OOOH pretty lights - on boats!

There's an annual boat parade on the river here, the Saturday after Thanksgiving. We've gone several times in the past several years. It proves to be interesting and sometimes chuckle-worthy to see what is festooned on marine equipment. Some years the weather is nice, like last night was. I seem to recall more cold events though, but honestly it's a total crap shoot. Welcome to Florida. I was talking to Beast and conversation came around to snow. It hasn't done that here since um 1989 I think. I won't say how old I was, but I will say I was a teenager. The redneck neighbors "sledded" down the nearby overpass on a car hood. Looking back, to call them redneck was classing them up a few degrees. Which every boating community also has its rednecks, like the ones who only decorated the side of the boat that faced the riverbank. There was one boat that had a stationary ferris wheel made of lights, with flamingos and the lights blinked to make it look like the wheel was turning. This boat also had palm trees, and Santa in swim trunks. And somebody's son and his friends decided it was a great addition to have a gaggle of teenage boys with no shirts on the bow. When Clone saw this, she shrieked "OMIGOSH! They have NO shirts on!!" to her cousin and two new friends. Iddle Budder was there with his friend and her two girls. My niece and E's daughter were in the same class last year if memory serves me correctly (it's been known to fail). Four girls, a boardwalk, water, and crowds. We were incessantly telling any number of the gaggle to sit down, get off the railing, stay away from the edge, we're not going to jump in after you if you fall in the water, stop tattling, quit fighting over song lyrics, get down off the stairs, no we do not have food you have to wait till we get home, get away from the railing, stop shaking the railing, I can't swim too well, so you better hope someone else can, scoot back away from the edge, whining means we leave, be patient the boats have to circle around from the other side, but you can see them on the other bank from here, yes we heard you yelling at Santa on that boat, sit back down so everyone behind you can see, scoooch over a bit and let so-and-so sit next to you, don't tip over the chair you just fell on that lady now apologize, get down off the railing, get away from the edge, if I have to tell you to get away from the edge one more time I am probably going to just throw you IN the water myself. Then our revelry was thrown to a screeching halt by a certain someone who does everything they can to make life difficult for someone else. Someone was told in nice terms to pee or get off the pot basically. Everyone commented that the diplomatic person was way nicer than any of us would be. And I lost the heel tip on my boot, making that the 2nd pair of shoes needing the same surgery. They're going to a shoe shop tomorrow. I got both of those buggers on the cheap, and repairing them will actually be less expensive than replacing them. Shoe shopping is a blog post all its own, due to the size of my feet. I'm not going there right now. I enjoyed the fireworks too much to lament a shoe. Two bridges, three barges, 30 minutes of explosive choreography. Umpteen number of boats with lights going in a circle twice for everyone's entertainment. It beats cleaning the house.

Thanksgiving at our house

As previously mentioned, we're not sharing the day with others out of consideration for their health. We're having a ham instead of a turkey, and I did it in the crockpot, but I think Devildog is not pleased with that. A couple weeks ago he made a comment about not wanting everything we eat for dinner to come from a crockpot, and he did so with one of those tones that indicate a true disdain. As he made his way back to the bed he asked what was in the crockpot, and when I answered, asked why I didn't do it in the oven. I kind of need that big monster for some other stuff dude. Plus the crockpot uses less electricity. He obviously doesn't sit down to do the household budget at payday, or open the bills when they arrive in the mail. He woke up and I could look at him and tell he was cranky. I tried to stay out of his way, to minimize everyone's misery. He tried helping me with dinner, and at times did indeed come in handy with one minor mishap that was not totally disasterous in the entire thing. It's always puzzled me how people could eat dinner so early in the day. In my lifetime I've been to Thanksgiving meals that started as early as 11:30 in the morning up to 2 or 3. I think the earliest time I've served a holiday dinner I cooked, was maybe 3 PM, and it was a stretch to get it done then. I had dinner ready at a dinner hour, not lunchtime like so many other people do. If I ever invite people over for a holiday, I'll get already semi-comatose guests because they've been elsewhere before the gastronomical consumption at my house. Beast looked at me in utter curiosity as to why I was serving dinner at 5:00 in the afternoon. I told him "I realize you're accustomed to eating dinner much later than this, but just go with it and eat the dinner that is being served at a dinner hour will ya?"
It's common to have dinner later than the rest of civilization here in the Irish House. If we ever find ourselves in a Hispanic country, we might be able to survive the meal times due to the way we eat here.
Now Devildog and I are going to peruse the Black Friday ads. He's eyeballing the Home Depot ad and I want to scope out the stuff the spawn need (like socks and underwear)

typos for your entertainment

I was off in another part of the house, doing something else that didn't involve my backside being firmly planted in the chair at the desk. I come back to a few IMs and start answering them, just as my clone calls for me. Devildog put her in the tub rather early and she wanted out of there. Not wanting to allow my friend to think I was ignoring her (she thinks that when we haven't conversed much for several days weeks or months), I dashed off a greeting and quasi-apology, complete with lysdexic typing.


"Persnickety" (6:36:48 PM): Happy Day B4 Turkey Day

"Persnickety" (6:37:56 PM): Faa la la la laaa la la la laaaaaa

Feisty (6:48:50 PM): hi

Feisty (6:48:54 PM): was away from copmuter a while

"Persnickety" (6:59:39 PM): copmuter? Can I get one of those in a store?

"Persnickety" (7:00:39 PM): And do they really work? Cuz I can't ever get those damn cops to shut up...

And the Generosity Continues...

I am getting better, and have regained the use of my vocal cords again. I still have bouts of coughing but overall the lungs are returning to their duties, albeit reluctantly. Meanwhile, my husband has something painful. The left side of his face is swollen, and tender. He thinks some food or something may have gotten caught in a crevice and is irritated. He came home from work and went straight to bed. He got up a few hours later and I talked him into going to a doctor (he HATES doctors after many years of painful experiences with them after a childhood injury). However his timing sucked mucho. The doctor's office is 15 minutes away at a minimum, it was half an hour after they take their last patient, and he wasn't willing to wait at the Med-Mill (walk in clinic chain) because he'd likely be there 4 hours just waiting. So, he's making do with what he can and we're going in the morning. He's a big baby and won't go if I don't take him. Maybe I'll tell you about the ER visit sometime. Except this time, he probably needs a translator or something. Even the kids didn't understand him when he was talking. His dad's ex-wife (yes we get along) called to invite us to Thanksgiving dinner, but the germs aren't worth it. I begged off, citing unknown contagions. As much as I'd like to share Thanksgiving with friends like we did last year, I don't see that happening. It was a complete and total blast, and I would need no reason to hang out with them, especially since they won't gripe about how I cook the turkey upside down like a certain nameless fat man complained 2 years ago. Never mind that he piled his plate with it, and didn't leave any on the plate. So as much as I'd like to be generous and invite someone over here for dinner, or offer to share the cooking workload at their house...I'm fighting urges to over commit myself and remember to adhere to the K.I.S.S. principle. I can make those special side dishes anytime, and I don't need a date on the calendar to tell me it's ok to do it. Besides, I am the only one who will eat the darn broccoli casserole and my neighbors might not want any. Then there's the whole germs thing. Devildog has such generous coworkers. I hope to personally thank them in a couple weeks at the Christmas party.

Irish Look-alike Meter

Well I have to apologize. I did post a look alike meter thingy here, but quickly changed my mind about posting the pictures. I toyed with the pictures I used and got varying results, ultimately ending with the one saying Clone looked equally identical to Devildog and to me. It's certainly a means of entertaining yourself if you like. So feel free to go play on myheritage's site and tinker with pictures.

MyHeritage: Look-alike Meter - Genealogy forums - Free genealogy

It's good to know your mother well

There are quirks about me that I inherited from my mother. Most notably is the one relating to first thing in the morning. I'm just like my mother in that regard, except less unpleasant looking. Just give me several minutes to become coherent, and preferably wait till I've had at least half a cup of coffee before talking to me about anything. For instance, my father went with us to my in-laws for Christmas last year. After sleeping on a fold out sofa, I needed some stretching and strong coffee to wake up and deal with well over a dozen humans crammed into a double wide trailer in South Carolina. Granted, that place is larger than my 1100 sq ft but more bodies equals fewer square feet per person. In any case, my father rises before the sun, as gerontological quirks require fewer hours of sleep. I peeled myself out of the bed at what I think is a fairly reasonable hour (8:30ish) and went about my routine for waking. After visiting the water closet, I tottered into the kitchen to get my java, all while my cheery father was repeatedly saying good morning to me, and trying to ask how I slept, and other attempts at conversation. I kept waving him off with a grunt, much like my mother (and his wife for 33+ years) did any time he attempted to talk to her that soon. He either didn't get the hint or didn't recognize the gestures and noise.
My sons tried to tell him. My nephew tried to tell him. It was all to no avail. Finally my oldest said "Grandpa, for everyone's safety, do NOT talk to her until she's had coffee and speaks to you first. Seriously, it's dangerous if you try to talk to her before she is fully awake." My father responded with "ah, ohh-kaaay" with a hint of personal offense taken by my lack of desire to talk to him. The man watched me and as I tipped the mug back for the near-final swig, he tried talking to me again, asking if it was safe to greet me. I shook my head no. The coffee wasn't strong enough, and would require a second one. It made me very grateful that I was able to convey to my children the understanding of my quirks, especially the first-thing-in-the-morning deal. I didn't want to be like that, but in all honesty I just don't move fast in the morning.
Fast forward to today. My neighborhood association had a yard sale last week that was essentially rained out, so they quickly decided to do it again this weekend. I spaced out about it, even though i wanted to go scope it out, if nothing else to look at other people's clutter they were trying to pawn off on the rest of the world. Again I move slow in the morning, and slower when I'm not completely healthy. We ended up going over there as the last 3 people were packing up to go back home. My son the Beast, trailed along after the episode of NCIS he was watching ended, while Clone and I were already done. He snagged himself a couple 1000 piece puzzles (insert motherly eyeroll here) a PS2 game, and a mug. He came to show it to me and upon returning it, the mug's seller saw him with it and told him to just take it. He's excited about free stuff (it's genetic, my apologies). He brought it over to show me and yes, it rather aptly describes me in the mornings. But he's unwilling to let me have this mug, tells me to get my own.

We need more than 2 front teeth for Christmas

My dad has been known to sing "All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth" whenever a young one loses a tooth. My Clone lost her first tooth earlier this year and proudly stuck the tip of her tongue through the slot in her teeth to show Grandpa the exciting dental news. Of course, he sang this line to her. She said "Grannndpaaa, Santa doesn't bring you TEETH for Christmas! You get toys!" Well she holds fast to Santa=toys, but some of us want a BrewStation, cast iron skillet, Kitchen-Aid mixer, knives that are worth a squat, a new desk, and/or a 4 bedroom/2 bathroom house with a 2 car garage and a fair sized yard.
"Toys" would be a subjective term, because what is a toy to someone, might be useless to another person. Then there are practical gifts. Underwear, socks, sweaters....That's the stuff Mom puts under the tree for you. Santa brings the real stellar goods. I was at the SuperWally yesterday to get a few things. Since I had practically no agenda for the day, and hadn't wandered a store in ages without spawn in tow to annoy me with their cart driving habits, I wandered. I was scoping out stuff for presents, and got a couple things from the clearance selections. I also priced out those necessities like feet and butt covering items. Beast is in need of underwear, and I have seen this fact for myself. He has a typical male regard for underwear, and it has now come to my attention that Devildog has the same trait. This morning, Devildog once again got Clone ready for school for me, and let me laze in bed a bit longer so I can rest. I'm still fighting my lungs for the real estate that oxygen is supposed to occupy in there. It's basically a prolonged asthma attack and I'm just doing nebulizer treatments (that I'm also allergic to) because I'm pretty certain that a doctor is going to tell me to do just that. Plus I'd get a prescription for something like singulair and a z-pack, all of which require copays and I lack resources to cover them right now. I feel ok, except this whole lack of adequate oxygen saturation is making me feel less than energized. So, this morning, while I wasn't 100% yet, I felt rested enough to crawl from the bed and move forward with the day. Devildog took the Clone to school for me, then came home to get ready for work. As he passed me, shirtless, I caught a glimpse of grey elastic (yes this particular pair is supposed to be that color) with skin showing on both sides of it. I haven't done my husband's laundry in over ten years, so I don't know the condition of his drawers till I see them on his person. I asked how long his underwear were like that.... "uhh about two and a half months." When asked why he still wore them..."They still cover my [arse]." So it truly is genetic then. The Beast has underwear that likewise gape at the separation of elastic and fabric, and he doesn't care. The elastic is also too snug on him, but he doesn't care. Obviously a male standard for keeping stains off the interior of pants requires only that the important parts be COVERED, additional exposure elsewhere notwithstanding. Meanwhile I need my parts to be covered, but not riding up my ghetto bootie, show evidence of their location under my clothing, riding high above the waistband of my pants, or losing stitches between elastic and fabric. I suppose by a male standard, I ask too much of my undergarments, because I need for more than my backside to simply be "covered". Life is so much simpler when all you want or need to have for Christmas is dental parts to grow in where they belong. Turkey is easier to chew with them in place, but if you eat too much, you'll wish your elastic would stretch just a little more than it already strains to do.

EDITED to add: As I was making dinner tonight, I was slicing some sharp cheddar with one of my 13 year old steak knives. The age alone explains their inability to do as much. This pretty much eliminates any doubt that I could use new knives about as much as my male people need new drawers.

Princess of the Obvious

Recently Devildog was once again frustrated by the disappearance of the remote. He saw the Clone walk by and asked where it was, combined with instruction to aid in the search.

Clone asked Devildog "did you look under the cushion?"
Devildog: "What cushion?" (we have a sum total of two cushioned chairs in the living room btw)
Clone: "uhh, the one you're sitting on?"

It's a good thing I was in the kitchen.

because wasting time is so much fun

I got sucked into Pioneer Woman's blog again (it's soooo incredibly easy to get sucked in, that place is like a shop-vac kind of vortex). She linked to despair.com and they have a nifty DIY feature. So I played with pictures I had on my hard drive and uploaded one, and made this poster. I'm a tad impressed with myself and my snarky bent, and just narcissistic enough to share it with you.















Then I thought more on it, and came up with this one, which is even more demotivating than the first

Sometimes I can relate to my sister

Each peak allergy season, I get sick. My asthma is the kind that is fine till allergens come along and play in my lungs. So, Spring and Fall, I get a lovely lung-fest. It is rather unladylike, and even guys are a little weirded out by the noises emanating from me. Those noises are an attempt to move the yuk out of its nestling spot, and avoid abrading my vocal cords from excessive coughing. Coughing does nothing to clear my airways anyhow. It's utterly futile. Plus it makes people cross the street and walk on the other side, because if I'm coughing, I'm obviously contagious right? Anyway, after several days of coughing, noisemaking etc, sometimes I still get laryngitis and lose my voice completely. Sometimes I can talk one minute and can only muster a whisper or squeak a few minutes later. At those times, I feel for my sister because she has a condition called Spasmodic Dysphonia, which means her vocal cords spasm and freeze up rendering her speechless and frustrated. I've half joked that we need to learn sign language. My hearing is damaged from multiple major ear infections as a child, which I'm sure ruptured my ear drums several times considering the repeated occasions I was writhing in my mother's lap inconsolable with tears and agony from the pain. You know it was bad if I was in my mother's lap. I never really bonded with my mother the way my daughter has bonded with me. Then I spent a number of years with loud music - high school band brass section right next to the bass drums, large speaker box in the trunk of our car blasting WuTang, Fugees, Mary J Blige, Enigma, etc., and the daily din in my house because no one here understands my need for quiet. My sister has been unable to even make a squeak or whisper with her SD sometimes. Those are times pen and paper are flying but it would be easier if we understood sign language. I've joked that we'll be two old ladies on a porch somewhere, fingers and hands flying as we talk, but not a sound comes out of us. While my sister and I are similar in a lot of ways (we like the same foods and condiments), the four years between us makes for some differing perspectives quite often. She also doesn't have kids, nor desires any (they're sticky and loud), and her music tastes are vastly different than mine. She also has some other issues that I just don't share, but I've tried to learn about them for the sake of trying to understand her as a person. But right now, as I try to spare my voice since talking renders me a coughing puddle of frustration, I can relate to my sister. I don't know how much I truly relate, but I have an inkling. And anyone that knows me, knows two things about me: I talk and eat a LOT. If I'm not doing either, something is out of whack with me. Well, there is lots out of whack with me, but we're not going there today, if ever.

Birthdays and Bronchitis

OK, first I wanted to share this with you from GoDaddy.com that came to my inbox a little bit ago. For anyone that doesn't know, the founder and CEO of GoDaddy is Bob Parsons, is a prior service Marine. Every year he posts a tribute to the Corps, including in the monthly newsletters. It's a tad late, but you can see the USMC Birthday Tribute yourself. I will be showing it to Devildog when he gets home from the store of orange.

And the other topic of this zero-dark-thirty post: I think I'm sick. If it was allergies, it has become something upper respiratory and unpleasant. I feel fine, I just feel like my lungs, or at least the entrance to them, is not at full performance. Now ask me in a few days, and I may give you a different answer. This stuff generally becomes bronchitis in short order thanks to my mother smoking while pregnant with me and pretty much all my life, which is probably why I have asthma. I may be breaking out the nebulizer in a bit just to clear that cobwebs that have been crafted in my lungs. And I think I have some grownup form of cough medicine in a pill (name of product purposely withheld) but I don't know how much is in the bottle. I'm drinking warm liquids to aid the loosening of the yuck, including a plan for peppermint tea as soon as I'm done with my coffee. And I don't know what made me think I could get some compassion from my husband. I called Devildog to inform him that I thought I was unwell, and pretty much got a "Suck it up Marine" response from him, but in civilian terms. I'm off to go change my pillowcases too while I'm at it.

I see you Mike

I was putzing around when I should have been asleep recently...and found that I'm in someone's blogroll...Thank You Mike
Now, is it because you have far too many links in your blog roll (but you get an A+++ for alphabetizing them) that you haven't commented? Did you initially add me because you thought my picture was worthy of sharing? I could understand what would make you do that. According to some reliable sources not present on the web, I have a certain kind of impact on the male species. I don't entirely see things the same way this source does, so it's all a matter of perspective. Is it because I'm Catholic and I'm not generally all that openly pious or something? I have to keep the hellraiser tendencies in check somehow, or this would be an entirely different blog, I'm sure. Gwendy told me that every time she visits, my pictures scares her. I don't know why. The 9mm's don't do as much damage as .40 cal's do. She really doesn't have as much to worry about. Devildog doesn't let me play with the hollow points. So really, I'm about as harmless as a kitten, unless provoked. It honestly is safer to feed me first to earn my trust...sort of true. If Chris thinks she can trust me, and Shannon or Sunny hasn't dispatched any Mounties, we should be cool. Persnickety has known me since before I was this cool and she never ignored me. Really Mike..I feel unloved just a bit. But I guess you'll have to talk to Carri, because she's able to tolerate my half yankee tendencies, sullied by 16 years of life with my Devildog and his redneck family. Kristin hasn't had to call the Pentagon on me or anything, and believe me, she's got connections like that. Seriously Mike, I'm not that bad. I'm sure Mrs Soersdal prays for me at times, but I don't think it's the kind of fervent prayer that St. Monica did for her son. Tracy hasn't dispatched her son and his platoon to seize me for interrogation or anything. I mean, I could hit the broad side of a barn for the most part but I'm no threat to any security. Nikki is the rocker kind of chick and she hasn't thrown me to the mosh pit. For the love of Pete, Mike, Chrissy even takes my suggestions for repair people and actually allows them in her home. So Mike, since you have me in your blog roll, at least occasionally say Hi or something. I start getting a tad paranoid, but only a tad. I mean I do have the .9mm and I know how to use it. The thing is, Devildog makes me clean it if I do, so I'm not quite as trigger-happy as you might think. I prefer to avoid having to clean much of anything. I'm a bit of a diva like that. I haven't taken the concealed weapons permit class yet, so I can't pack that much heat. I DO have a big mouth and a temper, but it would take a lot for me to unleash the lead. And like I said, Devildog doesn't let me play with the hollow-points. See Mike, you have nothing to worry about really.

*for the record, aside from Mike, the individuals mentioned here are currently listed as following my blog. Please don't take offense for being left out of this post if you read, post or don't post, or follow anonymously. But if you read this, I welcome comments, just be civil.

When opposites attract it becomes entertaining

My husband and I have lots of oppositions in our life. And that's just between the two of us. He was talking to an older customer and his wife (for 45 minutes, which is nothing by comparison to 2 or 3 hours with a customer the day before) about the recessed lighting they were buying when they asked about the different types of compact fluorescent bulbs available and compatible with the fixtures they selected. My husband was telling about the bright daylight type which he prefers, the blue-ish one, and the yellower light that I prefer (because they don't hurt my eyeballs like the other two-but rest assured he did not explain that). The couple sort of smirked. He went on to say that we fight over the kind of lightbulbs we use, but that's really nothing. We're full of differences and we fight all the time, and after 16 years of being with someone, it's definitely interesting. They chuckled. He felt a need to expound on his comments, and went with it. He followed with what would be "my lines" about the differences in workplace (competing locations, although technically I'm a VENDOR, and not an employee of that location), differences in religion (he's Baptist, I'm Catholic), and sports teams (He's a Gator Fan, I'm a Seminole Fan). By this point the couple was well entertained by our story.

Now, we did fight a whole hell of a lot when we were younger. In his mind he was always right and that was all that mattered. In my mind he was seldom, if EVER right, and that was all that mattered. I think, and this is merely a supposition drawn from a really un-sunny place, that we have managed to wise up and see a reasonable (purely subjective form of this word's use by the way) median in which to meet. Either that or we realized not one other single soul on this earth would put up with our crap like we put up with each other's crap and we figured we can live with that.
I realized that he's an utter OX and OAF like his father, and once I figured out a few things that made his dad tick, I used it to my advantage. Call it feminine wiles or guile. I don't care. I think he may have realized what he was up against and thought better of the act he'd been giving. Or maybe someone sat him down and had a come-to-Jesus with him. I don't know, and some things a girl goes to her grave not knowing. I just know that the only thing that has prevented the utter demise of our relationship is the Divine Intervention that brought us together, friends and family, and this really strong will we both have. We are both of Irish descent (me 50%, him probably less), and he's got some Native American tribal ties. He's an Aries, and I'm an Aquarius. So it's a passionate combination. Passionate doesn't always mean in the hormonal sense either. We both have a temper that is a force to be reckoned with when it flares. We're both stubborn and I think that has been the one key ingredient that has kept us together. Because I'm sure as heck not going to let his butt off the hook THAT easily.

I have no life

Therefore I blog.

Or at least I did till I had no life and blog block. ::concocts a colorful visual with words that equates the blockage, and decides to spare my readers since they may have snackage while reading this::

Edit: Devildog came home from work, I asked how his day was, got an answer that wasn't a grunt. I asked what his favorite part of the day was. (got your gag bucket Persnickety?).... he said "now". You can go about your gagging and barf gestures now. He's being sweet and I'm not even emitting those pheromones that tell him I'm ovulating.

Happy Birthday US Marine Corps

You look good for your age ;) This post should have been posted sooner but it didn't happen. Call me distracted by real life and watching Food Network with my kids after dinner while they pined for the remote. I was in a bit of a coma, from making something salisbury steak like (The Devildog ate it, so it must have been safe) and having wine with my dinner. Shhhhh don't tell Devildog that I actually catnapped on the futon while watching Food Network. This after catnapping in the bed while snuggling with the Devildog before I made dinner. I had hamburger meat thawed, so I gave him the option of the meal. The rule in our house is the Birthday Person gets to choose, within reason and family budget. Salisbury Steak, Mashed Potatoes and Green beans is what he wanted. Southern? Why, yes, what gave you that idea about him? He's caused me a loss of some yankee tendencies over the years, including being stationed at Camp Lejune, NC, where everyone thought I was from New York. Except that those truly FROM New York knew better. I was too Southern to be a Yankee. But to the Southerners, I was too Yankee to be Southern. I will forgive him and the Corps for that move, because ultimately I did a lot of learning at that duty station, and even had ample amounts of stupidity. At Navy Marine Corps Relief Society, I learned much needed basic office skills, and how to crochet from the ladies in the layette room. It just took another 7 years for me to really get the hang of hook and yarn. I learned to cook some of Devildog's favorite recipes, like Catalina Chicken and Pork Chops & Sour Cream, immense thanks to Jessica Torrence from Tennesee. Hilda Muguerza, mother of Laura Torres, of Round Rock, Texas gave me the recipe for her Enchiladas and her Migas. I still have them tucked into the old Good Housekeeping cookbook longtime family friend Janie gave me when I turned 18. I got Peach Cobbler, Hamburger Casserole, Banana Bread, and the value of vinegar in the laundry when dealing with smelly PT gear, potty training children or forgotten loads of wash from Jana Anderson of Salt Lake City, UT. As much as Devildog didn't care for Ladera (last name and hometown withheld), I learned valuable lessons from her experiences as the daughter of a Marine Major and an elevated Federal staffer. I learned how to act confident, even if I wasn't, and I learned what resources to make use of and ask for myself. In the military, the general unwritten rule is "if you didn't ask for it, you didn't rate it", despite what the manual states. I borrowed books from the other Patricia from Indiana in our little corner, and I found Pam & Peggy in a book that sort of understood me, and years later I found another of their students that I follow.
I didn't intend for this post to wax nostalgic about the handful of years at Camp Lejune and while my husband was in the Marines. However, it's part of the sum of my experiences with the Marine Corps. It helped shape who I am now, much of it out of necessity. I was 500 miles from my family with two children and a lot to learn. I didn't learn it all, but I did learn. So, while I did not enter the gates of Parris Island a poolie recruit and leave a Marine, I did benefit from what the Marines as a whole taught me. I became better, stronger, and more confident for having married a Marine and joining the brotherhood as a Marine's Wife.
Semper Fi

I am interesting

At least according to the Devildog. We were bantering back and forth on one of his afternoons off of work. I teased him about something, and in the course of it all, there was commentary about life insurance benefit amounts for each of us. He replied that he probably wouldn't find anyone that was interesting to burn his food for him. Yes, to clarify, he said that I burn his food but I'm interesting.

I think this comment was in retaliation for the day prior. He was losing a game of Madden on PS2. He said something about resetting the game (in essence-cheating) because he wasn't doing well, and was losing players to injuries on every play. I looked at him and said I think it's a PEBCAC issue.

I was met with a "WTF?" face. He apparently hasn't heard this phrase before, and it's an offshoot of PEBKAC (which tech-inclined folks will probably understand).

So I let him sit on it a few seconds while I fought hard to keep my composure. Then I unleashed it. Problem Exists Between Controller And Chair.

He sort of smirked, shook his head and proclaimed me to be "such a geek." Which, I can't possibly be such a geek because I have too much ADD, misfired synapses, and can't wrap my brain around even a percentage of that stuff. I'm just smart enough to be dangerous...or useful. At least I'm interesting.

Darwin? You wanna open the back door yet?

I had a rather unpleasant (and that's putting it very nicely) interaction with another parent at school this morning. The other individual seems to think they're above the rules and laws, and I being the Feisty one that I am...called this individual on their error. They proceeded to be nasty and vile about things. I have certain options I have not exercised yet, but there were two other parents that saw the interaction as well. I am really trying not to waste any unnecessary energy on this individual who should be at the door to Darwin's waiting room, but the devil keeps throwing it back out there for me to recall. So, this individual, along with others like this one....really should just go hide back in the corner of the waiting room and stay out of the middle of the public arena. Because, really...there are other people needing the oxygen being used by those who should have exited the other door of Darwin's waiting room a long time ago.

To the relief of the postal workers

They can now stop delivering those political mailers that got larger and larger as it neared election day. Those things went from a 5x7 early on, to 8x15 like I got this past week. Some were folded into three or four pages, essentially making them even larger. To my relief I can give my shredder a break (I shred the name/address portion, ESPECIALLY since they use my *gasp* middle name on them). And my senses can get a break from all the high school maturity that political arenas collect. It's pretty much all childish behavior. I get enough of that around my spawn, I don't need to hear, see or read grown adults doing it.

blogger burp

Apparently Blogger has a hiccup somewhere in the wiring and comments couldn't be posted. I switched from the nifty embedded format that saved you some mouse clicks back to the previous method. We'll see if it gets fixed soon, otherwise I'll just leave things alone.
That is all.

All In a Day's Adventures, Right?

First an apology to those that attempted to catch this blog late last night as it got posted in the feeders. I didn't like how it formatted and pulled it to correct that deficiency and the other errors that I find unacceptable. I'm not an idiot and dislike accidentally portraying myself as one. I much prefer to come across as possessing reasonable intelligence, and not as yet another blathering imbecile.

Plus I'm getting reports that my readers are unable to comment on the blog. Which explains a lot. Maybe I edited it too many times?

Now, back to your irregularly unscheduled yammering of Yours Truly. Adventures indeed, sir.

I have been known to take my camera with me when I go to work, simply because I may need it for a photgraphic report for my boss. Some things, I wouldn't convince anyone was true unless I produced such evidence for their examination. I might crop some pictures or do some tinkering to remove red eye, but a photo-alter-er I am not. I haven't acquired enough knowledge to make that many changes to a picture. So, if I took the picture, it's the real thing. I have had to resort to using my camera phone because certain pictures would have been blatantly obvious and I really don't want to be treated like the paparazzi types. If I'm going to be run out of town, I want the reason to be worthwhile. I took a sociology class in my brief post-secondary adventures, and discovered that I love finding quirks of humanity. Or, rather, it seems they like to find me.

I have a job that takes me to a certain brand of home improvement store that shall remain nameless. In my 5-ish years of doing this job, I've encountered some very interesting stuff.
Like this bloke who either was too cheap to buy new boots, or simply lacked the additional funds to do so:



Yes, the sap is wearing work boots with duct tape wrapped around them. Forgive the quality as it's a low end phone, that meets a basic need with a couple extra features. And yes that's my finger in the way...I was trying to hurry because I thought he was getting suspicious of me. Rightfully so, but still...




Now this guy...I just don't know. It has a potential for several possibilities. He's the kind of guy who likes guys, he's the kind of guy who is a wimp and lets his girl dress him, or he's just a total oaf and shops at Abercrombie and got the shirt because some hot chick working there told him he was sexy in a bright, punk-A pink shirt. I lacked the cajones to go ask him, plus I was working. It wouldn't have reflected well on me, or either company in this situation.






Which leads me to this picture, which I think was the one that started the whole riot. I did crop the bottom to remove the license plate information...because, again, my synapses aren't firing correctly for my brain to digest the knowledge and put it to use.

I will pause a minute and let you digest the content.

Seriously. It probably is precisely what you think it is.
I'll tell you the back story on this one. I was about to go into the one store I service that has no signal inside whatsoever. However, on the drive there, I was talking to my boss on the phone. So I sat in my mom-bus while we finished our conversation. I saw this couple loading their purchases in the back of their SUV. They futzed with this roll of vinyl sheet flooring, trying to get it in the truck. The liftgate all the way up was not working well, the flooring would have fallen out of the vehicle on the drive home. So lucky for them, this vehicle is equipped with a two part liftgate. They opened the glass and rested the flooring on the back of the seat. Since it hung out the window, they needed some sort of "safety" warning for morons drivers behind them. I saw the woman go to the back driver side door and dig around in what I assume is a bag, laundry basket, or floorboard and come back with something red. The guy stretched it over the end of the flooring, they got in the SUV and left. Thankfully my camera was between the seats so I could move fast and get this shot. The boss didn't believe me, and told me to send it to her.

That shot later led me to catch this one, while on Interstate 95 South, on the way back from South Carolina. Maybe we'd gotten into Georgia by this point. I don't remember. I just remember the utter disbelief of this sight. Feel free to click on the picture, zoom in on things and such.


Yes ladies and gentlemen, that is a WASHING MACHINE atop a Suburban. And it's on the interstate, keeping the speed limit...or something close to it. Everyone in the mom-bus was zonked out, so I was trying to take the picture without being a tourist about it. Which now makes me think we were in Georgia for everyone to be so tired that they couldn't help me catch this bit of blog fodder. They always leave me hanging on the return trip to drive solo through Georgia with no company. Either that or the kids are usually at war back there.

Anyway, I now give you this gem, taken locally, as I was leaving a service call at one of my stores. This is a Lexus, with a sunroof. If I recall correctly, I think this was a vertical blind purchase, ill conceived to be taken home in a sedan poorly equipped for such cargo.
The poetic humor of it all too, that it's a white car with a white object sticking out of of the sunroof, while all the other cars at the stoplight were dark colors. It's like it pointed itself out to me saying, "look! idiocy in action!" It very well could have been "OH! the utter INDIGNITY of this! I am a LEXUS for the love of all things luxury, why on earth am I being used to tote such, such...insult to my quality?? Did you see where they bought this? It's enough to make me break down en route home!"


It makes me think I should start a regular feature on my blog, and call it something catchy. I find the funniest stuff while driving and working.

Literary critic in the making

Clone was reading Fancy Nancy Goes to the Museum by Jane O'Connor tonight. I have Clone read to me when it's the simpler books on her level, so she becomes comfortable speaking aloud and so she can develop her intonation and inflection when speaking publicly. We've also been reading Charlie and the Chocolate Factory together over the course of the past few weeks when I'm not being a shiftless mother. I figured since I never read it as a kid, then I may as well read it to my clone who was wanting to read it but was jumbling words. So, over the course of the years that I've been reading to her, I've altered my voice to reflect the different characters and changed my tone to reflect the tone of the story. She picked up on that and now she does it. It's kind of funny to hear the exaggerated exclamations of a child as they relay the story as they see it. It's even funnier when that child is my snarky clone who will also throw in her two pennies about what she thinks the author should have used in terms of certain punctuation marks.
Then in the middle of the story, she interrupted herself with "...and I'm not reading like a robot...", as if to do such a thing merits total disdain and being ostracized till the reader can sound human in their oratory. She rolled right back into reading her story, without missing a beat or breath, of Fancy Nancy and Nancy's explanations of what those fancy words at the museum really mean.
I suspect her teachers have pressed the need for not sounding like a robot. And if I were to bet a shoelace or something, I'd venture it's the taller, unmarried one with no kids who has told the students not to sound like a mechanized pseudo-human. Why do I think this? I've met this teacher's father at church functions a few times, and I pick up on vibes from her. I'm going with the genetic possibility here. The shorter, married, fairly new mom who migrated from New York, doesn't seem like the candidate. I've been known to be wrong, but that's beside the point at the moment. I'm not sure if I should lament this or celebrate it: I've created a strong, openly opinionated daughter who isn't ashamed to share her thoughts. But she doesn't like getting in trouble, just causing a little stir. Clone, indeed.

Oh, what have I done?