I think I am Dressobic or have Lumberjackadressophobia. Maybe both

Two months ago one of my kids said to me "Hey! My quience anera is coming up!! Say you will come pleeeease!" I have never been to one. These "15" birthdays are supposed to be a spectacular cultral event frought with traditions. Naturally, I said "Yes! I will be there" Two weeks ago said 14 terrorist said that I needed to be in a dress. Wut? Yes, a dress. Not just any dress... it has to be a formal dress. Sigh. I do not own a formal dress. Great. Now I have to shop. Fortunately, my mom took pity on me and helped me figure out the dress situation.

I want to tell you the last time I wore a formal dress, besides my wedding dress (which was amazing), was nearly 20 years ago. I can wear a dress, but a formal dress is a whole other thing. On my way to said party I sopke with a pal of mine who began a documentation of my commentary as I panicked about wearing such a formal dress. I allowed someone into the innerworkings of my mind and... had my thoughts documented for me. So, welcome to my conversation. These kinds of thoughts are constantly in my brain. For those of you believing I have no filter, you are dead wrong. I have one that thing is overloaded.

A friend of mine (that friend is me) doesn't usually dress up, and tonight she's wearing a formal dress. "I'm wearing 'extra underwear' so it feels like pants" I asked, "What do you mean, 'extra underwear,' like how many pairs?" "I'm such a dude. I'm a man in a dress. I feel like a lumberjack wearing a dress. I'm wearing two pairs of underwear and hose..." And the quotes continue. I'll keep you abreast of developments.

To defend myself, I think I might have an allergy to hose. Also, I suck at dress up.

‎"I hope no-one saw my pull my keys out of my boob." The dress had no pockets. Where else should they have been?

 ‎"I intentionally mis-learned [Spanish] just to piss off my professor, so I might ask where the library is instead of the bathroom." This comment addresses my fear of being the only English speaker at the party. Also, I hated my Spanish professor so whatevs. Libraries *have* bathrooms, people! 

PS - I couldn't picture her in a dress, and just found out that she bought a dress for this occasion. Amigo, there is a reason you can't picture it. The reason: because I looke like a dude when walking.


about the dress: "It's not sleeveless, but they're not sleeves. It's like... a thing..." Well, they didn't have straps either. I don't know the name of what the things that go over my shoulders is. I think it may actually be "thing."

 ‎" I got black hose because they feel more like pants."
Me - "Yeah because any other color feels less like pants, right?"
‎"Well the other color said nude." And in at least 17 states nude equals naked. TYVM.

 ‎"Is there a such thing as dress-phobia? Dress-o-itch-i-phobia? Dress-o-bic Lumber-jack-a-dress-a-phobia: The fear of looking like a lumber jack in a dress." I have it. This is a dreadful phobia equal to the phobia of fluffy, baby kittens or sleeping butterflies.

‎"I'm not convinced that I know to pee in a dress, Do you pull it up? and then how do you hold the three layers of underwear." Ha... this is a real issue, people!

‎"You can't wear a diaper with this dress." My pal suggested a diaper. Really? I have on three pairs of underthings. Where would I even put a diaper??

‎"You can't really get to any part of me in a dress, but you can see everything, because it's a dress." Modesty is not something that should be laughed at. Unless you are. In that case, laugh all you want. I am not getting any uncomfortable sunburns. Thank you, modesty.

‎"Maybe I should have just mailed a card" I was feeling exhasperated... at the laughter on the other end of the line.

‎"I'm pretty sure I'm 5' tall. My drivers licence says 5'4". I'm probably 5'4" with these shoes on."

‎"I'm wearing more underwear than all the hookers in the city." I don't think there needs to be anything further on this because I was.

‎"I have an itch on my arm, cuz...it....itches..." Dress allergy. This is a serious disaility, folks!

‎"Can you wear a corduroy jacket with this?" I was cold dammit!

 My friend - "No, you're absolutely not allowed to wear that... Absolutely not." Sigh. I might just do it and not tell you....

‎"I'm like prom-barbie over here, just not wearing lipstick..." Because I hate it. Take that formal dress! My own personal rebellion!! Whoop!

‎"I'm just trusting my GPS to get there, but I have no idea where I am. Where the hell, fire, and damnation am I?" I was sooooo entirely lost! I think that my GPS was leading me out into nowhere with plans to murder me. And... I wasn't far off the mark...

These people in the care beside me? Freaked. Me. Out. "Their whole back seat is filled up with trash bags and tupperwear. I think they're serial killers."

When I arrive at the location I am the ONLY person dressed up. FOR REAL!

 ‎"If that ______ told me to wear a dress and I'm the only one in a dress I'm gonna cut her."

"I feel like I showed up to the beach.... in a prom dress."
‎"I think I can make this dress look non-dressy."
‎"I have sparkely shit in my hair. If that man with the orange shorts and a long-sleeve white cotton shirt and tennis shoes is at the same party as me, I'm gonna be pissed."

I arrived early because the invitation said 7:30 and I didn't want to be late. I forgot that this party would not be run on white people time. There was no need to arrive at 7:25. As I sat in my car to await 7:35 I saw some sights. A crack head going into a crack house...
 ‎"Oh ______, this man beside me just took a piss! Where am I?! What if my car gets stolen? Wait, do you still have your other car? If my car gets stolen can I borrow it?" A good friend would not have laughed at me. A *good friend* would have said yes. Wait, yes was the answer, but I detected laughter in there.

I look in the mirror and pretend not to see the peeing man...
 Gasp!! "I forgot to wear earrings! Who wears 3 pairs of underwear and forgets earrings?!"

Show time!
 ‎"How do I get out of the car without my _________ showing?" Veeeerrrrry carefully, that's how....

Being afraid of not knowing how to use the potty in my dress made me have to go.
"I successfully used the ladies room"
My pal - "didn't you swear you wouldn't use the bathroom?"
‎"Yes, I lied. Are you wondering if I'm lying about not wearing the jacket?"
My pal - "Did you just wash your hands or something? I'm not really worried about your corduroy showing."
‎"No. I lied about not using it. I totally had to go and then I worried about getting ARMPIT PRINTS on the hem (?) seam (?) bottom (?) of my dress because of my deodorant and having to tuck all this dress someplace.  ‎And I'm not wearing the effing jacket. I hate how you were right."

So, the party that started at 7:30? Nope. 9:12....
‎"I *WAS* starving. Seven bites of food. No more hungry."

You know why I wasn't hungry anymore? The dress. I think it is made of boa constrictor.
 ‎"I think that the weight loss people have it wrong. When dieting you should just wear three pairs of undies. It curbs the appetite."

My pal suggest I write a book about weight loss...
About my new weight loss book: "Chapter 1. Wear three pairs of undies with a formal gown 24/7. End book."

Despite a small malfunction where my bra thought it was a belt, I did OK.
 "I lost my bra. It is strapless." followed an hour and a half later by "I survived the dress. And. I did the Party Rock Anthem Hamster dance. In. The. Dress." :)

Guess what? I *DID* do the Party Rock Anthem Hamster Dance it that dress. And I killed it!


Oh, the party? Awesome. I suggest everyone attend one at least once in your life. Serisously. GO! Go, now! Just be sure not to wear a boa constrictor.

Surgery day - finally

Here we sit. We are now playing the waiting game. They wheeled him away an hour ago.

I am a mix of emotions and feel like the universe is trying mess with me. In the time since he went back for surgery there have been two power outages and a fire alarm. Really?!? Like for real!

Perhaps it is the universe or God or Zeus or the patron saint of stressing people the hell out trying to say "you thought you were stressed out before, just wait. How do you like this?"


In happier and more uplifting thoughts, I got to put him in his sexy panty hose and purple socks.


Picture to follow. The blog Gods aren't letting me upload it right now.

100 things to eat?

So as I was touring around tonight on the old FB I found this survey suggesting 100 foods to eat before you die. So. I think to myself I should take this survey. How many of these things have I eaten? The last three days to be ignored, I love food.

Some things I have eaten, some I have not. Some I know I will never eat. Others. Well, I wish I hadn't eaten. On this list is the durian fruit. People, let me save you some calories. You do. Not. Want. To. Eat. This. Food. Ever. Like, ever.

http://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Durian

Despite my hatred for crackpotipedia, I am using my phone to post and my internets skills are diminished. This link will give you a picture of the fruit of doom and a brief description.

To save you taste bud suicide I will share my own personal ideas about Durian fruit. My husband gave me a piece of candy made of it in college. I still haven't forgiven him. It looked like a tootsie roll. He told me it was made if fruit, so I tried it. He is my husband after all. He wouldn't intentionally poison me, right? Wrong.

Durian candy. Horrid. I put it in my mouth and for about 7.2 seconds it was ok due to the sugar coating. Then the true flavor came through. Describe it? Sure! A durian tastes like what the back end of a garbage truck on a 120 degree, rainy day in Florida smells like multiplied by what you would imagine the water in the bottom of the port a potty toilet would taste like after a week long chili festival. Only worse.

This experience made me less hesitant to take candy from strangers. Candy from strangers has never resulted in projectile vomit accompanied by howls of laughter like with my husband.

So. Now you know about durian fruit. You're welcome!

Wrapping Gifts With My Mom Is Some Of The BEST Parts Of Christmas

HOLY BABY MOSES FLOATING IN A BASKET!!! THE CHRISTMAS POST I THOUGHT I LOST... I JUST FOUND WHILE TOURING AROUND THE INNARDS OF MY BLOG.

I totally found out what searches people use to find me and about several countries I am not certain I could locate on a map that I have made an appearance in.

So this post is brought to you by my own curiosity... Let's pretend that it is December Twenty something.... maybe the 22nd. Or the 20th. Just sometime before Christmas or none of this makes any sense. Not that it would anyway....


My mom and I have always had a great time at Christmas. If you want to tinkle yourself laughing. Hanging out with my mom is the place to be. I have been up since yesterday. In the morning. Nearly 24 whole entire hours, but the times I am with my mom in the middle of the night are not times that I would trade. Some of my most memorable conversations with my mom have arisen at 2 a.m. You may think that is a heinous time to be awake, but really you do want to be awake with my mom in the middle of the night. You will never regret the sleep you didn't get.

Case in point: Tonight we put the kids to bed and stayed up. "We" wrapped Christmas gifts. By "we" I mean that I wrapped everything that she bought with the exception of what she got for me. You  might think to yourself that you would rather shove tiny shards of broken Christmas bulbs up your finger nail beds than wrap the eleventy billion assorted gifts that someone else bought, but you would be wrong.

Half way through wrapping the gifts she stopped and shouted, "Eric had a giant pepperoni!!!" I, of course, died laughing since I may or may not have already made the pepperoni into a rude display of pretend genitalia. But don't tell my husband. He might refuse to eat the delicious pepperoni.

Up next... and by next... like three hours later... after a trip around the town at 2:15 a.m. to find change to create this gifted wonder and to get boxes because we ran out of supplies... we attempt to make... a money shirt. Mom found a "money shirt form" in a catalog. She ordered it because it sounded awesome. You just needed six bills of any kind. Did we have them? No. Was it 2 a.m. and we weren't quitting after coming so close to finishing? Yes! So off I go in search of something... anything... that was still open. Nada. McDonald's was, but I had to literally ask for three different items before finding something to order because I don't know what McD's serves in the middle of the night. Except I do now. Breakfast. At 2. Whatevs.

On the way back I found a drugstore that was open. Huzzah!!!! I can get boxes!!! And where were you half an hour ago when I couldn't order at McD's or get change???

Boxes in hand, I head back to mom's house where we will attempt to construct the shirt. There were very intricate directions so it should be easy. Yes? NO! You have to make little origami pieces of money from hell. You fold, fold, fold, bend, stick, curse, rearrange, pull your hair, shout 'what the hell is wrong with this?' and then realize that you have the little tab stuck in the wrong spot. You fix, adjust and correct only to realize that this shirt is the ugliest junk you have likely ever seen.

Don't believe me?

Please notice the tiny hamster sized buttons

The company tried. They really did. We had step by step destructions and they included a gift bag. Uh huh, yep. A gift bag. For this fabulous shirt...

Mom: This is terrible and it was hard to put together.

Me: Well... (I really want to try to help this little shirt. If it wasn't made of money everyone would point and laugh at it.)

Mom: No. Look at it! It is just big enough for the hamster to wear.

Warning: Touching this shirt will result in ridiculous and unexplainable laughter

Mom: If I would have had to do this I would have gotten frustrated and just put the money back in my wallet. Or thrown it into the box in heap.

Me: Let's just put it all in a box. Maybe in a box it will be better.

The box makes it better, right?

We agree. Putting it all in a box didn't help, but at least it is in a box. And it is money. Right?


Mom: I have another one. It is  money machine!

The money machine was supposed to be for me. Do I want to put it together at 4 a.m.?

Me: Nooooooooooooo.........

Mom: The thing about this one is that there are no directions.

Greeeeaaaaaat. No. Directions.

Except that once I get it assembled without directions it is cool. Despite looking like a pop up tissue box printed with hundred dollar bills, yo'.




Christmas with mom. Wouldn't trade it. And I didn't even tell you about looking at lights....

... or what she did at this house.

In case you were wondering, the brakes in her car work. Really. Well. I know. From. Experience.

And This Is How You Know He Is Feeling a Little Better....

For those of you who missed it, my grandfather is fighting a battle with cancer. Lately, Cancer has been winning. Today. Yesterday? I decided enough. I called his nurse. No one slaps around people I love and gets away with it. (Consider that your official warning. I wrote it down so you can't say you didn't know should you be someone who decided to mess around with my people.)

We got him on a new pain medicine and I think that it might be working. I have been keeping a skeptical eye on him because this is a man who feels no pain. Growing up I can remember seeing him come in after trimming the palms and he would be dripping blood from his arm and never know it was there. Have you ever been poked by a palm thorn? That shit hurts. I think palm trees might be tiny little assassins.

In light of knowing about how he is with pain, saying "I am feeling better" could just mean I don't feel like my body has been  lit on fire and then danced upon by tiny little axe murderers bearing palm tree spikes. It could be that it is just the tiny axe murderers with toothpick spikes. Or being lit on fire, but not both. Nevertheless, I am watching. Cancer pain be gone you hateful bitch.

I think that he may actually be feeling better. I went over at 3:55 to make sure he took his 4:00 a.m. pills. I walked into his bedroom and he appeared to be sleeping so I snuck up on him. Of course, he was awake. He flipped over... rather quickly for an 80 plus cancer patient. He smiled at me and said that he knew one of us would be over to check, but that I shoulda just stayed in bed. Really? Like that was going to happen. How could I make sure that the assassins weren't stabbing him in the face with the palm tree spikes if I was snoozing?

I hand him his pills 3:58 a.m. But it isn't 4 a.m. yet. I think it is OK. Let's just take them. He does. My heart sings with the joy of peanut butter flavored chocolate.

After he takes his pills, I sit down beside him on his bed made of what feels to my behind like bricks. (No wonder he sleeps on the floor so much.) We talk about the pain and then he tells me a story. And this story tells me more about how much better he is feeling than when he says "my pain level is half of what it was."

I asked him on a scale of one to ten what is the pain level. This is a question doctors ask so it must be important. He tells me maybe a five and that I sound like that lady at the bank. The whaa?

Pap: I ever tell you the story about the guys at the bank?

Me: Nope. Not that I can remember.

Pap: He was a real jerk.

Me: ----. giggle.

Pap: The bank lady called and asked if I would take a survey about him and I said sure. I told her I didn't like him and he didn't like me. I would be glad to take the survey.

Me: Well.

Pap: So she asked me on a scale of one to ten how I would rate him. I said well, if you are giving me a scale of one to ten I would rate him a ZERO.

Lady: Our scale doesn't go that low.

Pap: Well, mine does and he is a ZERO. He is good for nothin. All these years at your bank and he gives me the run around about cashing a check. I tell him if it don't go through I got enough money in there to cover the check.

Me: How much was the check? (Thinking it was a possibly large check)

Pap: $27.00.

Me: -----.

Pap: Yeah, he gave me a hard time so I gave him a zero. (Pauses, thinking.) You know what, I haven't seen him in there in a long time.

Me: Probably you got him fired.

Pap: Good. He was.... obnoxious.

This. This is how I know he is feeling better. Not that he said "I am feeling better than I have in two months" or that he ate today, more than one time and without a gun or palm tree needles pointed at him. This story and his humor let me know that he is feeling a little better. I can go to sleep happy.

And to the Zero at the bank? I hope he maybe did lose his job. Who gives and 80 something year old man a hard time about a twenty seven dollar check regarding his beloved slightly recently deceased wife? That is just asking for the little assassins to come after you with palm tree spikes.

Christmas

I just wrote the coolest Christmas entry. Complete with pictures.

I was editing spelling. Did I save it? No. Round one to the computer. You win.

And now I am pissed. I will write it again. Later. Boo!

Count Your Blessings, but for the love of all things sacred DO NOT sit in my spot!

My darling angel children had a little performace at our church this past weekend. I love going to church. I love to feel the love in a church. I love to go to a place for the same reason as other people (to worship and get a little Jesus because I sooooo need it) and I love, truly love, singing songs with the congregation. Sometimes I love it so much, I mist up a bit. (I know, I don't even believe it.)



Picture intentionally blurred. Or not.



I love it when the kiddies perform. They are so stinkin' cute. Seriously. I don't even really like most kids, but who can't love this?

I'm smiling because I am not where I am supposed to be and there isn't anything you can do about it without looking like a meanie head!

Yes, that is Mini Me. And she isn't necessarily doing what was intended, but hey... she isn't pulling the tail on the sheep beside her so that is a win. Right? Yes!

OK - So when all of the kids are performing it tends to pack out the church. What a great opportunity for church growth you might think if you were listening to my thoughts. I hope you aren't listening to my thoughts and if you are I am so sorry. Even I try not to listen to me. Sorry, squirrel! moment. It has passed.

Back on track. So. A little kid performance draws in a ton of visitors. I am telling you that the people show up early and plentiful complete with donations and cameras and extra sparkles and perfume and hats and a run on sentence. Better than Easter. Children's perfomace day is a day to show your best, Church. Seriously. Those of you who know me are preparing yourself for the other shoe. Here it is: If you know that you are presenting yourself to people who may never go to church except once a year, why, why, why would you show people this?





"Count your blessings, but for the love of God keep your butt, your camera and you potential donations OUT of my pew!"

One of these folded signs did literally read "Count Your Blessings." 
Really? Just how many of the teens have children who are performing? Hmmmmmm... I wonder what people would have done or felt if Jesus had welcomed them this way? What if this was the only time someone had EVER been to church? What if this was your ONE opportunity to save a soul?

To be fair, the teen group was not the only ones guilty of this. LAST year, one old person hit someone with their cane for being in their spot. Seriously. Well, almost hit her. OK. Didn't hit her, but did stand in an empty sanctuary having a hissy fit about where to sit! Guess which child didn't have a parent there to watch them this year? Yup. You guessed it. Because of the idiotic behavior of the people who are members of the church a little girl had no adult there to watch her this year. Congratulations on your successful welcoming of potential new members. Or not.

People wonder why there is such a religion fail in this country, in this world. Scroll up. I never claim to be perfect. There was but one perfect person and I am not Him, but you can bet if I had to welcome guests to my home I am not going to put signs on my chairs that say "reserved for the family dog" or "you are lucky we invited you here, so sit on the floor, bitches."

The program was amazing. I love my kids and I love to watch them do their thing and feel proud of themselves. The entire group of children and the people helping the children did a great job. "Big church" (what I like to call the sanctuary people)? Way. To. Fail.

I am singing! I am singing and smiling... because I am pulling the tail of the sheep

Guess how I got such a cool pic of Little Miss Trouble? From the floor.