Nothing But Love Blah, blah, blah :: this is my view of my life -- some of it.
Tuesday, April 29
JOKE
i feel like i know these people. can't quite put my finger on it.
Just after dinner one night, my son came up to tell me there was "something wrong" with one of the two hamsters he holds prisoner in his room. "He's just lying there looking sick," he told me. "I'm serious, Dad. Can you help?"
I put my best hamster-healer statement on my face and followed him into his bedroom. One of the little rodents was indeed lying on his back, looking stressed. I immediately knew what to do. "Honey," I called, "come look at the hamster!"
"Oh my gosh," my wife diagnosed after a minute. "She's having babies."
"What?" my son demanded. "But their names are Bert and Ernie, Mom!"
I was equally outraged. "Hey, how can that be? I thought we said we didn't want them to reproduce," I accused my wife.
"Well, what do you want me to do, post a sign in their cage?" she inquired (I actually think she said this sarcastically!).
"No, but you were supposed to get two boys!" I reminded her (in my most loving, calm, sweet voice, while gritting my teeth together).
"Yeah, Bert and Ernie!" my son agreed.
"Well, it's just a little hard to tell on some guys, you know," she informed me (again with the sarcasm).
By now the rest of the family had gathered to see what was going on.
I shrugged, deciding to make the best of it. "Kids, this is going to be a wondrous experience, I announced. "We're about to witness the miracle of birth."
"OH, Gross!" they shrieked.
"Well, isn't THAT just great! What are we going to do with a litter of tiny little hamster babies?" my wife wanted to know (I really do think she was being snotty here, too. don't you?).
We peered at the patient. After much struggling, what looked like a tiny foot would appear briefly, vanishing a scant second later. "We don't appear to be making much progress," I noted.
"It's breech," my wife whispered, horrified.
"Do something, Dad!" my son urged.
"Okay, okay." Squeamishly, I reached in and grabbed the foot when it next appeared, giving it a gingerly tug. It disappeared. I tried several more times with the same results.
"Should I call 911?" my eldest daughter wanted to know. "Maybe they could talk us through the trauma." (You see a pattern here with the females in my house?).
"Let's get Ernie to the vet," I said grimly.
We drove to the vet with my son holding the cage in his lap.
Breathe, Ernie, breathe, he urged.
"I don't think hamsters do Lamaze," his mother noted to him. (Women can be so cruel to their own young. I mean what she does to me is one thing, but this boy is of her womb, for God's sake).
The vet took Ernie back to the examining room and peered at the little animal through a magnifying glass. "What do you think, Doc, a c-section?" I suggested scientifically.
"Oh, very interesting," he murmured. "Mr. and Mrs. Cameron, may I speak to you privately for a moment?" I gulped, nodding for my son to step outside.
"Is Ernie going to be okay?" my wife asked.
"Oh, perfectly," the vet assured us. "This hamster is not in labor. In fact, that isn't EVER going to happen... Ernie is a boy. You see, Ernie is a young male. And occasionally, as they come into maturity, like most male species, they um....um....masturbate. Just the way he did, lying on his back." He blushed, glancing at my wife.
"Well, you know what I'm saying, Mr.Cameron."
We were silent, absorbing this. "So Ernie's just...just...excited," my wife offered.
"Exactly," the vet replied, relieved that we understood.
More silence.
Then my viscious, cruel wife started to giggle. And giggle. And then even laugh loudly.
"What's so funny?" I demanded, knowing, but not believing that the woman I married would commit the upcoming affront to my flawless manliness.
Tears were now running down her face.
"It's just...that...I'm picturing you pulling on its... its...teeny little..." she gasped for more air to bellow in laughter once more.
"That's enough," I warned.
We thanked the vet and hurriedly bundled the hamsters and our son back into the car. He was glad everything was going to be okay. "I know Ernie's really thankful for what you've done, Dad," he told me.
"Oh, you have NO idea," my wife agreed, collapsing with laughter.
2 Hamsters - $10...
1 Cage - $20...
Trip to the Vet - $30...
Memory of your hubby pulling on a hamster's wacker........Priceless
72. the bathroom is waaay down the hall in my building. it's just wrong.
73. there are at LEAST four computers in my house turned on at all times. networked. all on line. and not that pussy kind of wireless networking shit. the real deal. wiring everywhere. and when the big guys come home, there are more.
74. my dog (down to ONE dog in the house right now -- must correct that soon) won't let me lay on the pool float alone. she watches and waits until it bumps into the side and walks on it to be with me. right when i'm getting ready to doze off. scares the shit out of me.
75. this same dog, sheba, watches tv. she gets all agitated when she sees other dogs, but i'm not sure -- i think she thinks COWS are just really big dogs. so she just watches any kind of animal.
76. bill reminded me of this in his 100 things: on our first married night, we spent the night in a holiday inn in lima, ohio. bill went out and got us burger chef for dinner. he thinks that shows how crazy HE is, but i think it shows how crazy I am for allowing this. AND, it's not like we flew out the next morning for fucking cancun or something. we went right to our apartment in ada, ohio, and spent the week. the highlight: bill got to play baseball all week on the local team. i mean, we couldn't go anywhere where he couldn't fucking play baseball, NOW COULD WE???
77. i'm not bitter. really.
78. i mean we were 19 and 20. WHO KNEW that we'd grow up someday? umm. i mean I'D grow up.
79. but i'm really not bitter. i like him an awful lot still.
80. further proof that I'M the one who's ca-razy.
81. i believe that happiness is not something that just happens or is bestowed upon you. i believe that it's a choice. and hard work. very hard sometimes.
82. i believe that there are things in everyone's life that are gifts: births, marriages, loves, chances, addictions, illnesses, change. and that you can't fucking miss them. recognize them, learn from them if they're presented as challenges, and appreciate them. if you don't, the gods will stop throwing them at you.
83. i believe in angels. living and otherwise. i've met a couple of them here.
84. i think i'm somebody you can trust. with your heart. to be honest. to try to figure out what the right thing is and try to do it.
85. i'm kind of shy with people IN PERSON when they first meet me. it bugs the shit out of me.
HOW TO STAY YOUNG from an e-mail i received. written by george carlin (the piece -- not the e-mail!) 1. Throw out nonessential numbers. This includes age, weight and height. Let the doctor worry about them. That is why you pay him/her.
2. Keep only cheerful friends. The grouches pull you down.
3. Keep learning. Learn more about the computer, crafts, gardening, whatever. Never let the brain idle. " An idle mind is the devil's workshop." And the devil's name is Alzheimer's.
4. Enjoy the simple things.
5. Laugh often, long and loud. Laugh until you gasp for breath.
6. The tears happen. Endure, grieve, and move on. The only person who is with us our entire life, is ourselves. Be ALIVE while you are alive.
7. Surround yourself with what you love, whether it's family, pets, keepsakes, music, plants, hobbies, whatever. Your home is your refuge.
8. Cherish your health: If it is good, preserve it. If it is unstable, improve it. If it is beyond what you can improve, get help.
9. Don't take guilt trips. Take a trip to the mall, to the next county, to a foreign country, but NOT to where the guilt is.
10. Tell the people you love that you love them, at every opportunity.
AND ALWAYS REMEMBER:
Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away.
these didn't work for me at all, unless i'm libyan tea -- somewhere in the middle, which i'm afraid defines about 4 billion others. thanks, anyway, lucy.
http://quiz.ravenblack.net/flavour.pl
Cor blimey, I taste like Tea. I am a subtle flavour, quiet and polite, gentle, almost ambient. My presence in crowds will often go unnoticed. Best not to spill me on your clothes though, I can leave a nasty stain.
http://bluepyramid.org/ia/cquiz.htm
You're Libya! It seems that these days, you just say things to get attention. Shock value is the really important thing for you now. You used to have a cause, and this made you seem like a threat to the established order, but now you just want to say wacky stuff once in a while. Air travel doesn't really mesh with your lifestyle, and you'd probably scare the security guards somehow anyway.
this is why men should not be allowed to make plans:
stace: what time are we supposed to be there?
bill: 6? 7?
stace: which is it?
bill: let me call candy and make sure...candy? hi! what time are we supposed to be at your house?... grant didn't tell you? ... we made plans -- grant invited us over for dinner and euchre... don't worry about it... just tell grant to call me...no problem...talk to you later. bye.
my dear friends who are regular visitors – i know i’m probably preaching to the choir HERE – you guys KNOW all of this and i’m sure will add more. and those three or four men who read this, i know you have your OWN issues. indulge me. forgive my venting. ok. maybe i spend way too much time thinking about this. i don’t think it could be classified (clinically) as obsessive; and i’m guessing some of you think about this stuff, too. these are MY rules – feel free to throw in some of your own.
1) noises: NONE are acceptable in the ladies’ room. none. there is a woman in my building who seems to be on my schedule (bathroom-wise) A LOT. she settles herself in the stall and starts with her exasperated sighing – she is soooo angry that she of all people has to do this! but then she gets into it. i swear she has brought an appliance or person into the stall with her – it’s like meg ryan in when harry met sally. wtf????? STOP IT!
2) when you leave the stall, FIRST wash your hands, THEN you can fiddle with your hair and make-up. i shouldn’t have to tell you this.
3) if the bathroom key you are using is shared with other people, open the door with it, and then put it immediately in your pocket. do NOT carry it in and out of the stall with you.
4) for christ’s sake: WASH YOUR FUCKING HANDS!!!!!!!! don’t just rinse them. spend 15 freakin seconds lathering them. you don’t have to lather for 17 minutes like the dept. of health recommends – but the turning on of the faucet, pass through the water stream, turning off the faucet with your filthy fingers doesn’t impress me.
5) YOU are the reason i use a paper towel to turn off the faucet and don’t dare to touch the door handle on the way out.
6) and the handicapped stall: of course you can use it! go ahead. but i would feel REALLY guilty if i was in it, and somebody in a wheelchair came to visit my building, had to use the bathroom, and had to wait for me to finish. when there are 7 other non-handicapped, unoccupied stalls there. that’s just me. i’m just sayin.
***bill and i blogged about somebody from high school (and before that) days. my reunion entry below refers to someone named "s." bill's sun paper blog talks about him at the end. ewwww.
***i'm worried about this apostrophe thing. isn't anybody else? is this only a klink family problem? in trying to find the correct plural form of the word "apostrophe," on google, i found this link, which i cannot access from work. ACCESS DENIED. what is going on here?
Plural Apostrophe
... Plural Apostrophe Not an apostrophe but not a comma either... (-4, +1), ... snagger,
Sep 25 2001. Isn'ta plural apostrophe one of the signs of the Apostrolypse? ...
www.halfbakery.com/idea/Plural_20Apostrophe - 27k - Cached - Similar pages
when i told these stories to my coworker, jen, she asked if there may have been some kind of tourettes-like syndrome thingy "going around" in my old school.
***my great, good, old friend b! was talking to a guy we graduated with at next-to-last reunion. s was cute, popular, dumb as a bag of hammers, and sleazy in the old days. s said to betty, "i had the biggest crush on you in high school, but you were so unpopular."
***i was talking to a good old friend, t, having a very nice conversation. t fondly puts his hand on my face and says "heavy people have the nicest complexions."
i was looking for an old e-mail and found this (originally to marlene). two disclaimers:
**i LOVE lesbians -- just not in that way.
**i really have no idea how old i was in this story -- if you read #1 in my hundred things, you'll see why i've got a headache already thinking about this.
i wear these BITCHIN' yellow converse chuck taylor all-star high-top tennis shoes. they are my favorite shoes of all time. not good in the desert, though. prickly pear cactus spikes go RIGHT THROUGH THEM.
anyway, bill, jackson, and i are out to dinner at applebee's coupla years ago. i go to the bathroom. young woman walks in right behind me. i'm in stall, she's washing her hands. says to me "hey, i don't usually do this, i hope you don't mind, but here's my phone number [as she hands me a piece of paper through door crack]. those shoes say a lot about you, and i'd love to party with you some time." i say, "thanks, but my son would be closer to your age [i think i've hit the lottery for mat or mark]. i'm 45." she says, "cool, but it's you i'm interested in. i'm a dyke." HOLY SHIT!! this is the first time i've been hit on for a while, but she's a SHE! DAMMIT!! i say, demurely and graciously of course, "thanks." she leaves. i sit in bathroom for a while. feel like i've swallowed a canary. try to walk back to table not looking like it. tell guys. have to show them the paper to prove it (THAT I GOT HIT ON!!!). they can't sit there quietly at all. they are DYING. thank GOD mat and mark were not there. the riot police might have been necessary.
to this day, they all call the shoes "the lesbian shoes."
my friend, marlene, has a very sweet dog, windsor; and she sent me this this morning:
windsor has been babysitting this baby bird all morning. i made them both nuts trying to get a shot of the two together. windsor kept hiding it under his big face. i snapped the bird when it walked into the nearby shrubs (it just moseys around the yard with windsor straddling it every now and then, but when i point the camera he hovers over it. it seems totally unafraid of its gigantic hairy protector, but flails away around me.
the baby bird is under his chin in the doggy photo. he hides it from me when i point the camera, wagging the whole time. right now they are sitting together in the garage. baby dove's wings will grow stronger as the day goes by, and he will leave the yard eventually. Until then, he couldn't be in a safer place than with his big ol' hairy friend.
WORDS WOMEN USE (unashamedly stolen from an e-mail i received -- author unknown) FINE This is the word women use to end an argument when they feel they are right and you need to shut up. Never use "fine" to describe how a woman looks - this will cause you to have one of those arguments.
FIVE MINUTES This is half an hour. It is equivalent to the five minutes that your football game is going to last before you take out the trash, so it's an even trade.
NOTHING This means "something", and you should be on your toes. "Nothing" is usually used to describe the feeling a woman has of wanting to turn you inside out, upside down, and backwards. 'Nothing" usually signifies an argument that will last "Five Minutes" and end with 'Fine'
GO AHEAD (With Raised Eyebrows)
This is a dare. One that will result in a woman getting upset over "Nothing" and will end with the word "Fine"
GO AHEAD (Normal Eyebrows)
This means "I give up" or "do what you want because I don't care." You will get a "Raised Eyebrow Go Ahead" in just a few minutes, followed by "Nothing" and "Fine" and she will talk to you in about "Five Minutes" when she cools off.
LOUD SIGH This is not actually a word, but is a non-verbal statement often misunderstood by men. A "Loud Sigh" means she thinks you are an idiot at that moment, and wonders why she is wasting her time standing here and arguing with you over "Nothing"
SOFT SIGH Again, not a word, but a non-verbal statement. "Soft Sighs" mean that she is content. Your best bet is to not move or breathe, and she will stay content.
THAT'S OKAY This is one of the most dangerous statements that a woman can make to a man. "That's Okay" means that she wants to think long and hard before paying you back for whatever it is that you have done. "That's Okay" is often used with the word "Fine" and in conjunction with a "Raised Eyebrow.
GO AHEAD At some point in the near future, you are going to be in some mighty big trouble.
PLEASE DO This is not a statement, it is an offer. A woman is giving you the chance to come up with whatever excuse or reason you have for doing whatever it is that you have done. You have a fair chance with the truth, so be careful and you shouldn't get a "That's Okay"
THANKS A woman is thanking you. Do not faint. Just say you're welcome.
THANKS A LOT This is much different from "Thanks." A woman will say, "Thanks A Lot" when she is really ticked off at you. It signifies that you have offended her in some callous way, and will be followed by the "Loud Sigh." Be careful not to ask what is wrong after the "Loud Sigh," as she will only tell you "Nothing"
53. we’ve had to put two dogs to sleep this year (2003). now we’re down to one dog. i’d like to say that we’ll never have to do this again, but it’s part of being a dog owner / lover. doesn’t make it ANY easier knowing this going in.
54. my youngest child is a recovering drug addict. if that turns you off or makes you go tsk, tsk, you’re at the wrong site, baby. get the fuck out of here.
55. i said before that i hope we do the war in iraq “right,” but i don’t think we have. so far.
56. i think george w. is an idiot. and he may be evil, i haven’t decided what i believe about that. i think donald rumsfeld and dick cheney are evil. even if gw is only an idiot, we’re fucked. this war MAY go on as long as the war in ireland has.
57. i’m not talking about the war anymore. today.
58. i don’t have a passport.
59. i HAVE been to canada and the bahama’s (you don’t need a passport). WOOHOO! except i got so sunburned the day before going to nassau that i couldn’t go outside until after dark the entire trip.
60. i used to get sunburned a lot. now i’m pretty careful. but i worry about the affects of all those years of abuse.
61. i’m in a bad mood today (starting at #53). can you tell? kathy says cranky works for me.
62. because of my ms-like thingy, at least twice a week, i “hit the wall” and have to go home and go to bed pretty much right away. it’s a pain in the ass. and it’s still hard for me to not feel guilty about it. i think today might be one of those days.
63. i can’t see shit without my glasses. and contacts are out of the question cuz i’m cross-eyed (not so you can see it) and need a prism in the lens. cross (i originally typed close -- i crack me up sometimes) your eyes and try to focus on something. you can’t.
64. can you tell i’m in a “cranky” place today? blame it on peri-menopause. it’s the hormones! or lack thereof. that’s my story, and i’m sticking to it.
65. i LOVE starbucks mochas. bad habit.
66. i’d like to write really eloquently and movingly about embracing your kids as they are. i don’t mean that you should just accept the fact that he or she may be a drug addict, and say “oh well.” i mean love them if they’re square pegs, and do NOT give up on them. do NOT. that means you might have to get off your ass. and make your kids your first priority. and quit saying, “i DID that,” or “i DO that.” i’ve sat in too many intensive outpatient treatment group therapy sessions where the parents mantra is “i’ve done EVERYTHING,” when the next words out of their mouths are, “my insurance doesn’t cover that” or “i don’t have time for that.” all i’m saying is there’s a LOT you can do, but maybe not a lot that you do do.” i’m just babbling here. i’m in a bad mood.
67. i guess that a big part of what i WANTED to say in #66 was education related. if you have a square peg (learning-wise), you must be his or her advocate in school. you must. cuz if you don’t, the school system will just keep trying to shove that square peg into a round hole (and chipping off big chunks of him or her in the process). teachers and administrators aren’t gods. they may THINK they are because they have so much power, but they are not. save your kid. teach him or her yourself if you must. because you must.
68. i was baptized a catholic, made my first holy communion, went to catholic school off and on for a while, was confirmed in the one, holy, apostolic church; but the day before easter when i was 13, when my little sis and i went to confession, the priest told my sweet, i-want-to-be-a-nun sister that he would not grant her absolution because our parents were divorced and therefore sinners. i was next in line. i walked out of the church with her. now i don't let mortals get between me and MY god. my god is loving, forgiving, kind, good. that doesn’t mean he/she doesn’t ask a lot from me that i TRY to give.
69. i’m gonna say what i’ve said before regarding that last one. it’s called “FAITH.”
70. i’m done here today. i’m in a bad mood. latah.
"Generally speaking, the company has an obligation to its members to effectively manage the payment of benefits according to the subscriber's policy," Medical Mutual said.
i love what you're doing in my name, medical mutual! just so you know, that was sarcasm.
but it's the LAWYERS who are making all the money. pffft. again -- sarcasm.
sister joy (my sister, not a nun) spent easter with us. the big guys (matt, mark, and katie) left saturday. matt back to pennsylvania, mark and katie to katie’s parents in chicago.
joy’s opening a little store in brasstown, nc, and will be purveying chocolate goodies, along with lots of other stuff. so, after a nice little easter dinner, we dipped in chocolate the following: double stuff oreos, mint oreos, ritz crackers, pretzels, strawberries, and made two batches of toffee.
i ate EXACTLY 2 ritz crackers, 1 pretzel, and one piece of toffee.
i’m thinking that my god would really think it’s cool to have betsy’s soul brought back today. not just betsy’s soul – god’s really giggling up there today bringing back lots of souls. my god is fun-ny. i wonder how hard it would be to find a puppy born today. but then even if we could find some litters born today, it’d be really hard to recognize the coolness that was betsy while this puppy’s so young. the haughty trampiness. she was very proud of the fact that SHE was the purebred.
so i’m hoping she’s the first pup i fall in love with – although that will probably be the first pup i see. so i just have to have faith. and see where that leads us.
***
ok, christians, don’t get all offended by that last post. this isn’t your forum. you’ve got plenty of your own – soon to be government funded. anyway, this is my blog. about my thoughts. and one of the unassailable tenets of MY life is about respecting ALL religions – even christianity. well, i guess i’d have to say that i really don’t include those kinds of worship (like the devil-worship weirdo thingy and anything else like that). so, all i’m saying is that MY god is loving, good, kind, AND funny. that’s all. that’s why it’s called faith (i.e. it’s inside your OWN heart) and NOT law. well, used to be anyway.
***
dana fessed up in the comments of the bunny-ear thing that she started from the bunny butt and saved the ears for last. two things:
**i heard the statistics, but didn’t believe them. but, there ARE actually these kinds of people! i’m thinking a government study is in order.
**you never can tell about people, i was thinking in the shower. they walk around mascarading as “normal” people, and you just assume they eat the ears first (JUST LIKE EVERYBODY ELSE), but no. people are different. and just cuz they like to eat the bunny butts first does not mean their viewpoint should not be respected. they probably have a very good reason for this. and, i’m thinking, that dana (i don’t know about others – i know a little about dana being a really GOOD person from reading her blog) probably does this cuz she’s not selfish. like me. or like other people in my house. who eat the ears and leave the bunny. but then this person goes on to de-ear more bunnies. so just when you feel like some bunny ears, you go looking for bunnies. all you can find are lots and lots of deaf bunnies.
1) people can voluntarily ignore me. i talk. a lot. i catch the guys at my house rolling their eyes sometimes. they may have passed out from the sound of my voice; it's possible i just continued and didn't notice. i just have a lot to say. not everybody agrees it has to be said, so blogging is quieter, i guess.
2) i can't remember the other reason. hold on. oh forget it. i'll remember later. then forget. then remember. tell me what YOU think.
***before i bore you to tears with this story below, an update: betsy “goes in” tomorrow morning (11:45). sniff. thanks to all of you sweeties for your good thoughts.
i love my house. it’s been our home since matt was in kindergarten and jax was still in diapers.
we REALLY have the loveliest neighbors. the only neighbor to share a lawn border with us is moving to florida soon, and i will miss them terribly. we moved into the house on halloween, 1986. these same neighbors have a HUGE house, impeccably maintained, inside and out. two days after we moved in, after the frenzy of activity that marked the previous days, we tried to be very lazy and finally let down for a while. these neighbors have no idea what that means. on november 2, they spent the entire day doing YARD WORK! NOVEMBER 2! IN CLEVELAND! we thought, “uh oh.” we thought for sure they would immediately regret having that empty corner lot next door filled. well maybe not immediately, but by mid-next summer for sure.
spring brought the landscapers to the house. bushes were planted, lawn was seeded. when a lawn is planted with seed, you have to baby it completely. our corner lot is huge, and the constant watering seemed like a full time, slippery, dangerous job. position the sprinkler to soak one area, move it after one hour to another spot, repeat. it took all day to water this lot! but you must do this if you want a lawn. sheesh.
the grass came up nicely, we bought a lawn tractor, we looked pretty much like we were like the rest of the neighborhood. i say pretty much only because the first time the paper girl came to collect, she let loose the close-guarded opinion of the neighborhood (evidently): “this house isn’t THAT small!” as she stood inside the door waiting to get paid. pfffft.
but, as i said, we have wonderful neighbors. the gardeners next door are very, very nice people. their daughter, who was 11 when we moved in, started off as a mother’s helper for me so i could get things done in the house as she watched the boys, and within a couple years moved up to my number-one baby sitter. sweet laura. married, living in columbus, tending her own yard meticulously, i’ve heard (even though she HATED the devotion to the greenery in their yard that she felt her parents imposed on her. she told me once that when she had a home, she’d fill the lawns completely with river rock!). we are quite fond of the neighbors directly across the street, as we believe they are of us.
after the grass and shrubbery were well established and thriving, we did what we always do. we do not water grass. let me repeat that: we do not water grass. it’s GRASS, for crying out loud. it starts out green in the spring, goes dormant slowly over the course of the summer, only to come alive again in september. it’s what grass does. or is supposed to do. we refuse to waste time, money, and natural resources for green grass. every summer, there is a sprinkling ban in our area. pffft. people around here set their auto-sprinklers for the middle of the night so as not to get caught.
our next-door neighbors (the gardeners) don’t care that we don’t water. they laugh with us every september when our lawn looks BETTER than those lawns that have been forced all summer long (and thus weakening their root structure, btw). but the people in the neighborhood who DON’T KNOW US PERSONALLY make comments to the neighbors that DO, assuming that this must be of paramount importance to EVERYBODY! and ONE has actually left a note in our neighbor’s mailbox about OUR lawn! evidently, our non-comforming grass is bringing down the property values in our neighborhood.
unfortunately for the note-writing asshole*, however, our grass over the past 10 years has been setting quite the example! more and more people every year in our neighborhood have begun letting their grass go dormant. it’s not yet the norm, and i probably shouldn’t be taking credit for this trend; but it is spreading. it’s a GOOD thing.
*it was easy to figure out who this doofus was. he volunteered that his realtor told him about the property value thing, and there was ONE house for sale in the development; and it sported a conspicuously lush and unnatural lawn.
i know billy told this story before (he was much less verbose as i remember): the neighbor across the street was doing yardwork, and a guy from down the street (assuming that this neighbor MUST share the same lawn-worship sensibility) complained to neighbor NOT ONLY about the sorry state of our lawn, but about the fact that we PLAYED with the boys on this grass EVERYDAY. HORRORS! my hero neighbor replied: they’re not raising grass over there – they’re raising kids.
many thanks and hugs to those of you who left your kind thoughts about the betsy. i spoke to the vet this morning about our concerns and our subsequent decision. he thought it sounded best, too. said it was the last act of love to her. so this week, we'll be loving her like crazy and feeding her all her favorite goodies. yesterday morning, she spent some time outside laying against the front door like she does in good weather. bill and i could hear the kids in the neighborhood outside running around, laughing, yelling, generally whooping it up. we talked about how we hoped she was laying there listening, thinking about these kinds of days with her boys. she'll see all of them together again on friday.
we wanted a dog for a long time. so, the easy way to finally take the plunge was to say that we'd get a dog for jackson's 6th birthday. we asked him what kind of a dog he'd like. "a dog with a pushed-in face," he said. great. a boxer would be perfect. found a breeder nearby with boxer puppies ready to be weaned and "adopted." we knew we'd take her when we saw her, but we pretended that it was not a visceral decision and did all the little "tests" to "prove" that she was an acceptable choice. she was 9 weeks old. we knew we'd call her betsy before we got her as on the way to the breeder's, i very subtly manipulated the vote by convincing the hold-out, matthew, that betsy would be a perfect name as revenge to the 9 year-old betsy in his 4th grade class who scorned matt's 4th grade advances.
she is a very large female boxer, about 60 lbs. in her prime; and we knew that boxers don't live as long as a lot of other breeds, usually about 9 years. she'd be 12 this july, but she won't make it. her hips have deteriorated alarmingly in the past six months especially, to the point where her back legs are about as bad as they can be and still be useable in some small way. she needs help on and off the couches and bed (yes, we have spoiled her terribly), and bill has had to carry her up and down the stairs the last two days. we've really been successful for the most part in managing a lot of her discomfort (pain), this is a BIG priority for us -- we can't stand to see her in pain. walking is extremely difficult for her, she's having a difficult time controlling her bowels, and she's started walking into walls.
we let the college guys know this afternoon that it's time -- they've both changed their easter weekend plans to be here friday to see her and say good bye.
jesus, this is hard. i know bill's upstairs blogging AND crying his eyes out. he took this picture friday.
34. Illya Kuryakin. definitely.
35. i don’t have any tattoos. bill has one. jax has two. matt has three. mark has ... two. fooled you, huh? you thought i was gonna say four, dincha?
36. jesus christ, this is hard!
37. i’m counting that last one! and this one, too!
38. wow. 38. i’m rolling now. i don’t think it’s correct to spell stacey like this: stacy, stacie, staci. especially not staci where the i is dotted with a cute little circle or a heart.
39. i didn’t meet another stacey until i was 14. it was a boy. back then – in the olden days – stacey was a male name. it was cool back then to be a girl named stacey. now it sounds like i’m just an old chick with a little girl’s name. AND NOBODY CAN SPELL IT!
40. everytime the teacher in the cafeteria in high school said “stay seated!” over the loud speaker, i jumped. cuz i thought he was yelling “STACEY!”
41. i played french horn, flute, and a little guitar back in the day. sometimes now i fool around with a recorder (DON'T’CALL IT A FLUTOPHONE!). i’m not very good at it anymore, but i try. and it’s fun. i really would like to collect recorders, but my family is really NOT cooperating. ESPECIALLY my little sis: she borrowed my beautiful blond-wood alto recorder and lost it in her divorce move! she kind of redeemed herself by buying me a new (not an alto) wooden recorder for christmas.
42. the only kind of organized school sports girls played back in my day were intramural sports. bummer. yay title IX! the girl’s athletic association was a bunch of girls who didn’t make cheerleader cheering the boys on. silly.
43. if you want to torture me, make me watch golf. on tv. wtf is that all about???
44. if i want to torture jax, i make him watch a cooking show or “trading spaces.”
45. i prefer bbc’s “changing rooms” over tlc’s “trading spaces.” not cuz i’m a snob. it’s only 30 minutes. t.s. is an hour.
46. i prefer bbc’s “what not to wear” over ... those two women hosts are a hoot. i don’t like the tlc hosts. it’s a visceral thing.
47. i like to say “it’s a visceral thing.” then you don’t have to explain. you can’t. it just is what it is.
48. i like to say “it is what it is.”
49. i like the word “ennui.” except now i can never say it without thinking of boz.
50. i always liked the word “serendipity,” but then it got too popular.
51. i love “dr. phil.” shut up. you just don’t understand.
52. it took me a loooooong time to think of that number 51. but i wanted to be more than halfway to 100. so now i’m at 52. i could have just made THIS one 51 and have been more than half done. consider yourself lucky. or not.
i want to go to sleep for about 10 years. unfortunately, the majority of americans will have become even MORE stupid. what is it? is it tv? i don't think so. i think stupid people, once they became the majority, decided they were gonna show all these goddamned smarty pants what's up. ever been called a know-it-all in grade school?
THEIR SMALL-TOWN EYES WILL GAPE AT YOU
IN DULL SURPRISE WHEN PAYMENT DUE
EXCEEDS ACCOUNTS RECEIVED AT SEVENTEEN
from janis ian's "at seventeen"
this is why i'm freaked out today! start reading at "yesterday's news."i am awed on a daily basis at SOMETHING from this kid.
this is one of the throw-away kids in our school district. you know what i mean: one of those kids they feel right off is not only NOT WORTHY AS A PERSON, but not worth their time and effort. easier to insure that he fails in their tiny, irrelevant chunk of the world than look a little deeper merely by OPENING THEIR EYES and doing THEIR FUCKING JOBS (i know that this is a novel idea -- i need to come down off my cloud)! most teachers just collect a paycheck. they COULD be doing something really important and making a difference. but noooo...and when this kid makes it -- and he will -- they'll be crawling out of the woodwork to own a piece of it. how will i be able to keep my mouth shut? how? i don't want to want to.
oh. and thank you god, for the FEW teachers that deserve and have earned for the rest of them their coveted and nauseating "martyr" status. i counted ONE at our local high school. you know who you are who deserve it -- AND YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE THAT DON'T. don't think for ONE SECOND that it was YOU who taught this kid anything about writing, music, literature, history, or even MATH. don't think you had ANYTHING to do with teaching him that he is a person that can do SOMETHING, say something, teach something, BE something. you looked at him for one minute and quickly ascertained that he deserved NONE of your priceless attention and figured it all out. he was NOTHING to you. and he would NEVER be more than NOTHING.
my friends say: let it go, get over it. i will. but YOU WILL KNOW WHAT IT IS I'VE GOTTEN OVER. and then maybe YOU will have learned something. to open your fucking eyes and heart. gah. forget it. you either have it in you, or you don't.
before the mark (semi son) moved in permanently, he tended to spend a lot of time here. one summer day, he, boo-bear, and i were outside with a youngish betsy. mark and matty were about 10, i think. we were just on the grass, not far from where the purported sai incident occurred (see comments on my last entry). betsy was still puppyish, long before the cigarettes and booze took their toll, and caught the scent of a mole in the grass not far from where we were standing. she burrowed her nose into the ground, and the mole must have bit her because she yelped. i grabbed a shovel from just inside the garage (or maybe i had it in my hands already -- i don't know) and proceeded to smash the living shit out of the mole so it would not hurt my betsy or turn on the boys, rabid and angry at our presence. after about 15 whacks at it, matt touched me on the arm. "mom? umm. i think it's dead now."
i had to call eldest son, matt, tonight. matt is 21, a senior in college, to be married in august. a grown-up. in wrapping up the conversation, i said, "ok, boo-bear, talk to you later." i heard him laugh.
when he was 9, a smallish kind of 9, playing basketball, or what he thought approximated basketball (basketball is serious business in our town), he told me after a game, "mom, when i'm in the nba, you're gonna have to think of something else to call me when you're cheering besides pumpkin pie."
please note that i had NOT, nor would i EVER, have called him pumpkin pie in front of anyone other than our little family. i DID call him "matty" a lot from the stands. i guess that was bad enough, judging by the looks i got from the kids on the bench (hockey -- not basketball).
it is BOTH "the nature of the beast" AND "one of the perks of the job" to embarrass your children.
Nothing But Love
