It's Random Hump-Dayness

I feel no need to explain why this is random. Y'all probably get the why by now. So, here goes:

• I know a lot about cattle reproduction now. A LOT. I also know a little about sheep reproduction. I liked it better when I knew neither.
• If, when asked by freshmen what the second part of the cattle reproduction video is, you reply, "Barry White and soft lighting, methinks," they won't get it. Trust me.
• I got my arm and head stuck in a shirt Monday morning and I hollered, "It's choking my arm!!" because my arm felt choked, not my neck. I tried for 10 minutes to get that damn shirt on before conceding that it was in fact smarter than me and therefore could not be worn by me. Yes, I have had a lot of wardrobe malfunctions lately. Just call me Janet-or Miss Jackson if you're nasty.
• This morning I had a great outfit laid out for work but when I put the tights on with the skirt, they were too dark and I cried. I cried over tights. That is insane. I think I might be stressed just a little bit.
• So, I found another outfit that was less cute and went to find shoes to wear with it. I cried again.
• I decided to not go to the tanning bed anymore since I don't want my skin to turn to leather nor do I want the cancer of the skin, but my day glow whiteness is scaring me, which means it will also scare others should I unleash these snow white bad boys (I'm looking at my legs as I type this, hence the "bad boys") on the unsuspecting public.
• For some reason, I think the actual sun in the sky is less likely to give me the cancer of the skin and that wouldn't be correct. I'll probably still lay out by the pool, though.
• There's a strange smell in the hallway outside my apartment and when I went in search of the foul smell, I think I traced it to my next door neighbor's apartment. I've now decided she's a hoarder and has 35 dead cats in her apartment, but I won't tell the management until I clean up my apartment. I have no idea why.
• I'm going to feel really bad if it's not really coming from her apartment and I accuse her of being a hoarder. I would say I'd leave that part out, but we all know I won't.
• I've replaced mayo on my sandwiches with avocado. I like it.
• Mama needs to go night-night.

I'll reply to comments tomorrow. This week is kicking my ass. I even skipped class tonight (I actually had a good reason, but still) and I'm secretly competing with everyone in it for the highest grade and the favor of the professor, so this is very bad news. Very bad indeed.

o

It's Random Hump-Dayness

A Brief Overview of My Weekend

This weekend the children and I made a little impromptu trip to my hometown to celebrate my parents' birthdays with them because, you know, they've reached an age where birthdays aren't necessarily fun again but having one is better than the alternative. My dad recently went to like his 150th high school reunion and he said a lot of people couldn't make it due to being dead and all, so you know, it's good to hang with them. It actually wasn't even really an impromptu trip. I told them last weekend when I talked to my dad on his birthday that we'd come this weekend for mom's because I was finishing up a project that was due on this Friday but my mom forgot we were coming. It was kind of like that time when I was away at college and they moved without telling me. I'm seriously not making that up.

Anyway, as is generally the case whenever I venture outside my home, we had adventures. Here are a few of the highlights:

• As we pulled into my mother's driveway Friday evening she was kind of bent over sweeping and Max started yelling, "DON'T HIT HER, MAMA!! PLEASE DON'T HIT MY NANA!!" It's funny how he's able to read my mind sometimes.
• I was talking to a friend Friday and he said something about the Dallas World Aquarium and I made a little squeaking noise and he was like, "What was that?" I totally tried to play if off and finally he was like, "You can't make the noise and then say nothing," and I was like, "Fine. There are loose birds in there," and he was like, "Okay. They probably just fly in when people open the doors," and I was like, "No, they live there. And fly around freely. I don't go there." He was confused and curious and I finally had to 'fess up that I'm terrified of birds the way some people are terrified of snakes and he laughed really hard for a really long time. After trying to convince him it was a common phobia and him not buying it at all, I was like, "Dude, I can only imagine what's going through your head right." His reply? "If you could read minds, all you would've heard in mine was CAW-CAW for the last five minutes." Awesome.
• On Saturday I chatted with The Queen of Quite A Lot while picking out my mother's birthday card and I found one that said something about changing her ringtone to "Happy Birthday" and it being funny cause she wouldn't be able to change it back. QQAL was like, it would be funny if you changed it to that Milkshake Song. That would be hilarious, especially if it went off while she was in church.
• So, I went home and shared the story with my parents and the children. For the past 24-hours Young Max been running around saying, "My nana's milkshake brings all the boys to the yard." So wrong.
• While on the phone with QQAL, I was also looking for something a little snazzy to wear to a party and play I went to on Saturday night with another friend because I left the shirt I planned to wear at home. Word to the wise: don't lay a red shirt on a red sofa and think you're actually going to be able to see it when you're rushing out the door and doing the whole double check thing cause you're not. I found a great shirt and necklace. Standing at the bar at the party later that evening, I realized said great shirt felt funny. Yeah, that's because it was on backwards.
• Sitting at the play, I somehow got my really long necklace hung between the theater seats. Twice. Apparently,when you have little to no common sense, that doesn't get any less scary no matter how many times it happens.
• After the play, I went to give a hug to a guy that I knew that was in the play only to find that my bra was caught on the fire alarm. We averted disaster, but really? Who the hell does that happen to?
• On the way home today, Max stopped singing the Milkshake Song long enough to sing, "Gracie's mom has got it going on..." just enough times to freak Gracie out. That takes exactly one time, in case you were wondering.

Okay, so now I'm off to do homework, laundry and workout because I found out that is the only way to make my dying ovaries not make me a homicidal lunatic and that hot flashes and night sweats aren't actually a get out of jail free card if you accidentally murder someone who won't shut their pie hole while your innards and outards are on fire. That was really disappointing news, but it made me extra glad my dad's a lawyer and he could fill me in on that before I offed some people.

o

A Brief Overview of My Weekend

A Recycled Post Because Kevin Geil Just Made My Girl Smile Again

I woke up cranky this morning and Grace woke up looking like someone kicked her dog-if she had one, which she doesn't because I don't do pets, but if I did do pets, it would be a little Yorkie or Yorkie Poo and I would name her Dolly Parton and dress her in pink everyday. Anyway, you know why I'm cranky and I think she was feeling down because she knows I'm worried. In trying to cheer her up, I told her she could turn on the t.v. even though I was going to do homework and lo and behold, who was on the Good Morning Texas but Two Tons of Steel. Upon seeing Kevin Geil do his cute little leg shake thing while singing "Hold Over Me", Gracie said, "Oh Kevin, you're so cute and I still have the guitar pick you gave me!!" Now she's all smiles and is going to become a fan of Two Tons of Steel on Facebook.

I thought, in light of her cheering right up when she saw the band, and especially Kevin Geil, I'd share an old post that explains why my daughter lights up every time she sees them and why she demands silence anytime we hear one of their songs on the radio. Here ya go:

Dear Kevin,

If you're actually reading this, you googled your name, Two Tons of Steel or brick shit house (yep, according to my Sitemeter, that'll get you here, too) and accidentally ended up on this blog, huh? You're wondering why in hell someone's mother is blogging about you cause you're in a band and you're hoping that at least I'm a MILF, right? Well, I've never been nominated for Hottest Mom Blogger, so you know...This is the mom who was yelling about getting a t-shirt large enough to fit over her boobs while you were signing her daughter's shirt at your show at the North Texas State Fair and Rodeo Friday night. Uh, sorry about that. I really wasn't trying to hit on you, even though you are very cute when you do that thing with your leg. I was just trying to buy a shirt, Man. However, this isn't supposed to be about boobs, t-shirts or your legs. I would like to thank you for making my daughter's night and her first week of sixth grade.

She was already pretty excited about going out to the N. TX State Fair and Rodeo because Reckless Kelly (if you oppose the war, LISTEN TO THIS SONG) was there and she is mildly obsessed with them. We didn't know Two Tons of Steel was also playing and when she found out, she screamed something at a decibel only a dog could hear. I'm not going to try to translate it since, after meeting Willy Braun, we understood her to say, "I want pot but I'm too young." That was wrong. She actually said, "He's hot but I'm too young (for him)". To be honest, I'm not sure which I'd rather I'd heard because both can lead to her getting pregnant when she's sixteen.

The past couple of weeks, Grace has been pretty nervous about starting middle school. It's regular eleven year old girl stuff: she's worried about the way she looks, if the other girls will like her, or that she'll forget her locker combination, locking her books and make-up in it forever and being dubbed the "Girl With No Books that Needs Some Lip Gloss" for the rest of her middle school career. Six grade is scary business, Dude. But, Friday night as she stood right smack dab in front of you as you were on stage, smiling until her cheeks hurt, and you looked down at her and winked, all of her fears went away. She was damn cool, because the Cool Guy in the Cool Band looked in her direction. When you handed her your guitar pick at the end of the show, well, let's just put it this way: I think she's sleeping with it and there has been a request for a frame to house it in so it will never be lost. All her little girlfriends from last year know all about it now, too- and that you hugged her. They knew at the crack of dawn Saturday morning. Yes, Kevin and the other boys from Two Tons of Steel, you are huge with the tween crowd.

So, I would like to say thanks for making my Gracie feel special at your show Friday night. She plans to wear the shirt you and the other guys autographed on her first day of middle school Tuesday and I am sure she'll never forget the night she got it. And, now when she's singing over the eardrum shattering volume of her iPod, it will be something good like this:



and not Miley Cyrus. Thank ya, Jesus (and Kevin and Two Tons of Steel)!!

Sincerely,
Crazy Texas Mommy

o

A Recycled Post Because Kevin Geil Just Made My Girl Smile Again

Remember When I Said I'd Post Those Awards Today? Yeah, I Lied.

Edit: The links have been added now that I'm a little less sleepy and can kind of form thoughts.

I received two awards in the past couple of weeks. One was from Aunt Crazy and K. Erikson at Preachers and Horse Thieves bestowed the same one upon me. Then Loco YaYa gave me one and I was all giddy because I like getting fancy awards and I was going to write a post Thursday evening after Grace went to bed that would post on Friday, passing them along and all that stuff that I'm supposed to do, even though I'm really bad at that because there are lots of rules and I am easily confused. Well, as it were, Grace didn't make it to bed. Instead we spent two hours in the urgent care place and another hour getting her prescriptions filled and I am stressed the hell out because a) I have no insurance on Grace or me because her father has not carried it on her one single day in her life and subs don't get insurance. That makes going to the doctor scary expensive and b) it's even scarier because I budget our money to the dime and this took a big chunk of what I had set aside for bills and I'm relatively certain I will not be getting a dime from her father for it. That would be because I never have and c) this is costing me a day's work because I don't think me going into a classroom of middle schoolers on three hours sleep is a very good idea. Therefore the promised post didn't happen.

So, K. Erikson, Aunt Crazy and Loco YaYa, I love that y'all gave be bloggity awards. I think it rocks the house that y'all enough of me to do that and I know y'all probably think a little less of me right now for not putting it up and passing it on, but my brain is fried right now. I would try to give you a date when that might happen but there's nothing I hate more than someone not keeping a promise (you know, like the one where if I carry Grace on my insurance he'll reimburse me for it every paycheck yet, 10 years later and the first time in our lives without insurance, I've yet to see a dime of that) and I've broken two now to y'all. I can't make any guarantees about anything at this moment except that I need sleep and washing off the pound of mascara I'm wearing seems really overwhelming. And that I got really mad because Grace wore her PJs to the urgent care place and I was thinking, "Hey, I feel kind of embarrassed about the no insurance thing anyway and you in your Little Miss Chatty PJ pants and Uggs ain't really helping all that." I didn't say that, though, cause she was all doubled over with cramps and miserable and I figured it might be inappropriate.

I stress ate a Cadbury Creme Egg and a whole bag of gummy bears. No Little Debbie, though.

OMG, must sleep.

o

Remember When I Said I'd Post Those Awards Today? Yeah, I Lied.

Little Debbie, We're Over

Dear Little Debbie,

We'd both be lying if we tried to say this hasn't been coming for a long time. I knew I might have a problem when I was looking forward to one of your delicious Zebra Cakes with my coffee each morning, but I wouldn't eat it until the kids were gone to school. Then I'd have another one after supper and pretend to them it was my first one all day. I'd hide the wrappers in the bottom of the trash. We were going through two boxes of your moist cakeyness and delicious cream filling a week. I figured it was due in part to Grace taking your little cakes in her lunch each day and that maybe, while I was in class, she was sneaking them, like her mama. But, last Thursday, standing on your beautiful aisle in the Dollar General, I learned otherwise and that I might not have a problem-I actually do have a problem and it's bad. Your cakes are like crack and I'm an Easter Basket cake away from being found facedown in the gutter with one of your clear plastic wrappers stuck to my face.

See, while standing on the aisle there with Grace, I said, "Gracie, we're going through little Little Debbies real fast. How is that even happening? How many are you taking in your lunch?" Her reply? "None, Mom. I don't even like them very much." Well, I know Max isn't eating very many of them because he can't work your little clear wrappers (the ones that will be stuck to my face if I don't stop you) and I have to open them for him and I know how many I open. For him-not me. That means the two boxes a week were all my doing. That's not good news-for my thighs or ass.

I'm a single lady, Little Debbie. That means that a) I don't really have a lot of money to go out and buy pants to replace the ones I outgrow due to one too many Star Crunches and b) no one's gonna wanna shake my peaches if they're still moving after they're not being shaken anymore and various other parts have joined in the fun. No one wants a black eye due to wayward arm waddle. I'm just sayin'.

So, Deb, I'm quitting you. Cold turkey. Oh, I know you're thinking that we could maybe hang out one night a week, or maybe on the weekends. Maybe that we could keep it casual. No commitments. I know, I thought the same thing. But you're too strong for me. It's all or nothing for me when it comes to you. I can't just have a little of you here and there. Once I get a taste of you, I need you all the time. Every day. Since I don't want people to have to use a crane to get me out of my house before too long, I have to stop the madness. Our relationship is unhealthy and I just have to walk away and never look back.

I need you to respect my wishes. Please don't whisper my name each time I open the pantry door. Don't try to lure me in with your "Price Cut" tags at Target or your bright yellow 2/$3.00 signs at the Dollar General because I am weak, Little Debbie, and I may not be able to resist the temptation. Please, help me avoid a life of jeans with an elastic waistband and shirts with the letters XXL printed on the tag. If you ever cared about me-if I ever meant anything to you-you'll just go away quietly and not try to win me back.

Goodbye, Girl. I'll miss you more than you know. My ass and thighs, on the other hand, are pretty happy to see you go.

Sincerely,

CTM

o

Little Debbie, We're Over

When You Have a Tween Girl, Sometimes the Radio is the Only Weapon you Need

Right now, I am super annoyed with my daughter. I love her to death, but I want to snap her little head off. Remember yesterday when I spoke of the trash can? The overflowing trash can that's making me insane but I refuse to empty it on principle? Yeah, it's still overflowing even though I told her to empty it and pick up after herself in the three hours I was in class last night. She also didn't put her shoes away and her cup from our nutritious supper of McDonald's (I meant to cook, but I got so busy with school work I lost track of time and I couldn't leave here to starve, although right now, I'm thinking that would be good payback for not cleaning up) is sitting on the coffee table where it shouldn't be anyway because no food or drinks are allowed in the living room.

Adding to my feeling of oh-my-God-I-am-going-to-end-you-and-wear-my-orange-prison-jumpsuit-with-pride is that fact that last Friday, while texting her friend, I told her to ask said friend if I could drop her off at their house this Friday (tomorrow) at 7:00 since I have to sub in a different district that requires me to arrive at work at 7:30 and I feel it would be mean to leave her at the bus stop for an hour (although, again, re-thinking all that). On the way to school today, it finally comes out that her friend hasn't asked yet. Really? When did you find out she hadn't asked? Oh, earlier in the week, but Grace figured she'd ask so she didn't feel like she needed to say anything. Really, Grace? Now, I do know I could've called the grandma myself and probably should have. And I totally would have had I known that the little girl hadn't asked when I made the request a week ago. But, I guess Grace figured my babysitting issues were on a need-to-know basis and I didn't need-to-know I might not have one until it was too late to find another one. Why the hell is she trying to kill me?

I try to be understanding of my child and the fact that she is going through lots of hormonal stuff and that things will sometimes be overlooked, but there comes a point when it just gets asinine and some sort of punishment needs to be doled out. Julie gave me a great idea yesterday-put the kitchen trash in her room. I was trying to consider what to add to that because this has gotten totally out of control when, as we pulled up to the bus stop, Young MC gave me the best punishment I could ask for-"Bust a Move". I wish I had a camera to fully capture the horror on her face as I cranked it up and began to slow the car to let her out. She was saying, "Mom, please don't. Please don't. I promise I'll pick up all my stuff. Just please don't rap. PLEASE!!" For a moment, it appeared that tears were welling in her eyes, much like the tears that well in mine each time I pass her overflowing trash can, fall over her shoes or see the clothes I worked so hard to wash and fold laying in a pile in her bedroom floor. It was fabulous and so much better than anything I could ever come up with on my own.

I worked a compromise with her-I didn't turn it down and there may have been a loud, "Mmm, yeah" that made all the kids at the bus stop turn to look as she closed the door, but I didn't rap loudly as she tried to exit. However, if she doesn't pick up all her crap and vacuum her room the second she walks in the door today, tomorrow it's full-on, loud as I can possibly be, rapping when I pick her up from the bus stop. With the windows rolled down. If I could find a big clock to put around my neck, I'd do that for extra humiliation because, for whatever reason, Flavor Flav really annoys her. Probably cause he's super annoying and I can't believe a bunch of women competed on a reality show to date the man. Maybe he has a nice personality or something. Anyway, point is, humiliation unlike anything she's ever experienced will commence should she not do what she's supposed to when she gets home.

She know's I'll do it, too, because I have no shame.

I wonder where I can get some MC Hammer pants. That would be even more awesome.

Dudes, this is so much better than spanking. A spanking only lasts a few minutes. The image of your mother in MC Hammer pants with a clock around her neck rapping an 80's song about sex at the bus stop will last a lifetime.

(Insert evil cackle here.)

o

When You Have a Tween Girl, Sometimes the Radio is the Only Weapon you Need