Posts Tagged ‘Humor’

Hehee, my Crazies are still here.

I haven’t checked up on my search terms in a while…the somewhat colorful phrases that people Google and somehow end up here. So I decided to check in.

Yep. The Crazies are still finding me with great gems like “a butt with a bandaid on it.” Great thing about that one, it’s in the list more than once. WHO looks for this stuff??

A couple of runners-up? “hippie swear words” and “sell kidney”

Seriously?? ARE there swear words that are specific to the Peace People? And where did I mention selling a kidney? I still have both mine, and I’m not in the market for a new one…

At least they’re not as worrisome as the person who found me by seeking “scorpion karma.”

Ouch.

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.

It started with a simple desire to do a little cleaning while the tallish minion was in school, and the smallish one was on vacation with his dad. Nothing major, just a little Spring Cleaning without their input and hysterics when I tossed half of the 137 stuffies in the donation bag and threw out a few dozen Happy Meal boxes.

It ended with a destroyed kitchen, a pickup with the bed overflowing, and a storage room emptied and repurposed. Throw in a sprained knee, 9 new bruises, and a sore back. Add the help of two WONDERFUL friends.

The ultimate result was that the minions’ shared room became the tallish one’s room, and the storage room became the smallish one’s room. He finally has a room of his VERY OWN, and the video I have of him screaming I LOVE IT is completely worth the hassle.

I thought I was done for a while, except for the storage stuff purged into the kitchen and the poor truck that needed emptied.

I was wrong.

The first night gave me a new respect for nurses in nursing homes where each grumpy patient has a call button. One needed medicine, the other chocolate milk. While I was in the opposite room, Orange Kitty decided to somehow unplug the smallish one’s TV. Screaming ensues.

While I’m fixing the TV, the tallish one shrieks from her room. The medicine I’d just given her included some oil for an ear infection, complete with cotton ball. The panic was…”my cotton ball just got lost down my ear and is stuck in my throat.”

Ummm…

I fished the cotton ball out of her sheets, assured her that cotton balls will NOT travel from her ear to anywhere else inside her. This was about the time something touched the back of my knee.

I screamed, she screamed, and her little brother bolted, yelling “I just wanted night-night kisses!!!”

Sometime a couple hours past bedtime, I finally peeked in on two snoring minions, in their own beds, in their own rooms. It was a tough decision not to take a photo of each, because they were just too darn cute…I’m pretty sure the flash would have woken them up and worn out the cuteness real quick.

 

Travelling with minions is not for the weak. Murphey, or Newton, or whichever smart guy of the olden days said “whatever can go wrong, will,” nailed it.

I took a trip this past week to Corpus, with some friends and of course the tallish and smallish minions. They loved it, I loved it, I’m pretty sure I’ve dissuaded at least one friend from ever having kids…and I learned a few travelling lessons along the way.

Be sure you pack at least one backpack of “things to do” for each child. A shared bag of entertainment is unacceptable, and not nearly big enough. You need, at a minimum, gadgets with apps, chargers for said gadgets, coloring books and crayons, games, a digital camera, something that plays music…and be prepared to still have to give up your cell phone.

The trip WILL take twice as long as you plan. Takes 11 hours to get there (and you know this because you’ve done it more than once)? Nope. Better plan to get there in about 24, including camping out at a budget motel somewhere along the way, parked next to a pedophile van, trying to dissuade your friends from telling ghost stories about haunted motels.

Avoid pizza places. They ALL have games and money-sucker machines that are irresistible to minions.

Bring trash bags. You’ll discover a ton of different uses, besides the fact that 2 minions on a road trip can create more trash than a family of 4 in a week. It WILL rain, and you can put your luggage (suitcases and all) in big trash bags for the back of the pickup. Put extra pillows and blankets in one, because there will be some point on the trip that it will become necessary to create one giant pallet full of sleeping little ones in the back of the cab.

…wait. Everyone travels in a pickup, right?

Then, you should also brace yourself for the music. No matter that there are 2 tablets, an mp3 player, a couple of iPods, and 14 pairs of earphones floating around…you WILL be giving up radio rights. You WILL be listening to Kidz Bop for hours on end, and you WILL memorize the Gummy Bear song before you get home.

When you’re at your destination, driving around exploring and taking photos, the local police will pull you over for making a sudden uTurn for a shot of the Shrimp Crossing sign you just spotted. And when said cop hits his lights, your minions (who have memorized Despicable Me 2) will “be a siren” for him by yelling “beedo, beedo, beedo…” until you threaten them with jail time. Thankfully, lots of cops in touristy towns are pretty patient with tourists.

…or they feel sorry for the poor idiots hauling around the Beedo Kids.

You’ll also need snacks. 37 bags of chips, 20 suckers, a container of trail mix, some doughnuts, crackers, apples and bananas, and assorted cookies. You have to resist the temptation to mix sedatives into the snacks. It’s frowned upon…although I’m not sure I understand why.

I also don’t understand where this new gray hair suddenly came from…

Image

   I haven’t really taken a vacation since I’ve had minions. I’ve taken a long weekend here and there, and I’ve packed them up and shipped them to Grandma for a few days at a time.

   I’ve discovered that packing them up for an entire week, a whole relaxing, travel-across-Texas, kind of vacation, is a lot like trying to repack a bean-bag when you get too curious about what’s in there. If you’ve ever opened up a bean bag chair and watched thousands of little Styrofoam bits go flying in all directions, sticking to everything BUT the inside of the bag, then you might have come close to the experience I just had.

   I pulled the smallish minion out of his Angry Birds backpack (yes, he fits) twice, his sister’s Peace Sign bag once, and my own suitcase half a dozen times. He Unpacked his backpack once, refilling it with Hot Wheels…this is when I discovered that he has enough little cars to more than fill a standard backpack. I repacked it, put the cars away, and turned around to find him stashing powdered sugar donuts in amongst his clothes.

   Then there was his sister. The tallish minion insisted (at least in the beginning) on packing for herself. I agreed, on the condition that I get to inspect the bag when she was done. The contents of said bag were as follows: seven (yes. Seven.) swimsuits, 4 pairs of shorts, 12 tank tops, 2 pajama bottoms (no tops), 3 pairs of shoes, a single pair of panties, no socks, her Kindle, cowboy boots, and a double-handful of ponytail holders.

   Of course she threw a fit when I had to tweak her packing just a little bit. During the fit, the smallish minion (suspiciously quiet this whole time), came strolling through in his Incredibles undies, rolling a squirming Angry Birds backpack.

   I rescued Orange Kitty from his bag, and repacked his powdered-sugared clothes. Then I hid both their bags. I packed mine a few times, because I had to keep dragging children out of it. I’m pretty sure the trip will require a Wal-Mart run, because I KNOW I forgot something vital. Just not sure yet what that something is…

It’s that time of year again. The time the tallish minion shows up waving around the much-anticipated Little League form. Time to bust out the Barbie bat and pink glove, locate a handful of the 137 practice balls that are floating around here somewhere, and get our big girl panties on…because “there’s NO CRYING in baseball.”
That’s my mantra through March and April every year…and by May, I give up because I’m usually crying by then, too. The minion thinks that baseball is the greatest sport ever for the first few practices and about the 3rd game. Then, someone gets stung by a bee, sunburns, or gets sore and tired of running, and suddenly it’s all my fault for signing her up for baseball yet again.
THIS YEAR though, it’s going to be a whole new ballgame. Pun intended.
The smallish minion has been telling me for two years that “Momma, I big enough to play batheball.”
This year, he is finally big enough for real. And a hand-me-down Barbie bat just ain’t gonna cut it. So, I am in search of a Batman bat, which I am pretty sure they don’t make, and a smaller than extra-small glove, because the smallish minion is tiny.
He also wants real baseball pants, which I am pretty sure don’t come in toddler sizes; and cleats, which I am pretty sure would land someone in the emergency room somehow. He has allowed that in the absence of cleats, his new (smooth-bottomed) cowboy boots shall work nicely.
I’m not sure who his coach will be this year, but I hope it’s someone with the patience of a saint. I coached the last two years…and I am now braving the world of single-parenting with an extra job and an EMT class. So when I was asked to coach again, I laughed and laughed. Then I ran.
So, whoever tackles the role that resembles herding Patriot-clad cats has my respect, and my sympathy. I guess I should warn them that my son is a leftie…
BW Set 5

   Potty training. What fun.

   See, I thought I had that one down in a “been there, done that” kind of way. The bigger minion had a few minor hiccups in the whole potty-training scenario, but no major issues. Once we bought some Tinkerbell undies that she didn’t want soiled, we were golden.

   I carried this cavalier attitude right into the training of the littler minion, thinking this would be a piece of cake…after all, “boys are easier,” right?

   Nope.

   I figured the whole peeing standing up thing would work in my favor.

   Nope.

   I thought that the boy would be like his sister in hating the feel of wet clothes on tender tushies.

   Nope.

   My first challenge was teaching him he could undergo the necessary actions without having to sit down, or even completely take his pants down. Well…it’s not like I could demonstrate!

   So the first few “Go Potty” attempts were sitting down on the potty, “Girl Style.” Well, what I didn’t think about ahead of time was the basic anatomy of a boy-child. Apparently a sitting position lines them up perfectly to shoot up and out, instead of down into the potty. He shot the sink across the room. I cried. He laughed.

   We abandoned the sitting down idea.

   Living in the country, well-meaning advice stated to let him go on the porch. Aim at a cat. Try to hit a bug…little things to make it a big outdoor manly adventure. So we took the issue outdoors. This only resulted in me and my son standing on the porch, staring forlornly at each other, his pants around his knees.

   Fast-forward an eternity, and we’ve about got the basics down. He’ll go outside, he’ll go to our potty and those of places he’s familiar with. He’s terrified of the automatic flushers provided at Wal-Mart. We have some accidents, but it’s getting better.

   Until a few days ago. We’re at our second home, and his practically-adopted big sister took him to the bathroom. He stood on her feet to reach. Apparently stage fright took over and after a long pause, he looks up at her with those big puppy-dog eyes and says, “It’s broken.”

I don’t know if anyone else could possibly be as ready for the whole Election Fiasco to be over as I am!

I remember giggling at a Jeff Foxworthy routine years ago, ”The President’s on…he’s on EVERY CHANNEL. We’re gonna miss Flipper!”

I can sympathize.

137 channels and the only place I can get a moment’s peace from the constant barrage of political drabble is on the shopping networks…which cause me to buy things I don’t need, rack up debt that a new health care bill won’t save me from, and kill more brain cells than I did watching South Park as a teen.

When I watch a political ad, I don’t think “Hey, he’s got a great plan,” or even “I like/despise this guy more than the other one.”

Instead, I’m thinking, “Geez, I could fix my truck and the broken cars of struggling families all over the freaking state with what this guy paid for this crappy commercial.”

There were rumors months ago (maybe more) that New York’s famous (infamous) Central Park Naked Cowboy (a guy known for running around with tightey-whitey’s and a guitar) was planning to someday run for President. Y’know, I could be on board with a President like that…someone who’s apparently not afraid to stir things up, someone with a unique outlook, and someone who would probably spend their money on more worthwhile things than golf and political ads.

Yeah…this could get me into politics.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

All his campaigning would come free on the internet thanks to social media, and as President he would probably sympathize with the common masses instead of the 5% of millionaires that most political figures know and love.

To be honest, I would vote for the Naked Cowboy, some random wrestler or rock singer, or the Facebook dad that shot the laptop before I would any of the actual candidates I’ve seen since…well, ever.

 

How about you? Anyone else rather vote for someone unknown and “real” than the so-called “leaders” our government seems so fond of producing?

I listened to a radio show that made me livid. My favorite voice-personalities were reading a list of things that The Boss looks for in a job interview that most people don’t think is ever an issue. They apparently polled a few hundred company owners, and these people revealed the things they judge you on that you might not know about.

Potential bosses can be evil, cruel bastards. Don’t get me wrong, most of the interviewers you encounter will be friendly and pleasant…but there are apparently some sadistic ones who don’t have a heart. Those who sounded off in this poll really made me glad I have a very cool boss and a string of freelance projects.

The following “red flags” these people look for were at the top of the list, meaning that approximately 25% of all interviewers are looking for them.

Split Ends.

Turns out they aren’t just checking to make sure you have a decent grasp of what “business casual” means. Many job interviewers are examining your hair for flyaways and split ends…which can apparently indicate a lazy person who doesn’t have enough responsibility to care for themselves.

Seriously!??

Ok, let’s try out a scenario…I am out looking for a job because I’ve been living on Ramen Noodles for a month so that I can use every spare dime to pay for dry cleaning for my one and only nice suit to go to job interviews! Paying for a haircut is probably not high on my Blow Money On List.

Mister Interviewer, shouldn’t your attention be on my job skills, and maybe the fact that I am dressed appropriately and I don’t smell like a gym or a French hooker?

You know, if I came to a job interview wearing a purple and teal Mohawk, I could see the concern…but my dry from the West Texas weather hair shouldn’t be a problem.

Smudged Mascara.

Apparently, mascara and eyeliner smudged underneath your eyes (even a little, according to polls) gives your interviewer a glimpse into a party-girl persona. These interviewers admit to knocking perfectly qualified candidates to the bottom of the list if they can spot an imperfectly lined eye.

Geez…this one is wrong on so many levels. See, I could understand if these people got upset at Goth-worthy streaks of black running down our cheeks. But they’re talking about a bit of smudge under the eye.

What if it’s summer (which meant 104 degrees around here), and the interview is at 2 in the afternoon? No makeup can stand up to that!

What if it’s a person’s third interview of the day, or they had to dash from class/work/dentist straight to the interview? Want them to show up late because they stopped to retouch their eyeliner?

My favorite is my own reason for the constantly “smoky” appearance of my eyeliner…I wear contacts. Which means if a gnat sneezes, my eyes will water, rendering my perfect makeup a bit smeared. Simmer down, most people think that’s sexy!

Another contact issue: the wind. Dry eyes. Little drops you have to put in your eyes to see where you’re going. Again, moisture that destroys makeup.

This bears repeating…shouldn’t you be more worried about a person’s qualifications??

Cheap Suits.

Ummm…

Ok, if I could afford a $400 designer suit and new shoes, would I be here interviewing for an internship that pays peanuts while paying half of what I hope to be making from you to some teenager to keep my kids alive while I sweat it out with you, worried about my makeup and split ends??

 

Geez. I am so grateful for my random writing-for-a-stranger freelance jobs, my photography business that I run all by myself (thankyouverymuch), and my kick-ass editor at the paper…

For a while, I thought it was just me…

I’ve always been picky about details, and I majored in English and Psychology, so I have a lower tolerance for terrible grammar/spelling/punctuation than most. I have OCD, so other little things, like inconsistencies in the news, would bug me.

None of it was really a big deal, until I realized the other day that America is becoming stupid.

Sorry, but it’s true.

Evidentiary Support:

Television: Seriously…Bayou Billionaire?? I don’t think I really need any other examples for this category, but I’ll elaborate.

There are at least 3 reality series currently airing that feature teen parents or parents-to-be. On CMT (where’s the country music, people?), there’s some redneck show in which the preview is a semi-toothless hobo-dressed man on a rock, proclaiming “put ‘yer’ big-girl panties on, I ‘is’ gonna whoop ‘yer’ ass.” I could name a “real police” show that makes Super Troopers look realistic and solemn. American Idol manages to highlight some of our most…um, interesting…individuals regularly.

The News: The news is probably the worst…at least the idiots on TV shows are getting paid to show off their more “colorful” characteristics in the name of entertainment (although the fact that this crap is what gets ratings doesn’t exactly reflect well on the rest of us). The people featured in the news are sacrificing their dogs to deities, biting bystanders after rolling their car into a field for no apparent reason, and chewing on homeless people.

What amazes me is the number of people claiming psychosis was caused by “legal drugs” like “bath salts.”  What scares me is that these products are still on shelves.

Our Schools: I’m sure no teacher ever went to college with a dream of spending their lives training kids to take standardized tests. They went to school to educate children. Sadly, most school-kids now get about 10% fitness, 80% test practice, and maybe 10% of actually learning applicable skills.

I’ve met many, many recent high school graduates who cannot grasp the concepts of basic grammar. I had the pleasure and pain of judging some scholarship entry essays recently and almost cried. I found one out of about 30 that wasn’t grossly incoherent…and it would have still required extensive editing to get more than a C in college.

People, these were seniors at the top of their class, applying for academic scholarships!! Most of them were apparently never taught the differences between there, their, and they’re…and forget about your and you’re.

Social Media: I have no problem with people using “shortcuts” on a tweet or status update. Even I text things like “where r u” and “got 2 go, brb.” Seeing this doesn’t make me worry about the world, it makes me think the person was in a hurry.

This worries me: “I wuz guna goin to tha store fa some stuf an went over their ta you’re hows nsted.”

Probable Cause:

Equality: I am all for equal rights and such, but they’ve taken things too far when they begin to refuse proper education to intelligent kids so that the others don’t take a blow to the ego.

I get it…”No Child Left Behind” is a sweet concept, but it’s not practical to stop teaching and challenging kids so that the most challenged doesn’t feel left out! When I was in school, you did your homework, you learned…or you freaking got left behind! Now apparently, everyone is taught at the level of the lowest-scoring children in class…so that the lowest-scoring child doesn’t feel bad.

In Texas, there is a standardized test that every student MUST PASS to move on to the next grade level. News I read said that 80% of those who FAILED that test were promoted to the next grade anyway.

Problem is, all the hand-holding and coddling means that these kids graduate and go out into the real world expecting more of the same. They cannot function.

What’s the result of the end of actual education? Plenty of Americans who can’t write an essay to save their lives.

The Demise of Natural Selection: Animals (which we are) are supposed to have a built-in way to make sure the species survives. Simply put, the dumb ones are supposed to die.

In the animal world, the slowest, dumbest, and impaired ones are usually the first to go…this ensures that the ones left to breed are smarter, faster, and all-around better. Therefore, their babies are better. So the cycle goes, and the species doesn’t dwindle.

People were the same way for centuries.

Fast-forward to today…where infant chairs get recalled because an idiot sat their three-month-old in the chair, the chair on the kitchen counter, and went to check the mail.

You cannot get medicine without a child-proof lid, and people remodel their entire houses when they have a baby, so they don’t have to remember to close the bathroom door or teach their kids not to drink bleach.

Instead of teaching them to survive, we wrap our kids in bubble wrap and hope for the best. They don’t know NOT to stick a fork in a toaster…the toaster is locked up tight in an 8ft tall cabinet and our kids don’t get to learn to make toast until they graduate. That’s when you get the grown man in the ER because he stuck a fork in a toaster.

A woman in Dallas sat on a hot bench and burned her butt badly enough to require skin grafts. Seriously? Wouldn’t you think STANDING UP might cross your mind when your ass starts feeling warmer than is comfortable???

I am just saying that we’ve put an end to natural selection in humans, and the slowest in our herd are surviving, breeding, and offering up more and more Americans too dumb to stand up when their rear starts burning…

 

Disclaimer: While I disagree with the gone-way-overboard safety standards today that make it impossible to teach kids common sense, I must let you know (before you call CPS) that I DO follow common-sense safety precautions with my kids.

I strap them into the car per DPS standards.

I don’t let them jump off the roof with an umbrella. I keep medicines put away…but I also teach them to stay out of the medicine, and I tell them the reasons the leap off the roof isn’t a good idea.

I try to teach them common sense, since it seems to be a dying art.