Brown Pants in Australia

ARGH! So mad. My car is wheezing and gasping on its last legs, and my perfect gift for my gun totin' nevvys is looking dead in the water.

When I sympathize with the kids over their terrible days, I usually end it with "some days are like that" and Miss Priss knows to follow THAT up with "Even in Australia."

The schmucks at CQBCITY could still step up and make things right for me, and Big O has a party to go to tonight, so maybe the day can be salvaged, but my car? Probably imagining all the green in my refund check getting sucked under it's hood as we speak.

Bring me my brown pants!!!!!!

Sigh.

So I put my foot in it at work.

We have one very blunt, outspoken girl at work, and one very fiery person. The ladies of the fishbowl prefer to stay neutral.

So Miss Blunt observes that Miss Fiery tends to get sick when our boss takes personal days on Fridays. It should be noted that Miss F's best friend is the receptionist, so from time to time on a Friday, the Receptionist (and she's sooo much more than that, but we'll call her Miss Sunshine) says--"Will you guys be okay without her? Because Miss F is sick." Which is awkward for all of us, because then we're resenting Miss Sunshine for just doing her job and being the bearer of bad tidings because it's her best friend she's asking about, and we feel like jerks for wanting her to come in because we're slammed. We've all been sick, we all take sick days. Not many of us call in consistently when the boss is known to be gone.

Huh. Miss Blunt calls 'em like she sees 'em, and I rather enjoy her straightforward attitude, although I tend to be a little more discreet myself--usually.

But this week is graduations of all sorts, as well as our office's busiest time of the year. So while it was a scheduled MORNING off for Miss F, she was supposed to call in to see if we needed her, because the Boss just went on vacation.

She called at noon, and Miss Sunshine told her she didn't know, because the reps were on the phone and I was at lunch, so Miss F said she was going to grab some lunch and call back after.

So she DID call back. At 2:30. I told her um, yeah, come in, and she tells me then she'll have to drop her daughter off so it won't be until at least 3. Then she paused, waiting for me to say, oh, never mind then. I told her to come on in.

Miss Blunt takes a lot of heat from Miss F for talking shit, but this was enough, and I DO NOT LIKE talking ABOUT people. I think the honest way to do it is to talk TO them. So I warned Miss Sunshine that I was going to say something to Miss Fiery about the schmucky call in. She suggested, given Miss Fiery's nature, that maybe I send it in an Email.

So Now Miss Fiery is completely pissed at me, and doesn't see how it's any of my business that she took two and a half hours to take her kid to lunch, because the boss told her she could (take him to lunch, that is). I think she really believes that if the boss had been in the office she really would have taken two and a half hours and then called in STILL not ready to come back.

Wouldn't it be chickenshit for me to let Miss Blunt take the heat for saying what we were all thinking, but never saying it TO Miss Fiery? I'd rather have it out in the open, so we can all move on.

Sweet Jeebus I hate drama. I hate it even more knowing I threw gas on the smoldering embers of this particular drama, but I also have to live inside my own head, you know?

BE a good citizen.
Treat others like you want to be treated.
Take other people into consideration.
sheesh!

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update!

So my boss asked me to apologize, not for the message, just maybe for the delivery of said message, and Miss F and I are okay again.

Jennfactor 3.2

So we're travelling to a girlfriend's house today to meet her new daughter in law, and kiss her children before they head back to Iraq. (She has two sons and now a daughter in law in the military, and a daughter still at home. They managed to co-ordinate their leaves, so everyone is home at once!) She also has a daybed for Little O that we can have, if we can haul it. No Problem! I'll just zip up to my Brother's house and borrow his beast!

Oh, my friends, the Honey is LOVING the beast. It's a gigantic (remember, I'm a Honda girl, and the Honey is devoted to his ancient Acura) Ford F350 --complete with running lights and sideboards. It's also diesel, I had forgotten. It's like driving an RV. A noisy RV. Sadly, an RV that cannot take advantage of my thirty cent discount on gas at Safeway that I had been saving up. CRAP.

So last night after work we cleaned and tidied my car, and I asked the Honey if I should use the spare Honda key, because while it only has one key on the ring, it has a pretty large photo keychain that a guy would not want to stick in his pocket. The Honey says just give him your regular keys.

Side note: I'm not one of those people with fifteen keychains, are you? I had a friend that prided herself on the # of keychains she had, but it seemed a little high school for a grown assed woman. Maybe it's just me.

So I take one last look around my car to make sure I got the Honey's glasses, and HIS keys are gone, so I said--you've got the keys? He nods and smiles to me over by the truck (which is running), as my brother shows him all of his toys.

An hour later we pull into the driveway, home again and totally psyched for our journey south the next day. I smile at him and he smiles at me, and we're just pretty happy. Sitting there. Okay, enough of this, I have to pee.

"Gimme your keys, baby"

"You have them."

"I do? did you put them in my purse?"

Yeah, no.

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We think they are on the counter at my brother's house. But our sweet elderly landlady lives next door and while it is eleven at night, it's got to be done, so we call her, and yay! she has the spare keys.

Except the one to the big old security door does not work. So the Honey shimmies over the fence to unlock the back door, and the freaking doorknob comes off in his hand. Unreal.

He eventually found a way in, and all was well, except that we still have no house keys-- or a back door knob. Locking yourself out with any hope of getting in in a normal fashion being an hour away? Jennfactor 3.2

(Locking yourself out of anything is a 2, add a full point for the distance from the actual keys, and two tenths of point for the doorknob. I think we were eligible for an extra tenth because the spare key didn't work, but we would definitely have bumped it to a four if I had actually peed my pants.)

Sob!

Forget AIG, save Mother's Cookies!!!!

(Okay, I bought the Halloween ones for the kids a couple of weeks ago and almost blogged about the wierd sensation of growing up, because they seemed greasy to me for the first time in my life. The bag is still on top of the fridge...)

Oh, the joy of seeing that striped bag in the basket (Yay!) and then finding out mom had bought the mixed bag (Boo!). Trying to beat your brother to the bag so there would be one or two pink and white frosted tigers or elephants, or--hell, who could tell what they were supposed to be, but oh, they were the ultimate treasure. Once you got down to the bottom of the bag, and found that one last broken bit, long after all the whole animals were gone? Score!

I'll bet no Mother's Cookies employees went on a four hundred thousand dollar spa week...

More.Fucking.Fish.

I didn't kill it this time.

Little O got 2 as her "goody bowl" for a birthday party. I guess it's good they gave us a back up, because one jumped out on the way home. The Honey and I were in separate cars, and I got the Kid, he got the fish. He stuck 'em in one big cup to take home, looked down about halfway home, and only one was in the cup. He found the other one on the floor board but didn't know when it started sucking air. He threw it back in the cup and kept driving. Yeah, you know the rest of the story. We're calling the survivor Lucky.


********************

My mama-san comes to visit me tomorrow--yay!

My house is a mess--boo!

Little O wanted to give them a present--aaawww...

She carefully washed her snail shell collection tonight--I cannot wait to see my mom's face. Is there a snail shell anniversary?

RIP Pink and Purple Rainbow, aka Floaty the Fish

Yeah, he's floating in that big bowl in the sky.

I am so going to hell, where I will be tossed in a big slotted spoon over a lake of fire.

That is all.

Avast, me hearties...(Central Valley style?)Odale, vatos!

If you know me in real life, try not to stare.

I'm not recreating my hilarious turn as the pirate of Big Dog, I've got motherfucking Habanero Eye.

What, you ask, is Habanero eye?

It's when you rub your tender, delicate, optical type area with the hand that only for the briefest moment touched the unbroken skin of the hottest member of the chile family. Because my homemade chicken noodle soup is not hot enough for the Honey, and I was going to beat him if he added tabasco again. You want hot? I'll give you hot!

Turns out I gave myself hot, too.

Hopefully I won't be squinting like a pirate by monday. Or I could put a corn cob pipe in my mouth and be Popeye. I like spinach...

SATAN in a fishbowl the size of a grapefruit.

Freaking blogger lost my post!

So no poetic ode the chocolate lab, most noble of dogs, boon companions and killers of overpriced toys. (My brohter's mammoth sized lab got to sleep inside when it was freezing, and snuck into the pantry and ate....wait for it... a box of crackers and my brother's Silpat. HA! This is in the fine family tradition, since our dog when we were kids snuck into the garage and ate my father's wet suit.) I find it astonishing that both dogs survived--not so much for the eating of the Silpat as the PASSING of the Silpat, but definitely for the EATING of the wetsuit.

I am not a person who yearns for eighteen pets. I would love a dog for the kids if I didn't know that I would be the one scooping up after it. I scoop up enough non-smelly oozy things in my role as mom. Literally adding shit to the list is not high on my priorities. But I figure pets in all forms teach kids, and so I caved last weekend and bought a fish.

Big O has been down the aquatic path, and he learned about the sometimes brief lifecycle of a carp. I thought we should get something hardy for Little O, and so we bought a Betta. People keep those in their offices in tea cups for pete's sake. We could manage this...

Until I got home and googled how to set up your tiny new fishbowl. That's when I found out that I am Beelzebub for confining the noble Betta to such hideous living conditions. I think one website may have suggested that I might also live in a baby seal coat, with a steady diet of veal, and list michael vick as a friend on MySpace.

Our Betta seems okay in the wee bowl that I bought for Big O's cell model for seventh grade science. But I have yet to see it eat the pellets the pet store sold us. sigh.

Back to the pet store on Friday for a bigger bowl (One gallon of water per inch? I have to buy a TWO gallon tank for the stupid desktop fish? AND freeze dried blood worms?)

Would I get called in for a parent teacher conference next year if my kindergartner tells her class she has a fish named Beelzebub? Can I convince her that was Belle's full name in Beauty and the Beast?

admission

I am not one to ogle the boys. My lifelong fear of being a Big Maaaaan Hungry Girl far exceeds any need to wolf whistle as the hot but pretty dense painter goes shirtless at work. It was nice, but eeww--the girls at work were stalking him. I also get pretty skeeved out when they send the beefcake emails at work--#1, because we're at WORK, people, and #2, well, eeew.

This weekend we watched the new Bond film, after several of you recommended it. I was, um, deeply appreciative. Blue eyes and blond hair? Soooo not my thing. Giant ears? Again, sooo not what works for me. But I've been watching bond films my whole life, and this one was GOOD. Big O was bummed there were so few gadgets, but I think the lack of Supa-cheese made it much better for me. There were still ridiculous things goin' on, but it worked. Okay, Daniel Craig was workin' for me, too, but the FILM, people. The FILM worked.

Damnit, my name is jennifer, and I am a big maaaaan hungry girl. eew.

Shut up, Scary Mary! SHUUUUUUUUUUUUUT UUUUUUUUP.

'Kay, I am not a fan of things that start on their own. If I want to hear it, there is a "Play" button conveniently located. Mary is annoying the shit out of me on my own freaking blog. So Wrong.

So, it's just meh. Yes I had a quiet family dinner the night before my birthday, but upon further reflection, I made dinner and I got us all there, and that was a present to myself. The honey was an ass last night, and if I enjoyed listening to him puke, well, it still doesn't count as a present.

I feel stupid and childish that I am completely butt-hurt that my parents didn't call on or around my birthday. I am 37 years old, it's not like I doubt that they love me, so I feel whiny and needy. My brother called me from Disneyland (Okay, my birthday is also his anniversary, so it's hard for him to forget), my uncle, who I never talk to, emailed me. It's been almost a week and I have not heard anything from my mother.

I hate being whiny and feeling stupid. Hate it. I feel greedy and stupid for wanting the honey to get me a present--but would it kill you to show the foresight to get me a card? To figure something out BEFORE my birthday? I am wallowing here, and I cannot stand to be in my own head. But he was a complete ass last night, so it just unleashed the flood. Resentment and long term grudge, thy name is Jennifer.


This has been another whiny self pitying post by jen. I should probably have some Bon Jovi playing.

Okay, Seriously

blah blah blah, another country with civil unrest...blah blah blah.

 

Okay, wait a minute.  The president of Pakistan has ordered the arrrest of all the lawyers?  ALL of them?  Judges thrown into jail?  So basically ANYONE who knows what the rights of the people are, and what the responsibilities of the government are, is suddenly a criminal? 

 

Holy Shit.  No, seriously--can you even imagine that happening here? 

 

Shall we throw in the fact that they have nukes?  That they are probably currently hosting our al-quaida friends?

 

Chuck, you are my expert on all things terrifying, is this as scary as it seems?

 

 

...must...pack...boxes...

RESIST the lure of the computer....
GAHHH.
Where are the packing fairies when you need them...
I'll be back soon...unless I go live with my MIL, in which case you'll al be stuck with emailed posts from work with no photos or visits/comments from me. (SOB!)

See?? Even now I'm stalling to avoid the boxes.

The Honey? He's found a Steelers Bar here in town, and invited a buddy from Roseville down to watch them at ten on a Sunday morning. Because I refuse to get cable. So I kind of did it to myself.

HAAA!! I'm still stalling!

Bow down before me, the Mistress of Procrastination! One week until we are homeless!!










Right.







Boxes.

...And we're back.

I read the blogs of the parents whose children strive for A's. Who cry when the dreaded B appears. Then there is my eldest, who sadly takes after his mother and finds ANYTHING else to do when homework is due. It hasn't been a WEEK, people. Huge blue stamp in the handy planner required by school....ASSIGNMENT NOT TURNED IN.


It hasn't been a WEEK. Foolish me for not checking this thing Friday night when I got him back from his lame-O/touchy feely/let's do affirmations father. Um, how about doing affirmations while you CHECK HIS WORK?

I am going to be on my poor kid like white on rice. We WILL develop some kind of discipline before high school. He HAS to go to college. Or become a plumber. Who will buy me pudding when I'm old?

Not.Even.One.Week.


sigh.

While you are contemplating my life under the bridge at seventy, go peek at this site to see why I am going to Hell. It makes me laugh. Maybe I should write a letter.

WTF Wedsnesday is Back with a Vengance

My landlord rented my tiny two bedroom house out from under me, while I was scraping together the deposit.

MotherfuckerMotherfuckerMotherfuckerMotherfucker. 

I am back to square one.

How did I find out?  The landlord called to see if I could get out two days early.

I said no problem, since I was renting another house from them, just waiting to get the deposit together. 

Really?  Which house? 

Blah de blah blah way... No, that's already been rented. 

Yeah, to ME. 

No, someone is moving in as we speak.

 

My moving problems were solved, mentally I was already planning Little O's birthday celebration in October.

 

Sunday Quizzez--WTF?

You're Libya!

It seems that these days, you just say things to get attention.
 Shock value is the really important thing for you now.  You used to have
a cause, and this made you seem like a threat to the established order, but now you
just want to say wacky stuff once in a while.  Air travel doesn't really mesh
with your lifestyle, and you'd probably scare the security guards somehow
anyway.


Take the Country Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid

Jeez, Chuck, I'm freaking LIBYA? I'm like the squealing runt of the terrorist litter, here.

I'm finding another one...


Which Survivor of the Impending Nuclear Apocalypse Are You?
A Rum and Monkey joint.
Maker of mediocre action pics and son of an actual Nazi, you're perhaps an insane joke on God's part. Why should you survive while others perish? Is it your hair, your brains or that manly gap in your teeth? Is it because you're going to lead California to a new tomorrow? Is it because you've paid someone enough money so that radiation doesn't harm you? Are you a real cyborg?

Arnold is the new Jesus. Stat.



Crap. Can I be Libya again? And for the record, that's a very delicate, Girly gap in my teeth.

Third time's the charm...

Your Career Type: Enterprising

You are engertic, ambitious, and sociable. Your talents lie in politics, leading people, and selling things or ideas. You would make an excellent: Auctioneer - Bank President - Camp Director City Manager - Judge - Lawyer Recreation Leader - Real Estate Agent - Sales Person School Principal - Travel Agent - TV Newscaster The worst career options for your are investigative careers, like mathematician or architect.

What's Your Ideal Career?

I'd have been a kick ass real estate agent, but my Ex is doing it now, and good lord he sucks at it. I don't know why he hasn't given up by now and gotten a real job. He has made salaries three times my best year, but it sure wasn't in Real Estate!

Zippers, and Kidneys, and Houses, Oh My!

House hunting, on a teeny budget, with terrible credit.

Still a middle class white girl who'd like to keep her children away from gangs, meth, roaches, and freeway underpasses.

I've looked at some funkadelic houses in the last few days. The things that are in my budget are all three bedrooms made out of one bedroom houses. I'm not sure I'm ready to put Big O in a bedroom that is not technically attached to the house. I answered an ad for a 2 and 1/3 bedroom house. That one was detached, too. I saw another one that had, if I'm not mistaken, plywood counter top in one spot.

Is it bad that I'm considering the plywood one? I asked the landlord if he'd mind if I tiled it, since I'm kind of crafty, and he said he wouldn't mind at all. I will have to clarify that I expect materials to be shaved off of the rent.
Can we talk about rent? Sweet lord tiny baby Jesus. I'm too old and fat to sell my eggs, so I'm going to have to sell a kidney.

Wait! Can't you regenerate your liver if you donate part of it? How long does that take to regrow, and can I just have 'em put a zipper in so we can do it again when it grows back? I thinks the Honey's is pickled...Big o is a fine strapping boy, though. We could probably get two or three runs from his liver...

I'll keep you guys updated. But if you know anyone shopping for a kidney...

***************************

Okay, I've tried being respectful, and I can't take it any more!

Look down.

WTF is WRONG with Chesty Puller's forehead?

Did they photoshop two pictures together?

FRRRRReaky.

Don't forget!

It's Friday the Dorkteenth.

I will post one from work, later.


Just wanted to remind y'all.

Do they make calamine lotion for this?

It's kind of like having chicken pox.

You know better, but all you can think about is SCRATCHING...

I have a knee that occasionally rocks completely out of the socket, just long enough to make me see stars, then rocks right back into place. So I feel like a total wuss for the greenish tinge to my face, and the whimpering I'm trying to suppress. My lamaze breathing that I learned before Big O's arrival has done more for my knee than during either of my 8 lb bowling balls getting punched out of my vajayjay.

Why bring this up? Because after Little O's final tee ball game, the coach took us all to Crackdonald's. In trying to squeeze past someone to get into our booth, my knee did the old rock and roll maneuver, and the Honey watched all of the color drain from my face. I did not blow chunks, and I did not cry (it was a close one on both of those options, though). I sat there breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth until my eyes were no longer crossed, and a week later, I am fine except for a slight limp and a very tight knee.

Man, is that bitch tight. It feels like I want to crack it, but I really envision my whole knee exploding if I were to attempt it. But it's just a sick sick temptation to push it just THAT much further as I am stretching it--because it's soooo close to being normal again. I am craving that release of tension. It's like getting to just before that point, you know, THAT point, and then getting a pat on the shoulder and he goes to sleep. I can't divorce my knee.

But I could pop it...

Did I mention the invisible ink?

Create your own Scratch Ticket


I've obviously done something wrong.

I am Dorkk, hear me sigh.

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