I'm the Grossest Person I Know...

That is a very true statement as of last night.  While there are plenty of people that have grossed me out beyond words, I topped them all when I went to bed Wednesday night after dropping my daughter off with my parents for summer vacation.
I had gone through my nightly ritual of getting ready for bed and started pulling together what I felt like watching on TV to put me to sleep.  However, sometimes I have a bad habit of getting hungry right before bed...I know, this is terrible for my metabolism.  Don't worry.  I learned my lesson the hard way.

I went to the kitchen to look through the cupboards and nothing sounded good to me.  I even went upstairs to see if Farrah had accidentally left her zip-locked baggie full of deliciousness in her room (that I always tell her to NOT leave in her room because I don't want ants in the house), but she had either finished it or actually put it away like I told her.  Defeated with no snack, I drug my ass back to my room only to find a bag of Lay's potato chips carefully rolled up and with a chip-clip on it, keeping it sealed.  Jack pot!!  This isn't a normal thing to discover in my room...clothes on the floor, perhaps.  But a delicious just-what-I-wanted bag of chips?  No.  I turned on my lamp, off the main light, got all cozy in my bed in my blankets and eagerly grabbed the bag of chips and unclipped and unrolled it as I began to watch Game of Thrones for the hundredth time.  And, boo...they were stale.  Ugh!  Just my freakin' luck.  This was a new bag of chips that had barely been touched and they were grossly stale.  However, I give everything, even a bag of chips, the benefit of the doubt.  There was a possibility that the first, second, and even third chip were just my bad luck, but perhaps the 4th would be okay.  I had convinced myself if the 4th chip was as bad as the first 3, then in to the trash it would go.  I bit down on my 4th stale chip thinking, "Dammit!!" just as I looked into the bag...
GASP!!!
AGHHHHHHH!!!!! AGHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!  PFFFFFTT! I spit out everything I could in my mouth, grabbed a bottled water and swallowed.  SHIT!! DON'T SWALLOW IT!!!  More water, sloshed it around and spit it out into my white sink, praying I wouldn't see anything...and I didn't.
I did not see a hundred ants come out of my mouth and into my sink.  That's right ladies and gentlemen.   I looked into that bag of chips and was holding a fully infested ant paradise.  I screamed so many times, did the heebie-jeebie dance so many more times, and thought about puking only a million times.  The horror I felt was reflected in the mirror when I happened to look at myself...I looked like a chick that just realized she ate 4 chips out of that bag along with many, many ants.  I...ate...ants.

It was a mad dash at that point.

I had to find the source of the ants quickly...and I did.  There was the tiniest of burrowed holes near my bed with so many ants around it...the dry heaves were about to start up.  I sprayed the shit out of that area and pretty much the entire carpet in my room.  I was so overwhelmed with the fact that I'd eaten them and now had also tossed the bag onto my bed, I started to freak out with more heebie-jeebies.  I even thought I could see the carpet move (that's a bit of an exaggeration, but that's what my eyeballs were doing to me).  I ended up spraying EVERYTHING in my room.  By the time I'd cleaned everything, vacuumed everything, threw everything away...my room was actually ant-free.

Holy shit, that was the most disgusting thing I'd ever done in my entire life.  All I could think about were a bunch of ants swimming in my gut, having a feast on my dinner from earlier.  So grossed out.   I also felt like I could feel them on me even though they weren't.  I checked.

Have I ever eaten a bug before last night?  Of course.  I've been on the back of motorcycles enough times to know it's part of the deal if you open your mouth to say something while riding.  It just happens.  But this?!!  No...that's not supposed to happen.  I will probably be scarred for life from that incident.

Ironically, I shared the story with the gals at work and one of them told me about one of the men that works with us that he had ordered breakfast yesterday and was served an omelet....with flies in it.  Another had crickets throughout her house last night, and another had beetles brought into her home.  I'm not sure if our male co-worker actually ate his fly-omelet...but I know I ate 4 chips and I am positive my chips were overly seasoned with ants.  No need to have a protein shake after that.

This is how I felt like I probably looked when I was devouring my tasty, tasty chips.

Yummy Lays Potato Chips.

Won't You Be My Neighbor

"It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood,
A beautiful day for a neighbor.
Would you be mine?
Could you be mine?..."

Oh, Mr. Rogers...I'm not real sure you'd approve of one of my neighbors.  

(This is a rant...sorry)

You see, I live in an area where the people are very kind and friendly.  The neighbors I have are sweet and caring.  Bob, who's the older man next door, brings me vegetables from his garden and wine grapes every summer.  We talk over our fences about random things and he and his wife are great people.  On the other side of me, used to live a family that was generous with their time and lovingly devoted parents to their children.  Angie, the mom, and I would sit on her porch and chat from time to time.  When I moved here, I kept to myself, didn't want to talk to people, didn't want to meet people, just wanted to be left alone.  However, those two families were what little dose of human interaction that I needed during that time.  
When Angie and her family moved, another couple moved in with their three giant awesome dogs.  They've both been super great when my dog, Twig, has decided to be an asshole and dig a hole to China that led to their house and play with the 300+ pounds of dog.  Their dogs just play with Twig (they mostly play follow-the-leader; my dog being the leader) and nothing happens.  It's just rude of my dog and as an extension...rude of me.  But they're always gracious when they bring back my little shit of a dog.  

The house across the street has a large family that just moved in a few months ago and they all seem very sweet.  When Twig decided to go on an "Amazing Journey", Farrah had knocked on their door asking if they'd seen Twig and they were immediately giving us information about where they'd seen her, how nice of a dog she is, they were going to let us know right away if they saw her again...the whole family had come out to help.  Awesome!
The next house down, those neighbors were kind but moved away, too.  The new people that moved in had seemed very kind.  The wife had helped me clear my driveway of snow when it had dumped the night before and I was extremely grateful.  

But...yesterday...I got a clearer understanding of the kind of person this woman is/was.  While I don't want to seem like a complete ass for what I'm about to say because she was so awesome to help me out, I learned some stuff about her that makes me think I'd rather get stuck in my driveway next time we have a snow storm.
Twig ran away yesterday.  She had been gone the longest time ever and we finally found her when we went knocking a third time on the house that has the 3 dogs.  The woman answered the door and we talked about Twig, laughed about how funny she is to want to play with beasts and doesn't die, and what have you.  She was a doll.  In the middle of our conversation, there was a little girl at that other neighbor's house...with Twig!  "TWIG!!!"  She came running to us, got her loves, and we quickly put her leash on her.  The little girl came over...along with her mom.  We thanked them profusely for taking care of our dog and the mother decided to speak, "Yeah, we decided to take her in because she was just wandering around.  You know, we hear her crying all the time every day."
Both Farrah and I looked at each other with wtf-faces, "Um, really?  She never cries.  Like ever.  Unless she thinks I'm going to kill her or something, which is still never."
Her:  "Well, since my kids want a dog so bad, if she hadn't had a tag on I was just going to keep her." (No joking in her tone.)
Me:  "Hmm. Okaaaaaay."
At some point, I looked at my nice neighbor and she gave me an awkward smile.  I started changing the subject and talked to my nice neighbor about her new tattoo and we talked about mine and somehow the subject about "friendly neighbors" came up randomly from the neighbor that wanted to steel my dog.
Her:  "You know, it's funny how we have neighbors around here that are nice, but a lot really aren't." (Huh?)
Her:  "That old man over there?  He's awful.  Just an awful cranky old man who isn't nice to anyone, ever!" (Mind you, she's saying this so extremely loud that I start getting uncomfortable because I know exactly what she's doing...she hopes he hears her.)
Me:  "Are you serious?  Bob?  He's great!  Maybe next time you see him walking around with his baggies of vegetable that he hands out to all of us, you should tell him you'd love to try some because they're beautiful!"
Her:  "No, he's terrible.  I was clearing out your driveway one day and he was out there with his snow blower glaring at me the whole time."
Me:  "I don't know why he'd glare at you except that he helps me every winter.  Maybe he was still planning to."
Then she continued with this beauty...again, so incredibly loud, I don't think she was really talking to us, but the whole damn neighborhood.
Her:  "And you know what sucks?  I'm on my own for 3 months out of the year (boo-fucking-hoo, lady) and I had to shovel my snow by myself after having my son!  Everyone in the neighborhood saw me!  They all saw that I had strangely put on an extra 40 pounds, clearly from having a baby, and was outside shoveling with a baby crying inside while my daughter watched him, and did any of them bother to stop and help me even once?  No.  People here only really care about their own problems!"
Me:  (Nothing...I had nothing to say.)
Her:  "And then Angie, who used to live here who has half the driveway I do, actually complained about how hard it was to shovel her driveway.  Can you believe that?  And out of the blue, she starts talking about being on her own, she's alone, he cheated, all this stuff and I thought, whoa!  I hardly know you, lady, and I don't really care about all of this crap you're telling me."

At this point, my nice neighbor and I are looking at each other with "oh-my-god-this-woman-is-toxic" eyes.  

Here's the thing.  I cannot STAND people like her.  Not one bit.  Even reliving that moment right now is making my blood boil.  Angie clearly needed someone, anyone, to talk to in that moment.  She just happened to choose an asshole, and for that, it breaks my heart for her.  Screw that neighbor for being so god damn inconsiderate and insensitive.  I didn't know that about Angie and here's this lady practically yelling about it for everyone who knew Angie, to hear.  Asshole.  And whatever the circumstances were in Angie's private life, she just wanted to talk.  People shouldn't belittle someone for being human.  And Bob?  He is a great man.  He's good to everyone and flips me shit when he sees how gross my yard gets, but he knows I'm doing the best I can.  I am grateful that he lives next door to me!  

I listened to this woman talk shit about every person in the neighborhood and how awful and selfish they are...and I'm left wondering...why?  Not one nice thing came out of her mouth.  I even asked her about her favorite football team (the 49ers) because I was going to suggest we all get together to watch some football this coming season...but the crap that spewed from her about the 49ers, her friends that she won't invite to her home anymore because they're so awful about her favorite team, and how her daughter got picked on for liking the 49ers...all made me not continue down the invite road.  I just figured a football fan is a football fan and it would be fun to watch some games.  But, no thanks.  

I was able to determine in a matter of 10 minutes, that this woman is someone I could never be friends with.  She's not just a complainer, but she's mean.  I'm a great judge of character and I could tell that she is mean to people, clearly a shit-talker, and downright rude.  The fact that she said how awful "everyone" in the neighborhood was, is pretty ironic.  She's busy pointing the finger at everyone else and their awfulness, while she has three more fingers pointing back at her.  

Hey neighbor, we're not the problem...you are.  This is a neighborhood, a community of really great people and I feel lucky to live here. So, if you are so unhappy in this "terrible" place, go back where you came from and be awful there.

Hiking...On Purpose

This weekend, I had the privilege to be invited to go hiking with a couple of friends to a very popular hiking spot in Wenatchee, WA.  This was something that I had been asked to join in on, on several occasions and we finally had the opportunity.

Here's the thing...I've only gone hiking twice in my life.  Once, when I was 17 and the other time was two days ago.  My first experience was horrific as I had been a teenager with other teenagers, all of us who were terribly equipped for the hike.  We had climbed (not hiked...climbed) incredibly steep hillsides, leaving clothing behind as we climbed because we were so hot, no water on any of us, and poor shoes.  At one point, we all had to scoot our backs up against the side of the mountain with only a very small area for our footing and then a treacherous cliff just beyond our toes.  When you're a teenager, you're invincible.  This was when reality sunk in.  One slip and we'd be dead.  It was incredibly frightening and thus began my fear of heights.  Thanks, friends.  When we reached the top, huffing and puffing, there was snow.  All of us punched our hands into the slightly thawed icy crystals and filled our mouths with as much as we could fit without giving ourselves brain-freezes.  And that's when I saw my ex-boyfriend and his best friend drinking from their water bottles.  Assholes.  To this day, I'm surprised they didn't "accidentally" find themselves at the bottom of that drop-off.  While the rest of us wanted to stay at the top and stay cool, the two that were refreshed from their water, were the only ones who knew the way back, so off we went.  And that meant it was time to go...down.  I believe the potent mixture of both fear and anger got me off the mountain that day.  I remember hearing a lot of, "It's okay, Kathy.  Jump!  We've got you.  We won't let you fall."  Since I'm here writing this, I'm happy to say my friends did indeed keep me alive that day to wait another 20 years to tackle the whole "hiking experience" again.

That brings me to Saturday, May 24th.  Saddlerock.  Past the horse arena and towards a dry rocky terrain, we parked the car, tied our shoes, stretched a bit, and made sure our water bottles were full.  Time to climb this beast!
Many times, I've been told how it's a great hike, great workout, beautiful views, not difficult, bring Farrah - she'll love it, and how much I'll enjoy myself.  Well, it was my opportunity to give hiking a second chance as I'd turned the idea down many times since I was a teen.  We brought a friend's dog along and my friends, Rebecca and Danny, and I began the journey.
In the beginning it wasn't terrible and Rebecca and I enjoyed each other's company talking about random things, drinking our water, walking the lab, and greeting other hikers who were on their way down.  As it progressed, the path became steeper and my breathing became heavier.  More water.  I could feel the workout I was getting and was happy that I had come along.  The sun was hot and I could feel I would get a nice tan in the process as well.  By the time we reached the halfway point, the dog was heading for a shaded tree and Rebecca's boyfriend, Danny, had caught up to us (he was running the whole way!).  And here's where the bad parts began...we weren't at the halfway point.  We weren't anywhere near it, as a matter of fact.  Alrighty!  I psyched myself up and started the trek with them again.  And again, the path got steeper...and steeper...and steeeeeeeeper.  Annnnd that's when I realized my footwear was so very, very wrong.  Pumas?  Really?  Am I retarded?  Apparently.
So, I hiked up higher and higher and every once in a while my foot would slip on some sandy gravel.  I hated it because I would think about how embarrassing it would be to fall on my ass.  That's when I looked down.  Nope.  It was no longer a fear of being embarrassed from falling on my ass, but falling off the cliff and breaking my ass, my face, my back, my arms, and legs.  That sounded like a shitty Saturday afternoon.  My fear of heights hit me hard when I was at a very steep spot and not in any position to head down and run away like the coward I was.  Shit.  So I climbed and whined and whined and climbed.  Rebecca and Danny talked me through to the best of their abilities...Danny's kind words were, "Don't be a pussy.  You can do this."  Rebecca on the other hand was a bit more delicate, "I know you're scared, but you'll be so happy when we reach the top."  When I asked where the top was and she pointed about 5 more miles away straight up, my words were, "MOTHER-FUCKER!"
I climbed and slipped and whined, but mostly I talked about how Rebecca was a big fat lying liar about Saddlerock.  Her 4 year old did this and she thought my 7 year old could?  That's just mean.  Her 4 year old was carried by Danny...so he didn't actually climb it.  I would've been pretty upset if I'd taken Farrah.  We would've lasted about 1/4 of a mile and turned around (and that would've been one hell of an excuse to get out of climbing anymore and we would've run off to Dairy Queen for a blizzard.).  You know what else sucks up there?  Bees.  Lots of bees.  So, while I was scared of slipping and falling to my death, I was also scared of an attack from the wasps surrounding the path.  Sigh.
When we reached a spot where others had stopped to catch their breath and take in the views, I found relief in knowing we were done.  Only we weren't.  "No, Kath, we still have to get to the top!" Danny pointed to the rocks we needed to reach which were straight up.  Kill me.  The path got steeper and narrower and even the dog was ready to throw in the towel.  We reached the very, very top about 10 minutes later and the view truly was incredible.  Except...I couldn't move off the rock I was on.  I could either fall forward or backward.  Either way, death awaited me.  Awesome.
After we took all our photos and realized we were killing the dog, we started to make our way down from a different way.  Had we gone down the way we came, I would've simply sat on my butt and scooted my way to the finish line.  As it was, there were a couple areas where I did, in fact, have to do that.  As we got closer to the end, I found my stride pick up to a perfect speed.  We had talked about what we were going to eat the entire way down...that was my motivation.  Food and a BIG bottle of water.

Needless to say, hiking is not on my list of things I can hardly wait to do again unless the path is paved and flat and slightly downhill...both ways...and I'm being pulled in a wagon.

Public School...FAIL

This may be an unpopular post, but just deal with it.  My mom was a public school teacher, I am a public school graduate, and my daughter is currently attending public school along with 99% of the rest of the country's children.  Here's the thing.  I'm not a fan.  Sorry.  Things were different when we were kids and they were regimented in a way that seemed to make sense.  Nowadays, I don't like it.  They've eliminated cursive writing because it seems to be "unnecessary".  Really?  I'm glad my signature on loan documents will never be able to be forged.  Looks like fingerprints are in the future for everyone!  Way to go, America.  That being said, Farrah had the most beautiful handwriting in her class.  Now?  Now, it doesn't even seem to matter to her teacher.  Her teachers at her private school complimented her on her beautiful handwriting and encouraged her daily to keep up the good work, helping her find pride in not only turning in work that was accurate, but beautiful, too.  What I've seen is a downfall in that wonderful "insignificant" skill of hers to be hurried and sloppy.  That's not my kid.  That's my kid who is bored and just wants to finish whatever she's working on so she can do something else.
I had found out 3 months into the school year, that the days Farrah went to the school library, the first graders were limited to the "first grade section".  Umm...what?  Farrah reads at a 4th grade reading level and she has to read about the puppy who lost it's way?  No.  I got the librarian to make an exception for her, but it really bothered me that it just got overlooked.  How the hell do you overlook something like that?  I'm not using this post to brag about my kid, but to point out something that I was concerned about by the time I'd conceived her.
There are many teachers out there with the love and passion for teaching and I know some of them.  Unfortunately, they're not at my daughter's school.  I knew things were changing when I'd have to help my stepson with his homework and watched the way the system changed on an annual basis.  Eventually, it was going to get to a point that it would hit home with me and my daughter...and it has.  She is a bright kid and very mature.  But one thing I believe she has picked up on and has learned is to just keep quiet, get her work done, play with her friends, and be ready to come home when it's time.  Sounds like me.  She's bored.  I'd warned her teacher and her principle that this could happen and I wanted to be sure she got challenged.  Mind you, her school isn't doing an awful job, it's just sometimes, certain students get left behind to fend for themselves while the ones that need more help, get more attention and more one on one time.  That means kids like Farrah are forced to be independent (which, thank goodness, she knows how to do...but she shouldn't HAVE to completely in class).
The problem I see with public school is how it has become a cookie-cutter program that the teachers have to follow accordingly and without getting an opportunity to think outside of the box.  My daughter used to be encouraged to follow her dreams at her old school.  While math, science, social studies, literature, and geography (yes, all in kindergarten) were important...Farrah loved dinosaurs, fossils, and various information on ALL animals...her teachers would have her spend time studying those things she was so passionate about.  She'd come home and tell me all about it and how much she learned and her excitement was contagious.  Now, it's more strict about following the rules that are set forth in the curriculum and they cannot be tampered with in the slightest.

So, blah, blah, blah...after that long rant, here's why I'm finally bitching about this in the first place.  Yesterday was Mother's Day.  Farrah had worked on a little project she'd put together for me at her school.  I remember last year at Seeds Learning Center, they had a Mother's Day program.  The moms got a little concert with their little ones singing to them and each child came down and gave us our gifts they'd worked so hard on.  Cards, a flower, and a handmade bird feeder made out of cheerios and ribbons.  Are you kidding me with that cuteness?!!  They all dressed in their best and gave all the mommies hugs and kisses.  The teachers were so loving and helped the shy kids with boosting their confidence just enough so they could participate.  It was great.
Yesterday, Farrah said, "Hey, mom! I almost forgot to give this to you!"  She handed me a laminated piece of art with a poem on it.  It was so cute and sweet.  I read the poem...and after the first sentence, I stopped reading.  "Farrah?  Isn't this the same poem that is on the wall in our living room that was my Christmas present that you made at school this year?"
"Yeah."
"Did you notice it was the same?"
"YES!!  A bunch of us did!!  We were trying to tell our teacher but it was like she didn't care."
"Did you say something to her about it?"
"No.  Because I knew someone else was going to say something and I didn't feel like it."
So, there you have it.  I have a picture on my wall of my daughter's hand print with a lovely poem about her hand and how small she is now and how quickly she's growing.  AND NOW I have another piece of artwork with her hand print with a lovely poem about her hand and how small she is now and how quickly she's growing.
Are you kidding me?
Not only is the curriculum "cookie-cutter" but so are the special projects?  While the thought is sweet to do anything at all...I can't imagine how disappointing that was for the class.  Farrah expressed how much it bothered her, but also pointed out she wasn't alone in the discussion with the other 7 year olds that thought they were putting something special and unique together for their moms for Mother's Day. It hurt my feelings for Farrah because she takes those types of things to heart and puts a lot of effort into making something special for her parents...to find out that it really wasn't that important to her teacher to make a little more effort to find a new poem especially when the kids were telling her they'd ALREADY DONE THIS PROJECT.  5 minutes.  That's how long it would've taken a teacher to find a new poem.  One to two days is all it would've taken to allow the kids to come up with something special they wanted to say themselves about how much they love their mommies.
It's more important, apparently, for math, reading, P.E. and your various science studies to get done, than it is to allow a 7 year old child to use their imagination and their own talents to put together something truly from their heart.  I was also given a book that was "M" is for..., "O" is for..., etc.  These were all done FOR the students.  Farrah did "H" herself to say that "My mom pays for my HORSEBACK RIDING CLASSES".  The rest were what the teacher told the students to write.  Again, I have to compare to Seeds Learning Center...that would never happen.  The teacher would have the students list off words that start with those letters to describe their mom's and then THEY'D get to choose what they wrote.  And the reason those would be so special?  Because they were the truth from the hearts of the children that knew their mom's the best.
I don't know...it really bothers me when I know how much potential every child, not my own, has and it gets pushed out of the way to just keep up with what the teachers are told to do.  The government run education system is losing it's grip on what makes people awesome and helps them grow academically. Maybe it's time for me to join the PTA (something I never wanted to do) and be an advocate for education instead of the god damn fund raiser bullshit.  And I'll do whatever it takes to get Farrah back into Seeds Learning Academy.  That's a promise to my kid that deserves to be back where she WANTS to be and she feels important there.  Her words, "Yes, I have the friends I've made at Cascade, but I can make new friends.  THOSE are MY teachers and that's the school I want to go to."  You got it, honey.

Kochrian Tradition

Yesterday was Easter.  I know I have written about it before, but there is something about Easter that will forever bring forth wonderful childhood memories.  But most of those memories are about my Grandpa.  Don't get me wrong, Grandma was always there, too, to participate in the festivities in her own right, but it was Grandpa's day...his day to be...awful, yet wonderful.
Grandma had the role of having the Lund kids and Grant kids over to decorate eggs on a Saturday, but Grandpa helped with showing us how to do little tricks with crayons before dipping them.  (He liked to write $1 on a few that he decorated).  Grandma would always bake a pound cake in an antique cast-iron lamb mold (it was later decorated by laying on a tray of "grass" with various candies around it before we cut its head or ass off - it was always a little disturbing to me).
But my Grandpa...this is when I miss him the most.  When all those eggs were decorated and ready to be distributed the next day, he was all set.  After years of the torment that I endured on Easter at the hands of my tricky Grandfather, you'd think I would've learned my lesson by getting some rest, practicing with my brothers to hide shit and make me find it, take some adderal to be better focused...SOMETHING!!!  But no, I never learned.
When it was time for the over 100 eggs to be hidden, my cousins, my brothers and I would walk to the local park and play for about an hour and kill some time.  All the while, we were all mentally preparing ourselves to out-do each other.  Me?  I always knew what I was in store for.  Out of the over hundred eggs, I was lucky to get 10.  Not because I was an idiot, but honestly, I just sucked at it.  However, I refuse to take ALL the blame for it.
I put it back on Grandpa.
He was an expert egg hider.  He went to GREAT lengths to hide the eggs.  He would take an entire wall of firewood that was flush up against a house, pull one log out, place the egg toward the back, and put that log back almost flush.  You'd have to be looking pretty hard to find the log that was just a tad bit off from the rest.  He'd hide them in the back of the toilet.  He'd dig a whole in the dirt, put the egg in, then cover it back up...never to be seen again.  But he loved this.  He loved watching us find them and he loved watching us struggle.  From a distance, you'd see Grandpa with his hands in his pockets and bending over certain areas and looking aloof...we knew to watch him.  We would troll the old man who had the biggest grin on his face who laughed and smiled through the whole "hide & seeking" process.  He'd kick at things, hum a little bit, sometimes was sweet enough to point in a direction, and sometimes...sometimes if one of us was on the verge of tears (usually me) from the pathetic five eggs in the basket, a clue was given.
While Grandpa was notorious for the ways he managed to hide so many eggs so well that it appeared like a normal non-egg-full-garden...the joy it brought him on Easter day, makes me miss him so much, but not in a sad way.  I consider myself incredibly lucky to have such wonderful memories of this awesome man and this story is just one day out of the year that he enjoyed immensely.
The beauty about Easter with Grandpa was while it was one day of the year, it was a day when all his grandchildren were together and he was able to play with each and every one of us and enjoy being a grandfather to so many kids that loved him dearly right back.
Watching Grandpa kneeling down, pointing at an area that "might" have an egg, seeing him laugh and beam when someone actually found an egg (especially the $1 eggs), was something I'll forever remember.  It was such a happy day for him, which made it a happy day for me...even when it was my basket that had the least in it.  I'd like to think I didn't have many eggs because I was so busy watching Grandpa and observing his joy, that I was just too distracted to see any.  However, I know the reality...I honestly suck at finding eggs on Easter.
But, Grandpa, thank you for making it so memorable...even if finding eggs with my daughter yesterday was a flashback of my childhood and still getting the least amount of eggs...at the age of 37.

KFC

It has been brought to my attention that it has been quite some time since I've written something here, and for that, I apologize.  It's not that funny, interesting, or even horrible things haven't happened, it's just that I am super busy.  The moment I want to write about something, another task whispers in my ear that it needs attention and I then forget my poor blog.  Well, I have forced myself to make time for this and I have a little story I can share...

A few weeks ago, one of the gals in the office had ordered some KFC chicken strips for lunch and ended up with far too many for one person.  She invited Rebecca and I to help ourselves to some before we took off for the gym.  We had a couple, said our thanks, grabbed our stuff, and went to the gym for a hard work out.
When we came back to the office, we could still smell the chicken in the air and we were both starving.  After a tough work out, it is not uncommon to be very hungry.  We inhaled the aroma and we were both salivating.  I remember even singing the classic KFC song, "We do chicken right!" as we walked in.  Rebecca and I were expressing to our co-worker how good it smelled and how hungry we were.  We even commented that the entire office smelled so yummy.
However...for some reason, she just looked at us funny.  She even looked...disturbed, until she finally said, "Well it's interesting that you two think it smells so good because about ten minutes ago, a client brought his dog in and he took a huge shit over there." She pointed to an open area at the floor.
While laughing, I had to ask myself, what the hell was wrong with me.  Jeez, what was wrong with BOTH me and Rebecca?  Why did we come in, smell dog shit, and instantly get super hungry and want chicken?  All I could picture when I walked in was a delicious chicken-pot-pie.  Yummmm.  Only, apparently, my chicken-pot-pie would have dog shit in it.  After we'd settled back into our seats, and the office was back to it's very quiet self, I replayed the whole scene in my head:
Opened door, sniffed, drooled, sang a little ditty about chicken, praised our co-worker for bringing in some great food, discovered I was starving for poop.
In the silent office, I belted out the biggest laugh and couldn't stop laughing.  I was hungry for poop.  What??

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.

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.

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!!!

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.

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!

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.

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.

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!!

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.

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?!!)

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!

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.

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.

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.