutes going back and forth, back and forth.  Finally, I went for a different tactic.  I proceeded to pull my lower lip out and then down...further and further and further.  "Mama, you're freaking me out. You're freaking me out! YOU'RE FREAKING ME OUT!!!!"  Of course, her face filled with terror only made me want to continue doing it even more and then add a little more by lifting my tongue back and showing my tongue veins.  I'm such an ass.  "STOP IT MOMMY!!! I DON'T WANT YOU TO RIP YOUR LIPS OFF!! DON'T PULL YOUR LIPS OFF OF YOUR FACE!!!"  I stopped and started to scream laugh so hard.  And my poor fragile daughter began to cry.  I had to explain that I wasn't going to rip my lips off my face and they were back to normal.  No harm done.  Then she said, "I was afraid if you ripped your lips off your face you would die."  I'm SUCH an ass.  Big hugs after that and a promise that I wouldn't try to pull my bottom lip out ever again.

However, I reserve the right to pull my bottom lip out as far as I can should she be disrespectful or not minding me.  I'll remind her how awful she's being with the threat of ripping part of my face off.  I'm not sure who wins there though.  But I'm sure it takes less energy than a good ol' fashion scolding.

OMG...Did this just happen

This literally happened to me less than 30 seconds ago, but it shook me to my core enough that I needed to post about it because it's that important.  I was looking for 3 inch pens for a project I'm working on.  An ink pen about the size of those little promo flashlights.  You can picture what I'm saying, right?  Well, I read through some of the sites that popped up on Google and none of them said anything.  However, one did say 3 inch pens.  So, of course I clicked on it.  And what should appear but a 3 inch PENIS.  Seeing a penis doesn't shake me to my core, but seeing it in a public coffee house where the potential of others seeing the 3 inch penis on my computer screen DOES shake me to my core.  Ooops!  "X" out of that page and pray to god that no one just saw that.  Let me say, it was only about 10 minutes ago that I had people sitting within eyesight on either side of me.  Luckily, I was alone when the 3 inch penis reared its ugly head.  Tee hee.  Gross, but funny.  Apparently, I have to be more specific in my search category.  "Pens" is short for "Penis", I guess.  Had no idea.

Sleep Over

Farrah had a sleep over at her friend's house a few weeks ago, but we decided it was our turn to have the sleep over at our house.  The two girls are very fond of each other and love to play together, but of course there's always going to be incidents.  The first one was the dead bird.  I saw them going up and down the back deck and then huddled together in a chair.  When I was on the phone, I had to quickly excuse myself so I could tell the girls to put down the dead bird and stop petting the poor thing.  "We want to bury it." was Farrah's response.  "I wish I could take it home to my house." was Audrey's.  Eww, eww, eww.  My response:

"DROP IT! DROP IT! DROP IT!"
"Come inside. DON'T TOUCH ANYTHING!"
"Come wash your hands. Don't touch ANYTHING!"
"Please don't touch that bird again. I know it's sad, but it's a little gross too."

Next...AGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!  On the phone again, "I gotta go, gotta go, gotta go!"  "MOMMY!!!  AGHHHHHHHHHH!!!!"  Tag + slammed doors + little fingers = no bueno.  While Farrah was okay and survived with all fingers intact and no broken bones, she was not a fan of the ice on the hands.  When a 4 year old friend, says she's sorry...they mean it, but more for fear of getting in trouble.  How do I know this?  Because Farrah had the same sort of apology for Audrey later.  They were arguing because Farrah wanted to sing "Circle of Life" from The Lion King, but Audrey wanted to actually watch the movie.  So during their argument, Farrah threatened to eat Audrey.  Audrey came downstairs crying and Farrah was freaking out and screaming "I SAID I'M SORRY!!!"  She wasn't.  So, I had to clarify whether Farrah intended on using salt and pepper when eating Audrey or not.  This made them laugh.  Then Audrey said she's bitten herself before and I asked her how her arm tasted.  Not good.  "See Farrah, not a good idea."  I got them to settle down for now, hope they're out for the night.

Nightmare 2

I thought I should share about this nightmare that Farrah had, since she's only had a small handful of them. The first one that was shared was about me...this one is about her Daddy.

"I had a bad dream last night.  It was about Daddy.  He was in a chair and there were monsters all around him making this face" (She proceeded to make an angry face showing all her teeth).  "They were putting salt on him.  I think they were going to eat him.  They put tape on his mouth."

Ick, I know.  But this will probably be the last of the shared blogged nightmares.

But there was a baby doll one with the red light.  That one freaked me the hell out.

Our Little Girl

Happy Birthday to our amazing daughter, Farrah. She is 5 today and is as wonderful as can be. Had Mike and I gone through a catalog and picked all we'd love in a daughter...she's it. Not ONE day can go by without a kiss, a bear hug, or an "I love you" from her. It would make her day incomplete. She loves to play, she loves to smile, she loves being silly, she loves to sing, she loves her friends, she loves to share what she learns at school every single day, she loves her WHOLE family and remembers them all regardless of how often she gets to or doesn't see them. She loves art, she loves Littlest Pet Shops, she loves to watch Horseland, and she loves to make wishes. But she also really loves her mommy and her daddy. There just aren't enough hugs and kisses from us to truly satisfy her big heart. Farrah loves to love. :) How can we not be beyond proud of being the parents of one of the best people I know in the world?

Happy Birthday my "Kitten"
Happy Birthday Daddy's "Boots"
Happy Birthday our Farrah...our love.

Smurfette

Before you start asking yourself if I saw the movie, I didn't.  I'm a little afraid to.  Here's why...
As a child, I grew up watching this cartoon.  It wasn't one of my favorites by any means, but it was on around the time all the WB cartoons were on which were my favorites.  So, there I was watching these little blue creatures on the screen every Saturday morning.  Looking back on it, I was always confused about something.  Smurfette.

Smurfette was the ONLY female Smurf out of the ENTIRE colony of Smurfs.  Ummm...something about that was always a tad disturbing to me.  There were so many episodes about the many other male Smurfs wanting to hook up with Smurfette.  She was dirty.  Sorry if I offend anyone who either loves the Smurfs, or hates that the obvious was just shoved in their face.  She'd be offered gifts and she'd accept them!  Dirty little tramp.  But what did they get in return, I wonder???  Oh, we find that out down the road.  Where the heck did Baby Smurf come from?  They never did explain that.  Also, there were all these little Kid Smurfs.  Who birthed them?  Well, the ONLY FEMALE SMURF of course!!!  Loosey Goosey.

Might I point out her 4-pack-a-day-smoker's voice?  There's no way she cut out the ciggies while "with child".  And then there's her dress.  It was like the famous Marilyn Monroe dress.  The one that, OOPS, blows up.   She would walk around skanking it out for all the other Smurfs and the only one that didn't fall for her shannanagans was Papa Smurf, but that's probably because he was her dad.  And if that's the case...!!! HELLO! Get with the program Papa and find some other female Smurfs and sit Smurfette down and chat with her about her behavior and disgusting smoking habits.

In her defense... IF she is the ONLY female Smurf, I suppose she has a duty to uphold to keep the Smurf race alive and therefore has to behave in such a manner to try and keep the male Smurfs interested.  And in which case, with having to work that hard to keep them enticed, she probably has to smoke 4 packs a day because she hates her job and her life.

Side note about why I won't see the movie:  Today's cinema wants to take classic cartoons that we used to enjoy as children and trash them up.  Too much adult humor is thrown in and the cute female chimpmunks are made to wear slutty clothes.  While, yes, I'm making fun of what I found to be obvious as a child, I don't want my 4 year old learning the truth about Smurfette.  It's just not time.

Ice Cream Truck Hell

While at the Sprinkler Park today, Farrah, Toby and I were enjoying a nice time in the sun and lying under the shade of a tree.  Then from out of no where, the blaring sirens of "music" from an ice cream truck crept its evil way to the park. Sunuvabitch.  Of course, this brings out the crazy excitedness out of my daughter.  But do I have money to get one?  No.  Would I have got her one had I had the money?  No.  Not because I'm an asshole but because I know what a $2.50 ice cream can do to a kid, my kid, in that heat.  That late in the day.  And after playing so much.  Also, I had a massive bag and a massive dog attached to me so the idea of chasing after that stupid truck was not appealing.  What also made it not appealing...?  Farrah's temper tantrum.  "NOT FAIR!!! IT'S NOT FAIR!!! NO!!! NO!!!! NOOOOOO!!!!!"  The tantrum included a lot of screaming, crying, throwing herself on the grass and kicking.  I was told that I was not liked and she insisted on getting louder and louder, but this was because not only did I say no, but I was packing our stuff to leave.  Who was this person?  I believe I saw a piece of my childhood come out in my daughter today, but I expect better from her.  Especially since we have much better ice cream and pop cycles at home.  Needless to say, I hate the Ice Cream Truck and it's stupid music that constantly plays while other children get to go up and get their ice cream while my daughter screams at the top of her lungs.

One last note:

Yesterday, Farrah went to the dentist.  NOT ONE SINGLE CAVITY!!!  We were praised with how well we maintained her teeth, flossed, adding ACT to her daily mouth hygiene, as well as her diet.  I was so proud of her too!  At first she was scared of having her teeth cleaned, but brave little Farrah took it like a champ.  She was well behaved and scored big with the staff because her check up was s-i-m-p-l-e!
Kudos to us for not giving her pop everyday and handing over a candy bar every time she asks.  Oh, and using a Sonicare on a 4 year old (since she was 2).  Good girl Farrah!!!  Very proud of you. :)

Three Blind Mice

Three blind mice
Three blind mice
See how they run
See how they run
They all went after the farmer's wife
She cut off their tails with a carving knife
Have you ever seen such a sight in your life
As three blind mice



Yeah.  Um, I just sang that to Farrah and when I looked down with a smile on my face, her jaw was at the floor and her eyes were bulging out of her face.  Here, I thought I was singing a classic to her; something that I grew up singing.  Little did I know how very violent it was.  Who wrote this murderous tale?  She was not pleased and told me, "Mama, that's a BAD song!"

My bad.

An Old Story

I just remembered an old story from back when I was just out of high school.  In fact, I may have still been in high school, but don't judge my poor behavior.  I'm telling this story because I was reminded of it today and thought I should write about it so that I never forget it.  Because it's that good (to me).

One night, some of my girlfriends Jen, Becky, Amy, Suzie, Mariah, and I had gone out to a Denny's after some teenage drinking.  Yes, I know, bad, bad, bad.  But this is old news.  One of us was sober because we were at least smart enough to designate someone to not be retarded, it just so happens that this night it was not me.  Becky and I were usually the good girls, but this night we were tipsy.  I, in fact, was pretty lit.  The typical hang out to go to when wasted was Denny's.  We were seated and we noticed some older guys (older, like they were probably 21 or 22) watching us.  Becky and I decided to be brave and invite ourselves to sit with them and start to flirt and shoot the shit with them.

However, she and I had a plan up our sleeves.  We positioned ourselves so our girlfriends could watch what we were doing.  When Becky would start talking to them and their attention would be on her, I would grab one of their cheeseburgers and take the biggest bite I could fit in my mouth.  (I'm scream laughing as I type this).  Then when she was done talking, I would begin jumping into the conversation and have their full attention while Becky grabbed a handful of french fries and stuffed her face.  This went on and on and every once in a while the guys would glance at us while we ate their dinner, but never say a thing!  By the time we were done with our flirting, we had basically finished their meal.  We were dying we were laughing so hard.  These poor guys were so polite they never said anything to us and our hobo ways.

Looking back, we were such assholes for doing that, but I have no regrets because it was one of those times in my life where the scream laughter was never ending to the point that my stomach and face hurt and I was crying from laughing so hard.  Even now, I can laugh hard at this story.  It's one of my favorite "being bad" stories.

Blog-worthy Restaurant Review

Farrah and I went out for lunch yesterday.  To protect the innocent, I will refrain from name dropping the restaurant we went to.  We decided to go for Chinese food.  Sounded good at the time, and you can always count on leftovers for dinner so you're usually getting two meals in one.  Great idea.  Well, once we opened the door to this "restaurant" I should've turned around immediately and ran back to my car.  But, no, I'm to damn polite to do something as smart as that. There were festive Chinese lanterns hanging from the office-style-tiled-ceiling which seemed to kinda match a normal Chinese restaurant themed environment, but then I looked at the chairs and tables.  They were the type of chairs you'd find in a bowling alley or in a diner that should've been closed down years and years ago.  The kind you saw back when they allowed you to smoke while eating your dinner.  You know what I'm talking about. You're probably picturing brown vinyl chairs with the metal legs?  Close.  They were red vinyl to keep with the color theme hanging from the ceiling.  The tables matched with the metal legs and the tops were glass covered over paper place mats that showed the Chinese calendar with the corresponding animals. 

Those things weren't what frightened me.  I was frightened by the sight of NO ASIANS in this ASIAN restaurant.  In fact, the waitstaff consisted of all white women no younger than 60 years old.  No joke.  I thought I had somehow made a wrong turn and ended up at the Poodle Dog in Tacoma.  In fact, that's about what the place looked like, but scaled down and not as cool.  At least at the Poodle Dog, you know what you're getting yourself into when you walk in.  I was not prepared for this.

I looked over the menu to try to decide what to order.  Of course, I recognized the names of all the meals but was a bit nervous as to what we would be presented with.  I couldn't help but notice the patrons that ate next to us.  Old.  They were very old people.  To my left and to my right.  Old people. Then the people that came in to pick up their lunch were OLD.  WHERE THE HELL WAS I?!!! 

Deep breath.

Farrah and I went safe.  I ordered the Almond Chicken and she ordered the Sweet and Sour Chicken.  "Is that all white meat?"  "No, honey it's a mix."  Goddamnit.  First we were served the "soup".  You know the kind you usually get before your meal?  It's usually Egg Flower soup, right?  Right.  Well, their version of Egg Flower soup had the typical Egg Flower noodley stuff, along with peas, carrots, meat, canned mushrooms, barley.  Barley?  Yep.  That's typical right?  Yes...in BEEF BARLEY SOUP. To be polite I tried the broth.  Tasted like Beef Barley soup.  Yuck.  Well, that got pushed aside and laughed at.  Then our lunch arrived.  I had the biggest grin on my face because I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I was blogging about this meal.  Abso-freakin-lutely.  It looked like I had 5 giant chicken thighs deep fried in thick batter and covered in a gravy-esque substance that looked like something that belonged over a turkey dinner.  It was dusted with remnants of almonds.  That's how it was justified to be called Almond Chicken.  In the center of my plate was cheap old-school style Pork Chow Mein.  No pork.  No noodles.  Just a LOT of celery, some bean sprouts, and those Chinese noodle crackers.  I swear to god I was picturing some old lady in the back reading from some Betty Crocker cookbook on how to prepare Chinese Food.  But I knew that couldn't be the case because just about everything from Betty Crocker is spectacular.

Farrah's plate was almost identical to mine only with a pink sauce over the top.  I had to cut her meat for her and look for pieces I was comfortable to serve her.  She seemed to enjoy her meal just fine, but that's because she primarily ate her rice (which also had canned mushrooms in it).  She drowned her rice and everything else on her plate with soy sauce which probably helped.  I had also been so bold as to order the fried shrimp on the side.  I'm used to getting shrimp the size of half a hot dog.  No, these were precooked and precurled shrimp, so they looked like the size of a mushroom.  I had to taste the mustard that came with it to make sure it was Chinese mustard and not basic Yellow mustard.  Score one for them.  It was kinda the real deal. 

When the waitress came around to check on us she said, "Oh, it looks like you two still have some work to do." Again, sounding like a waitress from the Poodle Dog.  "No, we're good, thanks."  "I'll get you some boxes."  "That's okay."  All I could picture was how cruel that would be to make my garbage can outside endure the smell, let alone my car for the whole 10 minutes to get back to my house.  I knew I'd have to make different plans for dinner since leftover "Chinese" food wasn't going to be it.  So...uh...yeah.  We won't be going back there.  At least I know it won't be on my "Hey, let's go eat at fill in the blank tonight" list. 

Farrah-isms

Farrah has an awesome sense of humor.  Lately, her "thing" is to blame Toby on her farts.  I have no idea where she got this since we haven't had him that long, but the way in which she pulls this off is quite amusing:  Pffffft  "That wasn't me, Mom.  Serious.  It was Toby.  Toby farted."  "Are you sure that wasn't you Farrah?  Toby is upstairs asleep.  How could that have been him?"  "I don't know Mom, but I know it wasn't me.  It was Toby."
She tells this little lie so convincingly.  Great.
Things aren't "humungous" they're "REmungous".
She's picked up on the word we now use around the house, "donzo".  We heard it on a TV show and we thought it was hilarious and so we've used it for the past two weeks.  Today, Farrah looked at my dinner plate and said, "Mom, look at your plate! You're almost donzo!"  So proud of her.

There are, of course, so many more and I'll post them as I think of them.  It's just a lil' late and I've got to get some sleep.  My little girl graduates from preschool tomorrow and I can't believe it.  The next post will be a sappy one...

Toby Juan K'nobe

I'm not quite sure why I haven't blogged about this, but...we have a dog!  We got him about a month ago.  About six months ago, I had decided it was time.  I had grown up my whole life always having a pet or pets.  We'd had dogs, cats, birds, rabbits, a lizzard, and for about a week - a gold fish.   Mind you, we did not have all of these at once.  Pretty sure my mother would have lost her damn mind.  However, we never only had just one pet at a time.   It always had a companion. 

This thought was what brought me to the decision.  Farrah essentially is an only child.  She has two older brothers but their age seperation is so extreme it makes it hard for a 22 year old to relate to a four year old.  Well...mostly. ; )-  I started doing some research on what kind of dog would be good for our home.  Farrah is allergic to some dogs, but it varies.  It's not always long haired dogs or short haired dogs.  Small or big.  It's very random.  So, I had to look up the hypoallergnic dogs and try and find one that would do.  Well, I didn't like my options.  Pretty much all of the dogs were some sort of "foo-foo" poodle-esque dog or something that was as big as a rat.  I just can't do those breeds. 

My interest was fading.  I've had German Sheppards, Bull Mastiffs and Rottweilers.  Tough dogs.  Big dogs.  I couldn't go from that to something I'd have to end up being super delicate with or name it "Tootsie" because it's so petite.  No thank you.  I happened to stumble upon a dog called a Bull Terrier.  They're a little goofy looking, but stocky.  Not bad.  Then when I googled photos, it pulled up another breed; the Staffy Terrier.  That one looked kinda bad ass.  Then I googled photos for that dog, and then a big/little boy jumped out at me.  It's called the American Bully.  Another word for it is the Razor's Edge. It looked like a canine version of Mike.  Loved this dog.  So, I started to do some reading and some research about the breed and fell in love.  It is a mix of several breeds in the "Bully" family and it pulled the best of each breed to make a short, stocky, muscular, loving, loyal, guardian.  It seemed like a miniature Rotty.  Love.

I did some searching and there was only one breeder I could find in Washington State and it was all the way in Ephrata.  I was not impressed with it's dogs.  So, I looked online and found the best site that didn't look as "gangsta" as some others and it was all the way in Memphis.  I talked to a guy named Christopher who spent a good hour of his time educating me about the breed.  He didn't have any pups, so he referred me to his friend who also spent another hour to discuss his dogs with me.  Ultimately, I saw some pics I loved and picked my favorite.  He's a tri (black, white, and cinnamon).

We had our pup shipped to us from Tennessee!!  His first experience away from his litter was on a plane for 8 hours.  We surprised Farrah by telling her we needed to drive a ways to go look at some big airplanes.  Alex and Joanie took us and we ended up at the Delta Cargo building.  We told her we needed to take care of some business and she was welcome to come with us.  I signed some papers and a crate was handed over to me.  Farrah noticed there was a dog inside, but it didn't quite click right away that this dog was coming home with us until we got to the car.  Jumping up and down she squealed, "We have a puppy!!!"  It was super exciting to watch her.  She got to pick the name.  We had the names Jerry, Carl, and Kevin picked out.  But Farrah had a different idea.  She liked the name Toby.  (Isn't that Gramma Rita's dog's name?)  Simple and cute.  It's her pup, so she got to pick the name.  My favorite, however was Carl and Kevin.  I had to tag on Juan K'nobe.  Not because I'm a Star Wars fan, but because it's funny.  She and I call him Toby, Tobe, Tobes, Tobers, Toberone, and when he's in trouble he gets the full name screamed at him.

He has a big head and a lil' body.  He will have a GIANT head, will be about 17" tall, and he'll weigh 80 pounds.  He's super smart and loving.  Here's a picture of our little monster.

Welcome to the family!

Cat.

Our neighbors have a cat who is a complete asshole.  Whenever Toby goes outside for a walk or to go potty, that damn cat bugs him.  He is an asshole.  It's the only word I can come up with to describe him.  I hate that cat!  Poor Toby is working on his training and out of nowhere, we can hear the tinkling of a tiny little bell.  The asshole cat is sneaking up to bother Toby.  Even tonight, at "late thirty" I took him out to do his business, and the cat came running from the very end of the street just to distract him.  I don't wish the cat any harm, but it's hard to not just let him off his leash to chase it.  Grrrr.

A Ren & Stimpy Kind of a Day

So, today was one of those days.  One of those days when my voice was a little bit louder, my pitch was a little bit higher, my eyeballs were a little bit bulgier, and my overall mood was...well...a little moodier.  It's not due to my period or anything hormonal.  This is being a mom.  This is being a mom to a 4 year old little girl who hates to wake up in the morning and a mom to a 10 week old puppy.  I've been busy at work with staying on top of things that seem to constantly pile up, trying to be sure that Farrah is off to school on time or her outings with Michele, staying on top of Toby's potty training so there's always dog pee and poop outside rather than inside, making sure Toby gets his walks in when it's not dumping down rain, preparing dinners, lunches, breakfasts, and hoping I get a moment to break away and pee and poop myself.  Whew!  Even typing that made me a lil' tired.  Here's an idea of what I sounded like this morning.  While reading this, be sure to try and hear my voice start to get louder and strained and crazed:
"Farrah, it's time to get up"
"Toby drop that!"
"Farrah! Get up now. You're going to be late."
"I don't care that you don't want to get up. Get up! TOBY!!! Leave it!"
"You HAVE to take a shower. YES YOU DO! Get in the shower, I have to take Toby outside."
"Toby, go biiiiiiggg potty.  Good boy!  NO! Drop it!"
"FARRAH?!!! Why aren't you in the shower?!!!"
"Where's Toby?"
"TOBY!!!"
"Farrah get dressed. Get dressed. Get dressed. Get dressed. GET DRESSED!"

This was me this morning:

You get the idea.  I suppose I don't have to go through my entire morning, however, know that my evening ended very similarly, if not worse.  Farrah was putting her finger in Toby's cage in the smallest whole and got her finger stuck.  STUCK-stuck.  Now, this is when she becomes a teapot.  She starts with a whimpering whine and then turns into a shrieking siren.  Her screams are blood curdling.  Her screams make me scream.  My head is down by her head, therefore her screaming is directly into my ear canal.

Why the hell did she put her finger in there?  How the hell did it get stuck?  I suppose we should ask her Grandma Jan who gets her feet, hands, and fingers stuck in everything and has since she was Farrah's age.  Is that even a gene you can pick up?  So I was able to come to her rescue by putting some ice on her finger and hoping my memory of some science projects would work.  I figured I'd ice it until the swelling would go down enough for me to wiggle the gate door and free her finger.  Whew!! It worked, thank god.  Wasn't sure if I was going to have to go to the ER with her attached to the crate with Toby inside wondering what the eff was going on.  My evening ended with me looking a little like this...

Tomorrow I have every intention to be a little more like this...

Easter 2011

I've blogged about this in the past, but it is this time of year that brings back so many memories of my Grandpa, John Kochrian.  This year in particular there are a lot of thoughts about him as well as my Grandma Virginia.  My parents just bought a new home (finally) which is about a 30-40 minute drive to my Grandma's.  She is 89 years old living in a 55+ trailer park where my parents were living to assist her and where my aunt and uncle live to also help her.  So, since Auntie Dianne and Uncle Mike do a lot of traveling (to visit my cousins or for leisure) they aren't as available.  Mom and dad moving has also made it so that it was time for a decision to be made.  It was time for Grandma to move to an assisted living apartment.  I think this hit all of us very hard, but not nearly as hard as Grandma.  I've only seen Grandma cry a small handful of times.  The first few times was when Grandpa was dying and at the last days of his life.  The latest time was when I was visiting her at her home, the only home I've ever known my grandparents to have ever lived in, and she started to fall apart when she said, "This is the last connection of your Grandfather that I have."  Broke my heart.  She's been scared and worried to make this move.  This LIFE move.
But I was invited to bring Farrah to her new place this last Sunday.  The place does programs constantly to keep them busy and LIVING their LIVES!  They had an early Easter Egg Hunt and Brunch.  Farrah and I got busy by stratagizing.  I sent Farrah far off from where the other kids were eyeballing the very visible eggs, forgetting there was another 1000+ square feet to rummage through.  She faired very well.  When we looked outside, that was when the memories of Grandpa came flooding in.  Where were the eggs that were supposed to be hiding IN the tulips?  Where were the eggs that were hiding in the much too high grass?  Where were the eggs hiding in the gutter drain?  This would be Grandpa John's way of thinking.  Get the kids on the verge of tears and then lead them in the right direction.
Anyway, the egg hunt went well and Farrah was kind enough to point out some eggs to a little boy who showed up a little late so he wouldn't go without.
Grandma seems to be adjusting and actually seems excited about all the upcoming activities that are totally up her alley.  She's going to be okay.  I will forever miss her home that I've always known was a second home for me while growing up, but again, it'll be okay. :)

Flowers

I was told by a gal in Fuzion last week, about a book called "The Artist's Way" that she highly recommended that I read.  I loved how insightful she was (considering we dont' know each other) that I needed a little creative "pick-me-up".  I guess it's one of those self discovery type books and it's been around for quite a while.  Well, I looked into it and I'll probably end up buying it.  I really want to finish some books I've been working on and maybe get back into my painting again.  There was a website for the book and I checked out the forum section.  There was one article in particular that caught my eye and it was, "Beginning a New Relationship...with me!"  The girl talked about how she was going to start treating herself better and even start buying herself little presents from time to time.  The one thing she said she started doing right away was buying herself some flowers.  She'd pick out ones that would cheer up a room.  She even said she was getting ready to start mailing herself some cards from Hallmark.  I thought this was such a great idea!
So, today I went grocery shopping and one thing on my list:  Flowers for me!  I love them.  They're simple and sweet and add a little bit of sunshine to our home when it's been nothing but grey for months.  I picked out some purple daisies and pink/white daisies as well as some babies breath.  I picked out one of my crystal vases I received for our wedding and decorated it with my flowers.  I set it up nice and neatly on our kitchen table.  It wasn't before long that the itching begun...
What. The. Hell.
I never get to have things like this and the one time I know I SHOULD have them, I find I'm allergic.  So, I took a benadryl and will do my best not to touch my eyes after touching the flowers.  Wonderful and kind gesture to myself gone array.

Disturbing

We have Apple TV.  It's a little device that makes it so we can watch movies from Netflix.  Unfortunately, no one warned me that our movie selection could potentially be crap.  It is.  Mind you, it isn't all terrible.  It's just that they're all pretty old movies.  Nothing people would go to the DVD rental place and rent ON PURPOSE.  This is all purely accidental.  So, Farrah has made a discovery of movies she thoroughly enjoys.  Jim Henson movies.  You know, back before they had the technology to have real people engage with imaginary creatures that looked real, they had puppets or muppets.  She particularly loves Labyrinth.  David Bowie is in this film.  And I have to be perfectly honest...not a fan of the wardrobe chosen for his character.  It's a bit...revealing.  I'm not sure why the costume designer picked out this outfit for him to wear, but it's a tad gross.  "Aw, yes, a movie for children.  Let's put David in pants that looks like he has a whole drawer of socks where his "business" is."  See for yourself and try to stifle the upchuck.

Ummm...yeah.  How about a pair of jeans next time, okay David Bowie.  Oh, and the music in this film was a lil' weird.  But Farrah seems to enjoy it and, thank god, isn't noticing the blinding bulge.

Interference

I just had to post about this because it left me dumbfounded.  Yesterday, Farrah and I went out for breakfast at our local Patty's Eggnest.  I've eaten there before so I knew I was in store for some deliciousness and crappy coffee.  Well, part of the reason I take Farrah out from time to time on our little dates is to teach her proper "restaurant behavior" or public behavior, in general.  For the most part, she's wonderfully behaved.  It's actually something I'm proud of.  Sometimes, however, she needs a lil' work.  So, she had one of those days where the booster seat became a rocking chair, her spoon became her microphone, and 2 minutes into the meal it was time to go potty.  The thing that drives me the craziest is when she's out of her seat and not minding me.  I tell her to get in her seat in a manner which is gently threatening and to the point.  Sometimes I'm lucky and she takes me seriously and sometimes she pushes me to see how far she can take it before I give her the look of "I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!!!"  So, our breakfast lasted about 20 minutes so we could get out and head home.  When we went up to the register to pay, no one was there to take our money right away so we waited.  While waiting, Farrah grew impatient and wanted to climb on a stool, grab at things, and touch everything around.  At this same time, I was doing the whole "Honey, don't touch that. Honey, get down. Farrah, do NOT make me ask you again.  Farrah did I just tell you to not touch that?"  Finally, I had had enough.  I leaned down face to face with her, and began explaining that she needed to mind me and keep her hands to herself, when our waitress who also was the person taking the money walked up and interrupted me by saying, "Oh honey, it's okay. You're being a REALLY good girl.  And GOOD girls get a prize for being SO well behaved.  Here, pick out a little toy for being SO GOOD."

My eyes went so big and almost popped out of my mother-lovin' eyes.  I could feel my hands start to shake and smoke come out of my ears.  Unfortunately, it is in my nature (for some god-awful reason) to keep my mouth shut and not making a scene.  I'm not a fan of conflict, especially public conflict (which is why I think Farrah pushes me).

This woman gave me a freakin' smug look without actually looking me in the eyes.  She interfered with my parenting and I wanted to smack her in the face for it.  She put me on the spot as if I was one of those women who drag their screaming child around the grocery store by the arm.  I try my best to keep Farrah behaving, and not acting out on my kid like a psycho.  But when someone wants to interrupt my JOB as a mother, I wanted to scratch her god damn eyes out.  While the food is great at that restaurant, I'll be ordering out from now on.

I vowed early on (in 2006) that I would NOT be raising an asshole.  I struggle from time to time when my 4 year old acts like a 14 year old and I know a big part of it is my own fault, but I'm doing my best.  I can do better, but if someone who doesn't know me OR MY DAUGHTER, can take their opinions and stick it up their ass.

Knock knock

Farrah is four.  So, she tells four-year-old jokes.  I've been trying to work with her on her joke telling skills and am not succeeding the way I wish that I would.  We have practiced the following joke hundreds of times:

Knock know
Who's there?
Interrupting cow
Interrupting cow (MOO!) who?

Buahahaahaahaa

Well, she can't pronounce "interrupting cow" clearly so it always sounds like "inner-ruppin' cow"!  I can understand her, but no one else really can so she doesn't get the response from her hilarious joke that she wants because she ends up having to tell it to that person about 5 times before they get it.

When I've tried to tell her new jokes, she thinks I'm making them up on the fly.  Not true.  The jokes I tell have been passed on from generation to generation and are of pure quality.  Her jokes on the other hand are terrible.  Really, really terrible.

For example:
Farrah:    Knock knock
Me:         Who's there?
Farrah:    Ummm, flowers
Me:          Flower's who?
Farrah:     Flowers the grass puppy is walking toots.  Is that a good one?!!  Is that a good one, Mommy?!!  Is it funny?!!!

Is it bad that I'm honest with her?  I just can't have my daughter going around telling bad jokes.  That just can't be my kid.  I think, for the most part, her dad and I have pretty good senses of humor and can be quite witty at times.  Could you imagine the embarrassment we would endure if Farrah went around telling jokes about balloons and the chair (these are just the random things that she saw in our house and turned into a joke)?  I couldn't show my face if I were to allow it.  So, I tell her, "no honey, that one wasn't a funny one."  I'm sure she gets confused because I tell her that while laughing.  She hasn't caught on to the concept of laughing at someone rather than with them.  In due time.

I should add in my daughter's defense something my mother reminded me of today.  A joke that my brothers and I would tell all the time:

Why did the elephant climb the tree?
Why?
SO HE COULD GET HIS MUSTARD
Hahahahahahahaha

There might be hope for her.

Boobies

Farrah:  Your boobies are gross Mommy

Me:  No they're not! They're grrrreat.

Farrah:  But they're so BIG.

Me:  Yep! I know.

Farrah:  But they need to stop growing.

Me:  Don't worry.  They're done growing.  They will NOT get any bigger.  Promise.

Farrah:  Good, because they're all "wobbly".

Me:  Well... they're kinda supposed to be.

Farrah:  Hmmm.

Me:  Never mind.

Things Are Happening

Hello out there, world.  Yep, I'm still here.  I'm just living my little life that seems to get bigger and bigger and bigger.  Therefore, the idea of taking some time out for me to type about, well, me...seemed like a silly idea until now.  I'm eating my lunch and choosing to try and enjoy it by NOT reading work emails and going over various tax thingies or employee issues.  I'll be thrilled if I actually finish this entry and publish it.  I still haven't finished my story about my and Mike's wedding!!  Geez, I'll get back to it, I promise. 

So...what's been going on?  Sooooo much!  The gyms are busy and we have a wonderful group of people working there.  And dammit, I will include myself in that group!  We are making moves to make the gyms bigger and better and improved.  It's an exciting, busy, difficult at times, process.  However, when it is all said and done it will be amazing.
And then there's Fuzion.  Oh Em Gee.  Can it get better?  Yes!  And it does pretty much every freakin' day!  Who knew?  We did.  Yay!  We are now officially on Amazon.com.  That is not something that is simply handed to you on a silver tray.  It was an incredible opportunity for both businesses and Amazon clearly saw something in us to want us to be a part of what they do, so hurray for the team!!! 

Mike has been working his ass off everyday.  E-V-E-R-Y-D-A-Y.  It has been a challenge to adapt to this new life schedule for me, Farrah, and of course, Mike.  We cross paths as often as we can, but with so many pots on the fire, Mike is stretched pretty thin with his time.  Luckily we have delegated gym things to others, but working with Amazon, the investors, the whole marketing crew, and Airvoice, and on and on and on, it's tough with only 24 hours in a day.  I have to say he's doing a GREAT job and is succeeding everyday.  It's funny because he'll call me with new good news everyday.  How is that possible?  I guess it just is. 

We just got back from the 2010 Pro Bowl in Hawaii.  It was our first program with the new marketing team, DTI.  It's good to know people who know people.  That philosophy got us VERY far while working in Hawaii.  Yes, that's right, we were WORKING.  I can't tell how many people said, "Enjoy yourself while you're there! You guys deserve a break!"  We do deserve a break, but that wasn't breaktime. :)  We got off the plane, got to our rental car, got to the hotel, and went to the DTI room at the hotel and got right to work.  We didn't even go to our room!  Can you imagine how smelly we probably were from sitting cramped in a large airplane for 6 and a half hours?  I can.  Yup.  Gross. 

After we got all of the Fuzion products organized and tasked everything out, we were finally able to go to our room and change.  The people we are working with know several (if not all) of the NFL players.  We met several players while we were there.  I believe we rested for 3 hours while we were there.  And while I technically was taking a break, Mike was not.  He was right by my side, but texting away, checking his emails, and making phone calls.  The little bit of Hawaii we got to see, was beautiful.  People asked if we had a chance to go to the beach and we lied and said we had.  Nope.  We walked on a sidewalk that was near the beach.  I did, however, take time every morning to get up before Mike (which is very unusual) brewed some hotel coffee, went out on our 19th floor balcony, and read my book for a good 30 minutes to an hour.  That was my little R & R that I gave myself.  My little treat to me.

I'm very proud of all that we did and all that we were able to come back with.  How cool is it to say, "Hey you know that guy who did that really nice thing for that kid on TV last week that brought tears to everyone's eyes.  Yeah, he's with us.  He's using our service."  Seriously!!  How freakin' cool?!!  When we came home to being up and running on Amazon, Mike was beside himself.  He said, "Okay, now get ready for a crazy ride! This will be a whirlwind!"  I'm extremely proud of all his hard work because he deserves to succeed.  And he will.

So, this is just the beginning of what has taken a year to put together.  But this will be an awesome beginning to a life that is only imagined.  We will live it...