Take a Yellow Chainsaw to the Old Oak Tree

It's that time of year again.

The flowers are blooming, the birds are singing and the blasted oak trees begin sprouting leaves.

My nose is dripping. My eyes itch incessantly. My throat looks bullfrog-like due to swollen glands and the bags under my eyes have reached mammoth-sized proportions.

The rest of the year I love the oak trees. However, when they bloom, I could gladly go out and cut them all down. Then I would enclose my house inside a magical pollen-proof tent.

Mix these miserable allergies with PMS and I'm not surprised to see my family in the corner plotting ways to make my death look like an accident.

If any of you were here, you would help them with the plotting.
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We took the kids to a motel in Auburn, CA Saturday night for no reason other than to spend some time with them. Actually it was my husband's idea.

My idea was to leave them at the drop-in daycare while we went out to dinner.

The hotel had a spa and heated pool, both motel requirements for my husband.

Me, I don't care, because the last time I was in public in a swimsuit was probably ten years ago and I made sure it was dark out first. That was until this trip anyway.

I do have a swimsuit. It looks like this.

If it were possible to find the old time swimsuits that covered women from elbow to knee, I would have one.

I took the swimsuit to the motel with us just in case. I tried it on only to begin laughing hysterically.

It used to fit, but now it's a good size or two larger than I need.

So it sagged down on the crotch looking for all the world like I was hiding a penis in there.

I did eventually get up my courage to wear it, so as to help my husband with the kids in the pool. I made sure it was dark out first and walked to the pool with my clothes covering it.

I then quickly removed the clothes and slid in the pool. There was a man with his son there, the only people besides my family in the pool.

He left almost as soon as I got in. Maybe my penis scared him off.

The kids had a blast. As with most "breaks" taken with the kids, my husband and I came home more tired than when we left.

Now it is time for me to cease my bitching and try to clean the house.

Will someone let me know when Friday gets here?

Cell Phone Suckage

A few years ago my husband and I decided to find the cheapest cell phone service possible.

It helps immensely that I don't need to take pictures, shoot video or download ring tones on my cell phone.

It may be strange, but I only want to use my cell phone to make phone calls. This makes me a dinosaur, I'm sure of it.

We purchased tracfones because the minutes didn't have to be added every 30 days. We can wait 60 days. It was actually possible, with careful planning, to spend no more than ten dollars a month.

The only bad thing was adding the airtime. You had to go online and punch in your phone's code and then punch in a bunch of other codes. It took forever and there was a lot of margin for error, what with punching in all the freaking numbers.

Tracfone finally heard the complaints and adjusted the process so one had only to punch in the phone's code and one other set of numbers.

Today I went online to add minutes. I received a confirmation number, which I didn't print, my "duh" moment for the day.

I then hit the next button and there was no code to punch in. The website said that I had successfully added airtime only there was no airtime added on my phone.

I decided to give them an hour and then call if the minutes didn't appear.

Only when I was ready to call, I had to wait for my husband to get off the computer. I had to cook dinner and take my daughter to taekwondo.

At last the chores were done and the computer was mine.

I checked the bank online to see if Tracfone had debited my account. They had.

I then called Tracfone.

The VERY MINUTE I made my way through the labryinth of voice mail and got a REAL LIVE PERSON, my son decided to have a tantrum in my ear.

The person on the other end sounded a bit like they were in another country, one that was situated UNDERWATER.

I finally gave up and told them I would call back when my son was done with his fit.

My husband got to watch the son and I dialed again. I decided to try the automatic tech support.

Only when I punched in my phone's code, I was told to "wait for a customer service representative."

I heard someone pick up the phone and hang it up.

I called back and sat through voice mail hell AGAIN!

It was only to hear this. "We're sorry. Our customer service center is closed for the day. Please call back tomorrow."

BASTARDS!

I went in the kitchen and crammed three slices of homemade bread with peanut butter down my throat.

That'll show 'em.

A Sunday Barbeque

This is the grill I purchased on clearance last September. The hubster had to wait until Christmas to receive it. (Ignore the fact the dogs have totally trashed the patio.)




This is one of the seasonings I used. The animals look so happy on the bottle. They must not know what the bottle contains.




This is the sauteed mushrooms. My first MIL gave this recipe to me. She was a dear lady and an excellent cook.

Sauteed Mushrooms

2 TBS butter
1 medium chopped onion
1 lb. sliced mushrooms
A dash of salt and pepper
1 tsp to 1 TBS of sugar, depending on your taste
2 TBS white wine
2 TBS soy sauce

Melt the butter and the onions together. Add everything else over high heat. Stir frequently until liquid is mostly absorbed.

Try to share.

Sunday Barbeque Part 2

Twice-baked potatoes




A veggie for the kids




A veggie for the adults




An excellent beverage




What do you mean I'm not getting any leftovers?

Short On Time

I'm short on blogging time this week but wanted to share this video.

It's called Mom My Ride

Enjoy!

Losing The Battle

Looking older sucks!

I noticed the first big sign at age 28. The mascara wouldn't wash out from under my eyes. I realized this was because it wasn't mascara. There were black smudges under my eyes!

I'm not sure what came next. I think it was the vertical wrinkle between my eyebrows.

Then I noticed a double crease in my eyelid. No more eyeshadow for me. It only emphasized the crease.

Next the jowls arrived. They blended in nicely with the double chin.

Soon some marionette lines began etching down from my mouth.

I couldn't figure out why my lashes were pointing down. I realized it wasn't my lashes, but my eyes!

Lately I have noticed the beginning of a turkey neck - A TURKEY NECK!

Isn't 38 too young to get the dreaded turkey neck? Maybe it's the California sun. I'll fit in quite nicely with the other over-cooked wrinkled crones in this state.

I do have a brilliant idea, an idea to get ALL women interested in stopping global warming. A bunch of us turkey neck gals can be in print ads stating, "Global warming did this to my neck."

It's guaranteed that money will start flowing to the cause.

The most recent blow was the realization that not only do my eyes have a double lid, but the skin on the sides is moving in. My eyes are becoming OBLITERATED! They used to be one of my best features.

Enough was enough. I went to the store to buy some Olay Regenerist Eye-Lifting Cream. I figured out immediately how it works. You look at the price and your eyes go...



Holy freaking moly. Is there gold in that thar miniature bottle?

I also needed night cream. Oy! So I splurged on that.

But for a day cream and a face wash, I went with the store brand.

I actually set off the alarm leaving the store. It seems Olay is a commonly shoplifted item. Gee, I wonder why!

While I don't expect my eyes to magically regenerate, it would be nice if the aging process could slow down just a teeeeeennnnsy bit.

I don't have enough wisdom to look THIS old yet.

I'm Supposed to be Cooking Dinner Right Now

Regrettably I had to take both monsters to the grocery store today.

SJ is usually good when I take him by himself, but get the two together and it's bye bye sanity time.

When I got in line at the checkout, I realized I had forgotten the rice. So we had to trek back to the rice.

By the time we were checked out, I was frazzled. I told the cashier they needed to change the impulse buy area.

My suggestion was that instead of candy bars and magazines, they stock tequila and wine.

She looked at me like I was a little crazy.

"A" is off school for the next month so I might be.
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We are trying a new dog food out. It is the Science Diet please don't fart so damn much Sensitive Stomach dog food.

So far it's not working very well.

These dogs are so heinous that if you put corks in their hind ends, first they would start floating. Then they would explode in a hail of gas-scented glory.

In fact, we could down the insurgency in Iraq. The threat of our new secret weapon would lead them all to surrender.

"Please no, anything but the BOSTONS!"
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And now I really will cook dinner.

Smidgens

Despite the fact that I am female, the housekeeping gene has passed me by.

I don't want to be a crappy housekeeper. It's not intentional.

Part of my problem is my speed. I rush through the house with all the momentum of a stoned tortoise.

Another part of my problem is lack of organization.

If I find the key that's been missing to a padlock, I can't find the padlock.

The next week I find the padlock and I can't find the key.

This will go on for a year. Finally I'll throw away the key.

The next day the padlock appears.
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I'm sure everybody has heard about the New York KFC/Taco Bell that was overrun by rats.

Hey, EVERYBODY needs a little KFC. (Feel free to groan at that one.)
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My son often confuses his pronouns. For example, when he's fighting with his sister, he'll come tell me, "Sissy hit you", meaning she hit him.

If he uses the toilet, he says, "Yay, you did it!"

We were in his music class a few weeks ago. A lullaby was playing so the room was close to silent.

He passed gas and I heard it. I wasn't positive that anybody else did. I hoped not.

Then he said quite loudly, and with glee, "YOU FARTED!"

I'm not sure if he was mixing up the pronouns or if it was purposeful. I almost think it was purposeful.
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I have been trying to exercise more lately. One of my torture devices is an old "Arms and Abs of Steel" video by the Marquis de Sade Tamilee Web.

During a segment where I am supposed to be working on arms, she does tricep push-ups off the edge of the chair.

Then she starts doing them with one arm while stating, "This is easier than it looks."

Trust me, if I had an extra hand, I'd be using it to flip her off.
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My husband and I had a chance to go out last weekend.

I pushed my pineapple coconut margarita towards him so he could have a taste, but I spilled some on the table.

Valiantly, I resisted the urge to stick my straw in the spill and suck it up.

It was that good.
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I recently read about a Vermont rabbi named Bob Alper who left congregational life to become a comedian.

One of the things he talks about is the challenges of raising teens.

Is he funny? I'll bet he is. I enjoyed this quote on parenting a teenager.

"It turns out the Bible has something to say about kids that age. The reason Abraham was about to sacrifice Isaac at the age of 12 and not 13 is because at 13, it wouldn't have been a sacrifice."

Amen.