I just want to say one thing right at the top here, before I get into my actual topic. I am a firm believer in personal indivduality and expression whatever form it takes. I don't want to live in a cookie cutter world, with cookie cutter people who have cookie cutter ideas. (I do however wish I lived in a world where all schools required uniforms - but that's a rant for a different time)
That said and personal freedoms being upheld, I reserve the right to laugh at or with people who choose to express themselves in a bizarre, oops I forgot to look in the mirror today kind of way. Or even those (especially those) who DID look in the mirror and despite what was actually there, said "Damn I look good this way. I think I'll go outside now." Now, Iknow the interface between brain and mirror can be deceiving, or else there would be no anorexia to name just one instance. But really people. Maybe you could ask someone else if they think you've got it going on before you actually put the keys in the ignition and head out into places with strangers.
On second thought, don't. Its too damn amusing to the rest of us and the the world needs more laughter. Everyone says so. Especially those nice, save the world types. So in fact you are creating joy and harmony in the world's population. A noble, noble cause without doubt.
This weekend at the Concert in the Park, featured the worlds loudest zydeco band (I'm not sure they're billed that way but as a safety precaution they should have been) and I experienced lots of world saving laughter . First came the butt crack of a 20 something who sat down on the ground in front of me, in pants that were so low waisted she couldn't have NOT showed her butt crack even while standing in line for funnel cake, and yet, when my sister (who is more kindly than me or the other 15 people in our row) got up and told her, the girl seemed geniunly surprised. Really? You didn't feel the sunburn starting on parts that, unless you're Brazilian, rarely get sun? Or the tickle of the grass, in your actual butt?
Then there was the 60 something, overweight clown lady. Now I don't want to be too mean to her because honestly she seemed genuinly excited about her outfit and since she walked by holding up a banner once in a while she was obviously doing it as attention getting advertisment. And it worked. She got my attention. I don't however, remember what the banner said so I don't know what she was advertising, but I do remember her. Suffice it to say that she upped the worlds joy in tangible amounts.
Then comes my favorite. The giant man in tie-dye and a red felt Viking helmet. He absolutely falls in the category of "Damn I look good in this. I think I'll go outside now". Bald, 6'5" or taller, and probably 375 pounds, he wore his blue, yellow, green and red tie-dye with confidence, and sported the too small, red felt pointy Viking helmet perched on the very tippy top of his head. So full of confidence was he that he walked up in front of us all and sat very straight in his very tall chair, obscuring the view of the worlds loudest zydeco band (although sadly, not the sounds) and allowed us all the pleasure of continuous viewing of the brightly colored mountain of himself. I did notice a wedding ring on his finger and yet he was by himself. Somewhere in Santa Clarita was a woman hiding in her house with a pint of ice cream, mumbling to herself in defeat.
So you see, not only do I support personal expression, I love it, even though I know that on some days I provide just as much joy and laughter to others as they do to me.
Because not only will laughter save the world, but laughter is also the Best Medicine. (And the Reader's Digest is never wrong!)
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Friday, August 21, 2009
Step Right Up Folks - You'll Win A Prize!
Its good to know that even the strangest things you do in your life can end up being useful later on. For example... When I was roughly 22 I ran away to the carnival and for six months was an actual "carney". (And alothough I'm sure the life long carnies would disagree and have some sort of mean newbie name for me instead, I can't seem remember that far back into the mezazoic era) . And I didn't exactly run away, although I did pack my car and leave in the dead of night, since my mom was there to see me off and my husband at the time was waiting at the midway for me. But for the sake of all things funny, lets keep saying I "ran off to the carnival" (at least I didn't run off to the circus, since I was not nearly fat, tattooed, hairy, double jointed, or two-headed enough for that)
While working on the midway I got an education in Marks (that's you people) and how to get them to hand me scads of wadded up dollar bills just to win prizes that no one outside the alternate reality of the carnival would even bend over to pick up. I learned how to talk fast and say valuable things like "hit one - you get one!", "Every dollar wins you a prize!" and "do NOT hit me with that dart!" And I learned how to eat hot dogs and left over roasted corn at 8:00 in the morning. You would think that I would have found a use for these talents of increadible usefulness before now, but honestly, and I know you won't believe me, but outside the midway you just look like a crazy person if you yell at people and wave darts or rings or ping pong balls around at them. Its true, I swear! (not that I've tried, really, no I haven't).
And so I hid all those hard learned lessons away in a box somewhere and only bought them out to amuse (and sometimes horrify) friends. After telling people that I used to travel with a carnival I have caught some suddenly checking to see if I really do have all my teeth (which I do) or asking me if I did a lot of drugs (which I didn't). But mostly its funny. I mean, who walks around thinking a 40-something, frumpy looking mom was every anything other than what she appears right now? Hey, I think I just thought up a new game to while away the hours watching mykid at dance, gymnastics or girl scouts. Find the most harmless looking mom and see what you can picture her doing in her past. Maybe she used to be a madam, running a stable of 23 girls, maybe she was a gun runner for a cartel in Columbia, maybe she was a secret follower of voodoo, or maybe she was a fire eater (That last one is me too, but that's a story for a different night).
But regardless I put all of the things I learned from the midway away and haven't had the chance to use them again, until now.
Because finally, after all these years since my time as a joint jockey, these skills will be taken out of their rusty, cobweb covered box and be put to good (if not somewhat watered down for the kiddies) use. Beware mother, fathers, grandmas, grandpas, aunts and uncles of Highlands Elemtary (Sydney's new school), and bring ALL of your wadded up dollars, cause there will be a real live carney on the midway Fall Carnival this year.
;)
While working on the midway I got an education in Marks (that's you people) and how to get them to hand me scads of wadded up dollar bills just to win prizes that no one outside the alternate reality of the carnival would even bend over to pick up. I learned how to talk fast and say valuable things like "hit one - you get one!", "Every dollar wins you a prize!" and "do NOT hit me with that dart!" And I learned how to eat hot dogs and left over roasted corn at 8:00 in the morning. You would think that I would have found a use for these talents of increadible usefulness before now, but honestly, and I know you won't believe me, but outside the midway you just look like a crazy person if you yell at people and wave darts or rings or ping pong balls around at them. Its true, I swear! (not that I've tried, really, no I haven't).
And so I hid all those hard learned lessons away in a box somewhere and only bought them out to amuse (and sometimes horrify) friends. After telling people that I used to travel with a carnival I have caught some suddenly checking to see if I really do have all my teeth (which I do) or asking me if I did a lot of drugs (which I didn't). But mostly its funny. I mean, who walks around thinking a 40-something, frumpy looking mom was every anything other than what she appears right now? Hey, I think I just thought up a new game to while away the hours watching mykid at dance, gymnastics or girl scouts. Find the most harmless looking mom and see what you can picture her doing in her past. Maybe she used to be a madam, running a stable of 23 girls, maybe she was a gun runner for a cartel in Columbia, maybe she was a secret follower of voodoo, or maybe she was a fire eater (That last one is me too, but that's a story for a different night).
But regardless I put all of the things I learned from the midway away and haven't had the chance to use them again, until now.
Because finally, after all these years since my time as a joint jockey, these skills will be taken out of their rusty, cobweb covered box and be put to good (if not somewhat watered down for the kiddies) use. Beware mother, fathers, grandmas, grandpas, aunts and uncles of Highlands Elemtary (Sydney's new school), and bring ALL of your wadded up dollars, cause there will be a real live carney on the midway Fall Carnival this year.
;)
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Be Back Soon
I just wanted to let you all know that I will be getting back to blogging soon. I'm working on a short story for a magazine submission and my brain apparently only works in one direction at a time. See you soon! :)
Friday, August 7, 2009
Wow you guys are demanding about this blog. Its great you read it, believe me I love seeing how many clicks it gets in a day, but Damn! Texting me, calling me, sending email messages about when is a new one coming and if "you don't write one every day my life will suddenly lose all focus and my nail polish will chip and my plants will wilt!" If it were only up to me I would save both your nail polish and your plants, but its not. At least not entirely. There are a plethora (Love that word) of things that sometimes make it impossible for me to get words from my brain, out my fingers and onto this big white page. Sometimes it is the big white page itself. It sits there and mocks me with its whiteness. It glows in its pristine glory, taunting me with the fact that NOTHING is in my head. (go ahead with the jokes you know you want to). Sometimes I think of a subject but it has no flow, no waaaaa, no chi. (good lord) And of course, you can't write if there is no waaaaaaa.
Speaking of waaaaaaa (of a different kind, picture a kid who DOESN'T get to watch "just ooonnneee more SpongeBob) that's another reason I don't sit down and churn a blog out every day. Strangely, that five year old Sydney person that lives in my house sometimes requires inordinate amount of care, what with cooking dinner, washing clothes, and, ahem, cleaning up large amounts of cat food and pasta so at the end of it all that couch is looking mighty good. Maybe I should bring the couch into the office. The desk is too heavy to move.
Then there is the somewhat astonishing fact that I have a life outside my house where my computer cannot follow. (thank god, cause that would just look weird). And when I get home from the carnal debauchery of Red Robin, Islands, or (god forbid) Chuck E Cheese I am again too tired to write and instead make fast friends with my couchy. (and the T.V., I love my t.v. in front of my couchy)
Also, since I have to leave the house before the sun rises for my epic journey to the office, like Cinderella, only earlier, I have to be in bed by 10:30 or I turn, not into a pumpkin, but well, a bitch. (stop it, I already gave you one with the nothing in my brain). So that leaves only a few hours a night to be mom, maid, pet parent, laundress, AND brilliant, nail polish plant saving humorist. I suppose wife should fit in there too, but who has time for that?
But most importantly, sometimes I just don't feel funny and I vowed that if I was going to subject people to a blog it was going to be light and funny, no politics, no religion, and no discussions on the plight of the standard american poodle in the wake of the popularity of its teacup sized cousin. No, I will keep it light! But sometimes you feel like a nut. And sometimes you don't.
:)
Speaking of waaaaaaa (of a different kind, picture a kid who DOESN'T get to watch "just ooonnneee more SpongeBob) that's another reason I don't sit down and churn a blog out every day. Strangely, that five year old Sydney person that lives in my house sometimes requires inordinate amount of care, what with cooking dinner, washing clothes, and, ahem, cleaning up large amounts of cat food and pasta so at the end of it all that couch is looking mighty good. Maybe I should bring the couch into the office. The desk is too heavy to move.
Then there is the somewhat astonishing fact that I have a life outside my house where my computer cannot follow. (thank god, cause that would just look weird). And when I get home from the carnal debauchery of Red Robin, Islands, or (god forbid) Chuck E Cheese I am again too tired to write and instead make fast friends with my couchy. (and the T.V., I love my t.v. in front of my couchy)
Also, since I have to leave the house before the sun rises for my epic journey to the office, like Cinderella, only earlier, I have to be in bed by 10:30 or I turn, not into a pumpkin, but well, a bitch. (stop it, I already gave you one with the nothing in my brain). So that leaves only a few hours a night to be mom, maid, pet parent, laundress, AND brilliant, nail polish plant saving humorist. I suppose wife should fit in there too, but who has time for that?
But most importantly, sometimes I just don't feel funny and I vowed that if I was going to subject people to a blog it was going to be light and funny, no politics, no religion, and no discussions on the plight of the standard american poodle in the wake of the popularity of its teacup sized cousin. No, I will keep it light! But sometimes you feel like a nut. And sometimes you don't.
:)
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
"Kids will Change Your Life"
You know how, before you have kids everyone tells you that having them will change your lives? Saying only that its life changing is like saying that electroshock therapy is going sting a bit. I mean really people, a little more warning than the simple "oh, kids are life changing" would have been nice! Even if it was accompanied by a smugly superior look. (That's very annoying by the way)
First they are babies and are undeniably adorable. But they have to be. Or least we have to see them that way. That very adorableness triggers instincts in grown ups that turns spit up on shirts, fifteen poopy diapers a day, and two hours of sleep a night into something, if, well not desirable, at least tolerated. Without those cuteness suspectible genes we all have, lots of babies would find themselves back at the hospital from which they came, complete with a dirty diaper and their full complement of car seat, baby carrier, stroller, bottles, nipples, diapers, baby wipes, butt powders, shaky, crinkly toy thing, and 500 onsies with those annoying and impossible snaps between the legs. (Nothing like being kicked in the face by a squirming baby while trying to get them snapped).
Then they get older and turn two, or in some case only 18 months and its like a demon has invaded your cute, cuddly child. Only now since its been so long, you love this thing completely and so now also must love the demon. Yea! It throws things, it lays on the floor and screams, completely oblivious to other shoppers, diners, cars in the parking lot or the sensitive hearing of your two doors down and across the street neighbors cat. The demon controlling what used to be your child says NO for everything. Do you want to get dressed. NO. Will you eat your spaghetti? NO. Will you please stop throwing your dirty diaper at Mommy? NO NO NO. Splat.
And still, through all of this you hug them and kiss them and buy them candy (demons love candy, it gives them lots of energy for those big murals on your dining room wall!), you think about their wants and needs before yours and you acquire that pale, haunted, glassy eyed look of someone whose "life has changed a little". You remember (when you have time to think at all between snacks, bottles, getting that dead weight in and out of the car seat, picture books, potty training, and trying to convince your 2 year old not to eat the wallpaper) when life was all about something else. Whatever it was. You went to movies and you ate out at restaurants without worrying about someone crawling around under the table touching old gum or if the person next to you was going to throw boogers at the people the next booth.
Then they are five and they teeter on the edge of being real people. People with whom you can have an actual conversation, who sometimes care about things outside themselves and for a brief and shining moment you think, "Phew" and you see the light at the end of the tunnel.
And then they take that open bag of cat food and an open bag of pasta and they make like crop dusters all over their room, making sure that no inch of floor space, no hidden recesses of any drawer, shelf or corner is left without attention. The window sills look bumpy, the floor is crunchy, and the sheets smell like cat food. Even the ceiling has smudges. But after the yelling, and the cleaning up and the meteing out of whatever the punishment, even though you are so angry you could easily strangle them in their sleep, when you feel their little hand on your face, asking for your forgiveness you crumble and hug them and rock them to sleep and you realize that all those people were right after all, your life did change and despite it all, it is so desperately better!
First they are babies and are undeniably adorable. But they have to be. Or least we have to see them that way. That very adorableness triggers instincts in grown ups that turns spit up on shirts, fifteen poopy diapers a day, and two hours of sleep a night into something, if, well not desirable, at least tolerated. Without those cuteness suspectible genes we all have, lots of babies would find themselves back at the hospital from which they came, complete with a dirty diaper and their full complement of car seat, baby carrier, stroller, bottles, nipples, diapers, baby wipes, butt powders, shaky, crinkly toy thing, and 500 onsies with those annoying and impossible snaps between the legs. (Nothing like being kicked in the face by a squirming baby while trying to get them snapped).
Then they get older and turn two, or in some case only 18 months and its like a demon has invaded your cute, cuddly child. Only now since its been so long, you love this thing completely and so now also must love the demon. Yea! It throws things, it lays on the floor and screams, completely oblivious to other shoppers, diners, cars in the parking lot or the sensitive hearing of your two doors down and across the street neighbors cat. The demon controlling what used to be your child says NO for everything. Do you want to get dressed. NO. Will you eat your spaghetti? NO. Will you please stop throwing your dirty diaper at Mommy? NO NO NO. Splat.
And still, through all of this you hug them and kiss them and buy them candy (demons love candy, it gives them lots of energy for those big murals on your dining room wall!), you think about their wants and needs before yours and you acquire that pale, haunted, glassy eyed look of someone whose "life has changed a little". You remember (when you have time to think at all between snacks, bottles, getting that dead weight in and out of the car seat, picture books, potty training, and trying to convince your 2 year old not to eat the wallpaper) when life was all about something else. Whatever it was. You went to movies and you ate out at restaurants without worrying about someone crawling around under the table touching old gum or if the person next to you was going to throw boogers at the people the next booth.
Then they are five and they teeter on the edge of being real people. People with whom you can have an actual conversation, who sometimes care about things outside themselves and for a brief and shining moment you think, "Phew" and you see the light at the end of the tunnel.
And then they take that open bag of cat food and an open bag of pasta and they make like crop dusters all over their room, making sure that no inch of floor space, no hidden recesses of any drawer, shelf or corner is left without attention. The window sills look bumpy, the floor is crunchy, and the sheets smell like cat food. Even the ceiling has smudges. But after the yelling, and the cleaning up and the meteing out of whatever the punishment, even though you are so angry you could easily strangle them in their sleep, when you feel their little hand on your face, asking for your forgiveness you crumble and hug them and rock them to sleep and you realize that all those people were right after all, your life did change and despite it all, it is so desperately better!
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Pet-Aholics Anonymous
I wonder if there is a 12 step program for pet aquirers. Cause we now live in a three bedroom ranch style house with three human types, two reclusive hermit crabs, one ridiculously cute but smelly hamster and THREE cats. This morning when I woke up and looked around my life I was very happy with my two other humans, my two crabs, my one hamster and my two cats. Everybody was getting along, everyone had food and water (including the humans) and there was an unspoken balance. Not once during the morning of reading the paper, making coffee, watching SpongeBob (a DAILY ritual in my house) did I ever think to myself, "hmmmm, self, there is something missing here and it surely must be another cat". And yet.....
In my defense I come from animal people. Stop that. I don't mean "animal people" I mean people who have animals. Have any of you ever seen the movie Cat People? Very strange and has nothing to do with anything in this current topic it just popped into my head.
So anyway, animal people. Growing up we had dogs and cats and horses. I wasn't allowed anything small and manageable that lived in a cage but the sky was the limit on things that cost a fortune to feed, or left dead mouse guts at the foot of your bed, or that you had to spend a couple hours a week cleaning up after. At one point in my life, I shared a twin sized bed with a 160 pound slobbering puppy of a dog and a 20 pounds tomcat. If I wanted to go to the bathroom I had to shimmy out from between them, throw a leg over the dog and try not to knee the cat in the face. Then do it all in reverse to get back in. Its a wonder I didn't just give up and sleep on the floor, except they would have followed me down there too.
Since I am constrained from getting a dog in this house and since a horse would find our backyard a bit of a bore, I apparently try to fill the holes this leaves in my soul with little animals. Like a pet jigsaw puzzle. Cat here, next to the crab, the crab next to the hamster and stuff all rest of the spaces with more cats, another crab and in the future a fish.
A fish? Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that I bribed Sydney to go to my parents for a week by promising that Grandma would get her a fish. And a tank. That she could bring home with her.
In my defense, Sydney needs a friend in the house to play with (she has some very good friends outside the house but for some reason their parents want them to continue living at their own homes). The crabs are interesting (the once or twice they actually move during any seven day period), the hamster, while friendly and cuddly, will NOT stay on her bed or let her dress him up in her Build a Bear ballerina costume, and the other two cats? Lets say that while everyone in that little triad is on speaking terms, no one would call the other "friend". And if I'm asked when she can have a little brother again....
So when we went to Petsmart today to buy the giant bag of cat food, the crab pellets and the big bag of hamster bedding and Sydney picked up this kitten, walked around with it and showed it things, and I couldn't stop myself. I just couldn't. So $120.00 later, armed with a yet bigger bag of cat food, some new cat toys, a new cat bowl and a very happy kid we are now nine instead of eight and in two weeks we will be a nice round ten.
A 12 step program is definately looming in my future. Hi, I'm LeeAnn and I'm a pet-aholic.
In my defense I come from animal people. Stop that. I don't mean "animal people" I mean people who have animals. Have any of you ever seen the movie Cat People? Very strange and has nothing to do with anything in this current topic it just popped into my head.
So anyway, animal people. Growing up we had dogs and cats and horses. I wasn't allowed anything small and manageable that lived in a cage but the sky was the limit on things that cost a fortune to feed, or left dead mouse guts at the foot of your bed, or that you had to spend a couple hours a week cleaning up after. At one point in my life, I shared a twin sized bed with a 160 pound slobbering puppy of a dog and a 20 pounds tomcat. If I wanted to go to the bathroom I had to shimmy out from between them, throw a leg over the dog and try not to knee the cat in the face. Then do it all in reverse to get back in. Its a wonder I didn't just give up and sleep on the floor, except they would have followed me down there too.
Since I am constrained from getting a dog in this house and since a horse would find our backyard a bit of a bore, I apparently try to fill the holes this leaves in my soul with little animals. Like a pet jigsaw puzzle. Cat here, next to the crab, the crab next to the hamster and stuff all rest of the spaces with more cats, another crab and in the future a fish.
A fish? Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that I bribed Sydney to go to my parents for a week by promising that Grandma would get her a fish. And a tank. That she could bring home with her.
In my defense, Sydney needs a friend in the house to play with (she has some very good friends outside the house but for some reason their parents want them to continue living at their own homes). The crabs are interesting (the once or twice they actually move during any seven day period), the hamster, while friendly and cuddly, will NOT stay on her bed or let her dress him up in her Build a Bear ballerina costume, and the other two cats? Lets say that while everyone in that little triad is on speaking terms, no one would call the other "friend". And if I'm asked when she can have a little brother again....
So when we went to Petsmart today to buy the giant bag of cat food, the crab pellets and the big bag of hamster bedding and Sydney picked up this kitten, walked around with it and showed it things, and I couldn't stop myself. I just couldn't. So $120.00 later, armed with a yet bigger bag of cat food, some new cat toys, a new cat bowl and a very happy kid we are now nine instead of eight and in two weeks we will be a nice round ten.
A 12 step program is definately looming in my future. Hi, I'm LeeAnn and I'm a pet-aholic.
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