Posts Tagged ‘entertainment’

Road trips with minions are never boring….hair-raising, loud, and stressful maybe, but never boring. The tallish minion and I have come up with a game. When we’re in the car for a long time, we work on our dream house.

Our dream house is entirely made up, and we decided that if we ever win the lottery, this is what we will build. Every trip we add rooms, colors, decorations, pets, and anything else we can come up with.

It’s going to be a rainbow of color, because we just can’t agree on anything. Since there are so many rooms, it is a sprawling structure with several wings. There will be a lime and black zebra wall, a turquoise wall, and an entirely mirrored wall, as well as sides of every other jewel-tone there is. Hot pink trim will grace the entire thing…which includes turrets.

Inside will be rooms to suit any taste, and we will rent them out like a hotel. When you book a room, you don’t book by a number, you book by style. Victorian Powder Room, anyone?

The minion has a few rooms added that will take some ingenuity. A treehouse room that has to be an actual treehouse is on the list. A treehouse with access to the rest of the house by slide, zipline, and rope ladder.

There will be two ballrooms. One of the traditional kind, for dancing, modeled (of course) after Beauty and the Beast, Disney version. Another will be a ballroom in the literal sense. No furniture, the entire room will be a ball pit. Plastic colored balls. With a disco ball chandelier, round mirrors on every wall, and port-hole windows. The walls in here will be yellow with pink polka-dots.

Of course there will be an indoor pool, shaped like a crescent moon, and a star-shaped hot-tub. The gym will have all the traditional equipment, except in neon colors. A ballet barre will line one wall, and a gymnastics mat will stretch through the center.

The playground room will be just like it sounds. Think McDonald’s, without the creepy clown and the hamburger dude.

I have (silently) decided on a fully stocked bar. A gameroom will probably go well with that.

The minions both voted for a movie theater.

The list of pets is almost as long as the list of rooms. There will be ferrets and flying squirrels, one naked cat, a team of huskies, fainting pygmy goats, and ponies. Outside there will be a small zoo with ring-tailed lemurs, a few monkeys, and a Zebra named Zed.

One wall of the kitchen will be the side of the salt-water aquarium with the dolphins. They will be trained to let the minions ride, and they won’t eat fish…that would be “soo friggin’ gross.”

The whole structure must be on stilts, since we took a trip to Corpus and the tallish minion became fascinated by the houses on sticks.

I’ve decided that this is all feasible. I just need to win the lottery a few times, get a fairy godmother, and find some magic beans.

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It’s been a while, and I am sorry about that. For some reason my writing mojo went out the window for a while.

I couldn’t add winning search terms, because for some reason people who “found me” decided to have a month of being damn normal.

What did happen that I could’ve/might’ve/should’ve but didn’t blog about?

I couldn’t find much creative stimulation about my search terms results: “taking a toddler to basketball game” and “dslr camera blog.” What happened to all my crazies??? Surely you didn’t ALL get locked in a padded room sans internet access at the same time!

A Facebook dad kicked ass in Creative Parenting 306, and I shared a few thoughts and a thumbs-up, but by then the subject was (I’m sure) old news.

It snowed in Texas…that was somewhat newsworthy, but once I jotted out a Facebooks status update about it I realized I’d pretty much exhausted the subject.

I revamped my photography website with some fresh info, and opened an online portfolio that shows up well on my Kindle Fire (LOVE my new toy)…much easier to show people samples in person without lugging around $200 worth of prints.

I went crazy in Vistaprint. I have postcards with a senior special and pretty new business cards and flyers…but didn’t see anyone being especially interested in reading about it.

My son has taken to calling me “Baby,” if I don’t answer to Momma on the first attempt. The Guru calls me that when I’m in his good graces, and The Climber knows I’ll answer to it. It’s funny…but this is pretty much the whole story.

See, my life got too boring to blog about. Sad.

Then, tonight, in a shining moment of internet happy…

“aaa batteries shock pen albuquerque”

YESSS! My crazies have finally spoken! Yesterday, someone stumbled upon little old me in the vast world of “the net” just by using…

I have to type it again…

“aaa batteries shock pen albuquerque”

And there, in this simple nonsensical phrase, I found my mojo.

See ya soon.

~T

 

I read this…

I laughed so hard I cried…

I drug my own hubby to the desk to read what I told him was a blog from the woman who married his long-lost, separated-at-birth twin brother…

I ducked out of the way as he read, laughing in spite of himself…

Screwed Over By The Devil.

Just a few quick updates, since I haven’t had time to come in and ramble on about life in a while…

Not that I didn’t want to, and not that I didn’t come in here and actually start typing a few times. The problem was that it was usually in those dreamlike states that happens somewhere between 3am and the time the Climber scales the side of my bed. Apparently my creativity goes to sleep before I do.

 

So anyway…

We went crazy at the after-Halloween sale…

Costumes and accessories between a quarter and a couple of bucks resulted in the kids’ dress-up trunk overflowing with new goodies…and a lot of hilarious photos.

Poor little man was ashamed of Sister's fashion choices for him.

The only real trouble we ran into was when the Climber realized that he was “gasp” wearing a tutu in front of people.

He actually turned bright red and hid his little face in shame.

I wasn’t even aware a 2-year-old could be embarrassed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Diva is having a ball with all her new stuff.

She’s even dressed for a ball.

Look out Madonna!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And a rock show.

And the red carpet.

And probably even a questionable strip club…bad momma.

Good thing she's not older..I would have to burn this outfit...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

But hey…the dress-up trunk is kick-ass…

He has more to choose from than just the tutu.

And even has a few boy-clothes now!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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The Climber has added a few new words and phrases to his vocabulary…

  • “Bye-Bye” (must apparently be yelled for optimal effectiveness)
  • “Nigh-Nigh” (also must be yelled)
  • “Drink”
  • “No”
  • A variation of “Kitty”
  • “Damn” (bad momma)
  • “Awwww Man!” (every time something goes bump)

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The Diva is becoming more and more of a diva. She got pushed down at school the other day…hit something sharpish (a stick, we think), and got a small owie on her tummy. Nothing some Neo-Goop and a Pixar Band-Aid can’t fix, but the story was…

“Momma!! I got pushed today…PUSHED DOWN!! It was bad. And my friend had to rescue me…she SAVED ME! Because…because…I have a HOLE IN ME!!! A HOLE! You wanna see it?”

Her friend in this story is a fellow mom who works at the school, is an EMT, is one of the sweetest moms I know, and my daughter LOVES her. I have got to remember to send that girl something baked for Christmas.

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Speaking of Christmas…is it wrong that it’s mid-November and I’m already annoyed by the already constant attacks of cheery carols and Santa movies and cinnamon EVERYTHING?

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True story…the powers-that-be at the Wal-Mart we cannot live without has apparently decided that hiding automatic air-freshener puffers in the shelves is a bang-up idea. These same idiots stocked them all with Old-Lady-Cinnamon-Baked-Crap scent.

Even better? They chose the motion-sensing scent-puffers.

So, you’re walking along the aisles, minding your own business, and every fifteen feet or so you get sprayed in the face with a nose-clogging, headache inducing fog of Cinnamon-Apple flavored chemical warfare.

Twenty minutes in there and I had a migraine, the Guru’s mood had plummeted into Just-Woken-Grizzly mode, and we’d forgotten half of what we went in there for.

Did I mention that I am allergic to anything made by Air-Wick?

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On a better note, later that night the Guru and I (having cleared the headaches in the cold West Texas wind) indulged in a movie minus the munchkins.

No kids, no curfew, adults-only DATE NIGHT…what did we go see?

Puss in Boots, of course! In 3-D.

BTW…it is an awesome movie…if you get a chance to go watch it, GO!

I’m sure you’ve heard it all, right? And all the variations of “it all.”

Ever wondered what was up with all the alternatives? Of course you haven’t…that is something only I would sit and ponder. Just the same, I thought I would lay it out as I see it.

Y’know…just because I thought it might somehow enrich your life. At the very least, the next time you use an F-Word Alternative you will think long and hard about your choice of variations…and know that I was right about you based on nothing but that. Cause I’m good like that.

 

Eff/Effing- This one is the lazy guy’s alternative. Or the alternative you use when you want to use the real thing, but might be in polite company (or amongst in-laws). This one is the most generic of F-Word Alternatives.

Ex. “What the eff was that!?”  …as a meteor crashes down into a nearby lake, causing an epic fountain that rains on your parade.

 

Freaking– The most commonly accepted form of the word, most often used by women and conservative men. This form is usually used in humorous situations and/or to show disbelief.

Ex. “No freaking way!! She wore her ‘Zero to Bitch’ t-shirt to church!?!?!?”

 

Frickin’– The teeny-bopper (or very immature female) version of freaking. This one is usually punctuated by giggles, except when used in anger, when it is seeped in righteous indignation and usually spat out venomously.

Ex. “Can you believe he dumped me for Little Miss Frickin‘ Perfect??” …from the 12 year old cheerleader in the blue eyeliner.

 

Friggin’– The good ole boys’ version of frickin’, although not usually used in an angry context. For the most part, the male species doesn’t find use for curse-word-alternatives when angry. They use the real thing. Friggin’ is usually used in descriptive phrases, and most often in discussions that have the sole purpose of establishing superiority over another male and/or his possessions.

Also heard most often in Texas…for some reason.

Ex. “You shoulda seen the size o’ that friggin’ boar!”…usually spoken too loudly and from a vantage point of at least the height of the tailgate of a Chevy.

 

Fudge– Used almost exclusively by parents, this one is the most widely accepted form of the F-Word to be used in the company of children. Variations of this one are many and seem to be regional, and include: flak, frak, flake, flip/flipping, etc.

Ex. “OW, FUDGE” …as you knock a thumbnail off trying to hammer in one of those impossibly small nails that seem to come with any child-geared wall-hanging.

 

And there you have it…don’t you feel enlightened? 🙂

Since I have started blogging, there is one person that never never fails to read my posts, share them on Facebook, and encourage me to keep going (or kick me in the ass with a reminder that I have “neglected my duties”) more than anyone. The topic of this post was her idea and suggestion, and I decided to run with it…Thanks Susy!

The “Bucket List.” It’s a popular thing now…and mine is one of the few blogs without one. Seems everyone is making a list of what they fully intend to do and want to experience before it’s too late.

That’s not what this is.

Yeah, yeah, someday I will make a Bucket List of my own…and I will post it here for your amusement.

But this one is a little different. My list for today is going to be all the things you NEVER once thought you would do, intended NOT to do, or otherwise ended up involved in that you would never have planned on.

This isn’t exactly an Anti-Bucket List, but similar.

This is the Bucket List that Fate would have written for you with her cruel twists and gleeful cosmic jokes…

  • You will travel several states away in search of an ancient cemetery for the purpose of…well, you won’t have a good reason. You will take this 36 hour road trip on a bus with dozens of strangers. (some of my cooler relatives actually did this one)
  • You will grow up without the intention of EVER having children because you like the order and freedom of your own existence too much to share. Then you will be blessed not only with two children, but two children JUST LIKE YOU.
  • You will spend adolescence fighting with your mother about your messy room…then you will develop adult-onset OCD…and have a messy child.
  • You will overcome your shyness in one fateful night, and realize this when you wake up the morning after your twenty-first birthday party with the terrible realization that you accepted a new job the night before…as a bartender in the bar you celebrated in.
  • You will find out that the bartending job will become the most loved and long-lasting job you ever had. You will discover yourself behind that sticky bar, make some of your dearest friends, and learn more than college ever thought to teach. You will get comfortable in your own skin and come out of your shell to never go back in.
  • You will spend more on an education you will never use than you will make in any one decade of your life.
  • You will get mad at a boyfriend and pack your bags, call a cousin to come get you, and move out of the state.
  • You will find out that the cousins you fight with as children become damn good friends as adults.
  • You will not forget the people who were cruel to you in high school. You will also not forget the people who were kind.
  • You will discover that you work much better for yourself.
  • You will be a night-owl in a world of people who leap out of bed at sunup like a freaking cheerleader on crack…you will resent these people and spend your life making coffee and trying to convince them NOT to call you before noon.
  • You will discover that the only thing you need for an impromptu trip to Albuquerque (simply because you like the name and you’ve never been) is two friends, a Ford pickup with an intact radio, a giant bag of Funyuns, and someone’s boyfriend’s gas card.
  • You will discover that the return trip (from anywhere) is never as great as the trip there. Unless you took a bus, then got smart and rented a car to come home in.
  • You will have an incurable soft spot for cats. You will marry a man who is allergic to them.
  • You will bungee jump for the first time in the parking lot of a Ford Dealership from a rusty crane. Your mother won’t speak to you for a month.
  • You will learn to drive a stick shift. You will abandon the whole concept in the middle of college traffic at 5pm on a Friday in the middle of the busiest intersection in town and hitch a ride home. The owner of the extended cab, long-bed Ford dually will have to come fish his boat out of traffic himself. He will forgive you…eventually.
  • You will take out a mailbox with an 18-wheeler.
  • You will yell at inept tech-support people at AT&T, at least two bosses, and a bank manager.
  • You will throw flaming cookies out a seventh floor window after forgetting they were baking…for a couple of hours.
  • You will stand barefoot (as a child) on a fish your dad caught and talk about the “whale.” You will also tell him it’s “darker than hell” outside while sitting on the armrest of his truck.
  • You will learn to speak a foreign language well enough to start a fight.
  • You will laugh in spite of yourself the first time your child says “dammit.”
  • You will get out of speeding tickets by crying, flirting, and using the “but I really gotta pee!” excuse. Then you will marry a cop.
  • You will stash photos of a cowboy water-skiing in swim trunks and a stetson for later blackmail material. You will later exchange these photos for equally incriminating ones of yourself.
  • You will organize at least one bikini square dance.
  • You will creep through old houses at night with friends and be convinced there are ghosts.
  • You will believe in ghosts, vampires, and superstition…and not care who knows it.
  • You will get tattoos and piercings.
  • You will learn that following all the rules and doing everything “by the book” would have made you a completely different person…and you won’t regret a damn thing.

I found something cool today…a little late, considering I have had a blog here for a while…while I was exploring the finer points of the “new” WordPress features.

I was proud of myself; I normally can’t be bothered with the technical aspects of online shyte, like stats, search terms, search engine optimization and all that. It’s enough for me to know what that means.

Anyway, I found a great little list of the search terms that people have used to find me! Considering the list is pretty useless for a technological hater like me, the great treasure in finding it for me was purely in for entertainment…

Until I began to notice some of the terms people have typed into Google that ultimately led them here to me. That’s when I began to worry.

I am aware there are some strange and unusual people out there with their freak flags waving high and proud, but I preferred to think that they were out there somewhere reading sci-fi blogs and adding weird photos to the Cheezburger network. They are…but they are also finding me!!!

The people in white coats with giant butterfly nets are going to come after me if I keep showing up in some of these crazy disturbing searches!!!

Here are some of the more, um…colorful phrases that have led them here to m:

  • Hippie voicemail – Did hippies have voicemail?  Yeah, yeah, I know…the title of my blog ties in here…but what the heck were they actually looking for? I might just want to read that one!
  • Make trash – Do I talk about trash too much? When? I do not have a single trash tag that I recall. Granted, I have the occasional incidence of blogging while drinking, but I do not remember discussing trash in any great detail.
  • Naked hippie children photos – Ok, this one is a little alarming. Are we talking about a naked hippie looking for photos of children? Or some pervert looking for photos of children with long hair and birthday suits flashing a peace sign? Either way, NOT someone I want hanging around!
  • Cowboy gun spinning – I feel sorry for the poor redneck who was looking for instructions on how to spin their revolver around a finger a la Doc Holiday and instead found my story about the snake and the flip-flop. Poor guy might still be sitting shell-shocked in front of his computer wondering why in the hell some people attempt the redneck life when they are clearly out of their league and wearing the wrong shoes.
  • Minion bed sheet – Bed sheets for minions? Bed sheets with minions printed on them? Someone found a minion in their bed?
  • History of catnip – “Hey, look…some leafy plants! Let’s go feed it to an animal and see what happens!”
  • fears tough men have – This was probably searched for by an angry housewife looking to scare her husband into submission…
  • karma lessons for the scorpions – Say what!?!? I am picturing a gothic-dressed teeny-bopper who likes to pretend she’s Wiccan, sitting in a beanbag chair with a purple and black spray-painted laptop searching for revenge spells to cast on her evil classmates. Or a mis-guided classic rock fan.
  • Can i sell a kidney in Texas – This one bothers me a bit…I somehow didn’t think the black market for organs would have been too widespread in Texas. The kidney-selling scene is one I always pictured being more popular on some yuppie college campus up North. It does make me wonder, though…how much does a kidney sell for?
  • Happily psychotic – Hehee, now THIS person might have actually been looking for ME!
  • Hippie minion – Exactly what makes a minion become a hippie minion? Is it a penchant for running around naked? Check. Unruly hair and a love of classic rock? Check. Wears love beads? Check.   I guess I have a couple of hippie minions. Was this person in the market for one? If so, I might consider renting mine out.
  • Anaconda face close up snaps – Ok, where in the hell did this one come from, and HOW did it direct a person to this blog???
  • Chauffer waiting – I don’t have a chauffeur. Especially one that waits on me. This person must have been sadly disappointed. Another thing…how did anything mis-spelled direct anyone here??? That offends me deeply.
  • Happy hippie house cleaning – Is this a service they offer? And do they make good money? I could clean houses in my best ripped jeans, singing “Tuesday’s Gone” loudly and off-key, and using the foaming glass cleaner to draw smiley faces and peace signs on people’s windows. Where do I sign up???

Well, that about does it for the really outrageous search terms. I will continue to strive to be random enough that I get “found” by lots and lots of freak-flag-waving psychos so that I will have another good batch of outrageous search terms for you soon.

Have a great night, my hippie minions and gun-spinning scorpion fans…

WOW…if any of you people that know me well happened to pop up on my doorstep right now and attempt entry into my house, you would be in for a BIG surprise…

You know I’m fairly organized, as I have OCD and I like to have room to walk around (toys aside, that is a battle Oscar cannot win). Therefore the fact that you can’t get into the front door because of the big pile of dresser drawers might come as a surprise…along with the drawerless (yeah, made that one up) naked dresser in front of the couch where the coffee table usually resides.

There is a coffee table in the center of the room with an upside down end table on top of it, accompanied by another random drawer. The North wall is lined with a baby swing, bouncy seat, and car seat that neither of my kids fit into anymore. Fifteen (yes, fifteen) wicker baskets are scattered about the floor, and the vacuum cleaner cord snakes through it all like a skinny anaconda.

At random intervals, the Princess prances through with a limp (she has stitches in her foot) wearing a neon green dress, a tiara, and purple flip-flops. The Prince tears through at equally random intervals, naked, pushing a doll stroller filled with a book, a sippy cup, and a terrified and resigned kitten.

There are no curtains on six windows of the house, and there is a pile of rugs in a corner.

The dryer is running, the dishwasher is running, and I’m pretty sure (thanks to the Prince) the bathtub is running. This very computer is playing a mix of new country and old rock, and the TV is (for once) silent. Oh yeah, the coffee pot is brewing, too.

There used to be a loveseat and a blue recliner in here, but they have given way to a giant pile of clothes bound for the local thrift store (with all the baby stuff), and an assortment of jackets, coats, and sweaters. The couch is still visible, if you can scale a blanket rack and jump. The back cushions are in the floor, though.

"The Mess"

What my normally pretty and inviting living room has been reduced to.

 

I’m pretty sure even the goldfish is peering through his glass picture window in awed terror.

Thanks Mom, for the theoretical protocol that pulling out and disassembling the entire home in the endeavor to “clean it right” is the “only” one that works! You’re right about one thing…if I ever find my living room floor again, the feeling of accomplishment will be overwhelmingly wonderful.

Or else I’ll have lost my mind by then and just be grateful for a solid surface in which to sit and rock.

Ok…my break is over, I am going to go dive back into the fray. If you don’t hear from me in a few days, send over a garbage truck and the people in the white coats with the giant butterfly nets…

A while back I listed the reasons writers are…um…difficult people to deal with in many cases. I feel that, as a photographer as well, I should make a list for them, too.

See? I am truly a pain in the ass for soooo many reasons! 😉

So, photographers are a pain in the ass because…

  • They see the world in little rectangles, as they would appear in a photograph.
  • They will often “frame” these things with their hands to size up an imaginary shot…quite distracting to be in the middle of a conversation when suddenly the person you’re talking to “frames” you, squinting with one closed eye. Do you continue talking, or strike a pose? Depends on the photographer…
  • Even in the most casual of situations where most people would happily snap a quick photo and move on, a photographer has to stop everything to fuss with someone’s hair or clothing, shift everyone over a half inch, and complain about the light (or lack thereof).
  • “You would look so great in sepia!”  Seriously? Is that a compliment, or are you telling me my color is all wrong and should just be removed from the equation??
  • You are NEVER allowed to touch the camera. There could be a rabid dog scaling the wall outside about to come in the window and the only escape you have is through a door that has “the camera” sitting nearby on an unstable table. You must navigate that door WITHOUT TOUCHING THE CAMERA…or the consequences would make you wish for the return of Cujo.
  • The camera is named, and referred to in casual conversation much the way a beloved sibling is mentioned. Pretending to be confused as you ask again “Who is Lucy?” causes hilarious drama.
  • For a simple photo of you and your lover, you get to watch the photographer talk in baby talk, squeal and laugh, fix your hair, crawl around on the ground, climb trees, fix your hair again, and suddenly exclaim “There it is!!!” as the camera goes off on a series of rapid-fire clicks.
  • EVERYTHING is a prop. “There, hold that grilled cheese just like that and SMILE!!”
  • “Say CHEESE!!”  Or fuzzy pickles, or happy!!
  • If there is a lightning storm within a twenty mile radius, you will find the photographer happily sitting out in the rain under a cardboard box, snapping six hundred photos of a section of sky.
  • If you manage to get a photographer to go on a trip of any kind without THE CAMERA, prepare yourself for whining that rivals a four year old with pneumonia…or a teenager deprived of their phone and music.
  • You might as well just resign yourself to the fact that a photographer in the family means hundreds or thousands of photos of yourself in the most awkward situations. There is no stopping them, and “I don’t photograph well,” is taken as a direct challenge.

Today was one long series of unfortunate events of the sort that Jim Carrey would never survive. It began with last night’s craft project and concludes with the character Band-Aid on my ass…

Last night I took some old photo frames that were the same size and color, sanded down the sides until they all matched perfectly, and fitted them together into a frame collage. It was gorgeous, if I may say so myself, each frame was black with gold trim so together it looked pretty fancy.

In this new set of frames I placed some black and white prints of kittens in costumes that I had been saving for years that came from a calendar…many many years ago. I have not seen a calendar similar to this, ever. I was saving the prints for something special.

I proudly hung the completed piece of art in my bathroom on a blank wall that has been bugging me. As a freelance writer with two kids out on the Back 40 of Hell’s Half Acre, I don’t exactly have much money. Extra things like home decorating items and wall art are luxuries that we just can’t buy. So anytime something can be made cheap and still looks classy, we are quite delighted with it.

This morning, things went pretty much as usual, my son woke me up at the crack of dawn to dance to CMT (his favorite early-am activity). I drank coffee that took an hour to brew (Hard water = a coffee pot that drips water at the rate of a slowly leaking faucet). I fixed us all bowls of our favorite cereal (none of the three of us like the same kind on the same morning…it is apparently against some cosmic rule).

I subsequently dumped out a bowl each of Cookie Crisp, Cinnabon-Something-or-Other, and Fruity Pebbles when I discovered the milk was a little…sharp. Eggs were rejected for the fact that I had exactly two eggs, and three hungry people. The kids got Pop-Tarts, I got another cup of coffee.

After that it was back to CMT and Legos for the munchkins, and I went into the bathroom to put on makeup and do something with my hair. My son gave me two minutes to get good and into the application of my eyeliner (very black, btw), then came marching up behind me with a TV remote in hand, headed for the toilet.

I leapt across the room, screeching “Nooooo!” and saved the remote in the nick of time, while apparently drawing an impressive black stripe across my face. Unfortunately either the high-pitched noise, the sudden shudder of the room from me jumping, or karma from the last bug I squished, something managed to dislodge the nail holding up my pretty creation from last night.

The entire thing came crashing down into the bathtub, shattering into dozens of splinters of glass and wood (insult to injury: the places I glued were mostly intact). Even the photos tore just enough to render them mostly useless in the future.

My saving grace in that moment was that the entire mess was limited to the interior of the bathtub, so it was fairly easy to scoop it all out, then shake out the bath mat and rinse the tiny shards down the drain. Plus, I could do all this with the munchkins and their curious little fingers locked safely out of the room until the glass was cleared.

It also gave me a few minutes to bawl like a baby and mourn the loss of the cool wall art that I would have dragged all house-guests into the bathroom to look at for the next month.

Once all of that was done, and the rest of the morning passed without any bloodshed or major malfukulations (yea…….sound it out…..there ya go), we all trooped out to Plainview to pay a bill that was due today.

I took with me all the money I had, which was enough to pay the bill and buy the gas to get back home. I did not consider that we would be passing roughly 137 snow-cone stands and a dozen ice cream trucks on this journey in 103 degree heat (but it’s a DRY heat…ha). I couldn’t buy the treats; couldn’t even stop for my gimongous iced tea from Sonic as I had hoped. We got the bill paid and the truck back up to a quarter tank with about 17 cents to spare.

By this time, the kids were sweaty and mutinous…

The bribe I got them out of Plainview on was that it’s Tuesday…and Meemaw (my grandmother) ALWAYS goes to the pizza buffet night in Lockney, and we have a standing invitation to go eat with her each and every Tuesday. We have been doing this for over a year at least a couple times a month, and not once has she allowed us to pay for our meal. Therefore I felt fairly safe in the drive to Lockney.

Nope. This turned out to be the one Tuesday that she wasn’t home, wasn’t in town, wasn’t anywhere to be found. If looks could kill, the tiny lightning bolts flying at the back of my head from the backseat would have taken me out right there on Main Street, crashing the truck into the newly remodeled pizza place.

I pacified the kids with a trip to visit my parents (they LOVE Grandma and Papaw), and got lucky. Mom had some money she was saving for me from some of my storage stuff she’d sold for me.

Therefore, I got to feed the angry, hungry minions!

It wasn’t pizza, but Dairy Queen fries and chicken saved me from a sure overthrow of the throne tonight.

Getting back home was uneventful, as was most of the rest of the evening. The kids watched iCarly and George Lopez while I got a few things written for “work.”

My son drowned my favorite makeup brush in the bathtub and my daughter had a hissy fit because I wouldn’t let her wear a pageant dress and boots to bed. The cat scratched the smallest one for dragging him around by the tail, and the screeches that ensued scared the loopy cowdog outside. The dog howled for half an hour, and the kids went to bed mad at me…for some reason, it was all Momma’s fault, as always.

Finally…

Finally, the kids were in bed and I was alone (well, reasonably so, the kitten in the house doesn’t count). I poured a glass of bourbon and diet coke because I am NOT a glass of wine kind of girl, and I ran the bathtub full of bubbles and bath salts.

I sank into the tub and slid down…and immediately jumped back out, splashing water and bubbles all over the bathroom.

Yeah, there was a piece of glass in the bath mat that had evidently survived the cleanup efforts of the morning.

Yeah, I cut my ass cheek.

And yeah, considering that I am really not a Band-Aid kind of person, it is quite an admission for me to tell you that since the location of the cut was just so that shorts were uncomfortable, I decided to put a bandage on it.

There are dozens of bandages in my house, in every shape and size, in Tinkerbell, Hannah Montana, Cars, Toy Story, and more…lots to choose from.

I put SpongeBob on my buttcheek just for spite.