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?

Thanks for confirming the theory, Reverend Don!

People like you have ruined Christianity and all of the good it represents.

Oh, bama!

Last night Obama said the magic words.

blah blah blah...

appropriately equipped and support systems so they are cared for once they get home, too.

blah blah blah

Thank you and good night!

I guess no candidate is EVER a perfect fit. But he spoke my magic words.

I'm also creeped out by all of the fear mongering Obama is the muslim devil emails going around. Those things tend to have the opposite effect on me than the sender intended.

Maybe because I picture some fat redneck preacher in a wife beater sweating bullets as he types with one fat little sausage finger puting those things together. Or some super fanatical church lady with a bun and pearls (who was the lady who spit cherry pits in Witches of eastwick?). Or the same people who bomb abortion clinics.

I'm not getting my hopes up this time. I honestly, not in a million years, thought anybody was going to vote to keep dubya for a second term. I get queasy now just thinking of it again.

It's not Sunday, but who can resist Calvin & Hobbes?

Your result for The Calvin Or Hobbes Test...

A Bit Of Both

40% Calvin, 60% Hobbes

Calvin & Hobbes, like a scruffy yin and yang, are in perfect balance within you. Like Calvin, you're weird, a bit insecure, and can be a trouble-maker. But like Hobbes, you're down to earth and sensitive. It's a risk to say it here, after just a ten question test, but I'll bet you're smarter than most. Both Calvin and Hobbes are crafty, clever characters, and any one made from equal parts of each is a force to be reckoned with.

Take The Calvin Or Hobbes Test at HelloQuizzy

VOTE. vote, vote, vote.

Lt. Col. Nathan Blood
Blood - http://img137.imageshack.us/img137/6839/ltcolnathanbloodgm6.jpg
Army - http://img368.imageshack.us/img368/6889/armyzj3.gif
WH Logo - http://img374.imageshack.us/img374/3411/whl2xv3.jpg


Lt. Col. Nathan Blood


Lt. Col. Nathan Blood, brigade effects coordinator for 4th Brigade Combat Team, 10th Mountain Division (Light), Multi-National Division - Baghdad, says "Hello" to his 16-month-old daughter, Mackenzie, during a web camera communication.

These brave men and women sacrifice so much in their lives so that others may enjoy the freedoms we get to enjoy everyday. For that, I am proud to call them Hero.
We Have Every Right To Dream Heroic Dreams. Those Who Say That We're In A Time When There Are No Heroes, They Just Don't Know Where To Look

This post is part of the Wednesday Hero Blogroll. For more information about Wednesday Hero, or if you would like to post it on your site, you can go here.

I swear this blog is a gift.

I watched my little one blow me a kiss at the Kindergarten gate this morning and I could have just burst with love.

 

Her tales of Tai Chi* and classroom visitors are so animated and enthusiastic. 

 

Someday when she's an emotional, drama-laden 13 year old who hates me and everything that I stand for, I will look back at my blog and today will be like a shiny white box with a sunshiny yellow ribbon (Just like the ponytail holders on her pigtails today).  I will unwrap this blogpost and remember my five year old who loved school and blew me kisses with sparkly brown eyes and an impish little grin.

 

I wish I'd had a blog to remember Big O's cheerful Bonzai dashes from the car, already in motion and headed for the playground like a tasmanian devil.  You think these things will never fade, but oh, God, I could surely use some warm fuzzy reminiscences when dropping off a surly teenager, reminding him to get his assignments written down so we can review them tonight.

 

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

 

*Tai Chi!  I know I live in California, and we should have lots of crunchy granola features like that in our schools, but this is the real California, folks.  Great weather, terrible schools.  Especially living in the stinky armpit of CA, we have school districts that suck pondwater, and ones that suck ass.  By all accounts, the district we are in belongs in the latter.  We're in a great school for this district, but it's still in this district.  I'm LOVING my daily re-enactments of the tai chi.

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

Let's finish off that touching blogpost with a true Little O moment.

"Good night, baby..."

"Good Night...And Big Balls."

Thanks, ABC.

Insert foot in mouth. Chew vigorously.

No sooner do I rant about bodybuilders than I find the blog of one of my favorite guys I've ever worked with. Who happens to be a fitness guru. tee hee.

It's okay, because his big gnarly brain was one of the most entertaining I've ever run across, and his masculinity would not be threatened by my lil ole blog in any way, shape, or form. But still a good reminder why I label these things "Out of my ass."

Please, CHEAT! Don't have a tantrum, though.

See, I can handle cheating. I don't think it's RIGHT, and I hope to hell you get CAUGHT, but cheating has been around as long as there have been competitions.

But the wrestler throwing his Bronze medal on the mat and walking out, and now the tai kwan do competitor kicking the ref in the face?

sheesh.

*****
Pissy bitch # 1 has been found to be technically correct. He is still, however, a pissy bitch.

And now for something completely different...

Let's take a break from our fish themed --jeeze, MONTH?
**although I DO have one more fishy item...okay, two**

We have been sucked into the Olympics. Remember, this is a cable free household. We are GLUED to NBC until waaay too late in the morning.

Really, it all started because NBC played women's beach volleyball every Sunday morning. Kerry Walsh and Misty May-Traynor just rock.

(I'm sure I misspelled at least one of those names, possibly more. Google? Who the hell are you talking to? It's eleven thirty and I'm waiting for my washer to finish so I can throw things into the dryer!)

So we HAD to watch our girls kick some ass.

Speaking of assThen we watched the Men's synchronized diving. Now, I have a lifelong fear of being a BMHG, but those boys are just chiseled. *ahem*
It's kind of like mini trucks. Trucks are utility vehicles. They serve a purpose. Once you spend thousands of dollars on rims and a paint job and lower it, you've killed the utility, so why not just buy a stupid CAR? I honestly think a lowered pouffed out truck is about the most horrifyingly effeminate thing anyone could drive. Body builders at the gym are the biological equivalent to the mini truck.
The muscles on those divers (okay, all of the ...aquanauts?) are a functional thing of beauty. IF Michael Phelps did not have the unfortunate Eli Manning problem of not closing his mouth enough, I'd probably have a wee crush on him, too. Even though I think I'm old enough to be his mom. (EEEWWWWW)

What? Oh, yeah, Olympics. So I totally think those Teeny Chinese gymnasts are about twelve, tops, but I love watching Bela Karolyi (again with the google spell check? lighten up, people!) just call 'em like he sees 'em.

Okay, laundry safely transferred, must sleep sometime...

My poor child has created her own.

This is Little O's new fish.
She made it herself.
It sits and lays down, and it won't die until she throws it in the garbage can.

She's making siblings now.

देफिनितेली माय बेस्ट वर्क.

Okay, continuing with my southeast asian titles! Niiiice.

Not the best picture, but definitely my Best Work!

SURLY? CHECK. AWKWARD? CHECK.

Big O, what kind of cake would you like for your birthday?

 

Can I get back to you, mom?  Absolutely, buddy.

 

***

 

Okay, Mom, here's what I want:

 

White cake, white frosting, strawberry jelly in the middle. 

 

Do you want fresh strawberries? 

 

No, just the jelly. (EW)

 

***

 

Fast forward to his birthday, we whip out the cake at quinceanera practice, and everyone begins to sing.

 

I am his mom,  I have been his mom all of his life.  Until he gets a girlfriend or a college roomate, I am his best predictor of behavior.  I am also the queen of the worst case scenario.

 

I watched my son chomping on what had to be an entire pack of gum as we sang, and I stopped singing to shout at him.

 

He did not hear me over the crowd, and I'll be dog damned if he did not do it exactly like I thought.

 

Ftew!   Huge gob of bright blue gum in the middle of the cake.

 

I asked him if he wanted a big piece or a small piece of cake after the drama died down, and he tells me

 

"yeah, I'm not really a cake fan."

 

WHAT? 

 

I let it go, because I think he was more embarrassed about the Great Gum Debacle of 2008 than he was hungry (poor baby).

 

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

 

Let's flash forward a few more days, to getting Little O enrolled in Big O' s Magnet school--yay!   First day of Kindergarten, Take 2! 

 

I asked the office to send Big O a note about where he needs to get his sister, and as I am finalizing things, Big O rolls in to retrieve his note, in a completely different outfit than I brought him to school in.  Specifically, not the UNIFORM that he is required to wear, by both the school AND me.  He has been changing his clothes at school.

 

Here's the problem:  The school district lets people sign a uniform waiver.  Much to my surprise, a lot of parents sign it.  I didn't.   Big O has been vehemently campaigning for the waiver.  So have the Honey and the Ex. (Imagine the Honey's horror at taking a stand with the Ex).

 

But here's my side:

 

*Studies show kids wearing uniforms concentrate on their studies more.

 

*Big O is a craptastic student.  

 

*He's also damned rough on clothes.

 

*Did I mention his grades? 

 

So yesterday I marched into his room and confiscated all of his tee shirts from his dresser, AND his dirty clothes.  He's wearing polos 24/7 for the next month.  Okay, the week.

 

 

We talked about it last night and here is our compromise--

 

I will sign that dirty rotten waiver.

 

He will maintain a B average.

 

If his grades slip, so does his wardrobe. 

 

I think my favorite thing about this is that the size polos he got this year will last into high school.

 

Is that wrong?

 

 

वो.

Holy shit. I was going to blog about this stupid fake and yet lifesized rooster that my mother in law gave to Little O two years ago. But let's talk about the fact that blogger is currently changing my title into some malaysian script. wow.

Okay, no, let's talk turkey chicken.

My mother in law is old school, y'all. As in from the old country. El Campo. But she's had forty + years to absorb the culture. She did in fact buy a to-scale replica of a rooster, covered in feathers. But it WAS being sold in a major american retail store. I know, because when Little O fell in love with it, the tag was still attached. They were selling it as fall decor. Really? You didn't think a hay bale or a scarecrow or a cornucopia? No, a Chicken.

Mmmm'kay.

I believe that thing is still around, stuffed into the back recesses of a closet, because when Little O finds it, she drags it out and it sheds a few more feathers for my enjoyment.

Gracias, Mama Dina.

Well I will bitch about the bird no more, because Dina's tenants have one upped her on the chicken scale. How, you ask?

They have a chicken on a string. A live chicken. A rooster. On a string. As a pet.

Nothing could make me happier than to hear Little O announce that we're ready for a chicken. Baby, I'm not sure Floaty made it six months in our house. Our chicken comes on a styrofoam tray preferably boneless and skinless (I am SO giving my kid nightmares--Must.think.before.I.speak.).

I admit that this poor bird is very well behaved. Being the prized plaything of a six year old that drags you around by the string attached to your leg probably takes alot of the fight right out of you. It's nerve wracking to watch the kids play with the bird. In all fairness, she only goes too fast and actually pulls him occasionally. But it's a live bird. On a string. And now Little O wants one.

shit.

Maybe we'll drag that old rooster down from the back of the closet and tie a string to it's leg? OOOH! We'll upgrade and put him on wheels! Float him in a now half-empty fishbowl?

Bueller? Anyone?

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

Big O's campaign of treachery and deceit tomorrow!!!

Holy guacamole, batman!

My eldest turns thirteen today.

He's a TEENAGER.

I call it "Sorry, Floaty"

It's called a Wordle! I think it's all about the unfortunate demise of Floaty, but I dunno WHAT the technorati stuff is doing in there...

Do you ever go browse the Generator Blog? Interesting stuff, sometimes. Sometimes just something to post on a blank day...

Meet Mick

Meet Mick. Mick Donald.

I didn't really want to convince Little O that his name wasn't Mick, but I don't want her new little friends making fun of her.

I posted the picture from the happy meal bag because I think he looks creepy as hell.

Jeez, everything looks creepy to me these days...

Is that a sign of aging?

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.

Oh, the horror....

I am the great Satan of the fishbowl.

I may have finally killed Floaty.

Today we went to the Japanese Obon Festival.

My favorite quotes from Little O?

"Mama, why are there so many Japanese people here?"

As the traditional dancers were up on stage, she leans over and says,

"Mama, this is NOTHING like "I survived a Japanese Game show."

Little O actually got the coolest gimmicky prize ever--a fortune telling fish. It's a little red cellophane fish that dances on your hand. I wish they offered those at Chuck E Cheese instead of one more plastic ring I'm going to step on in the middle of the night. This thing is cool!

If only we had stopped there.

The horror came when Little O actually GOT the frigging ping pong ball into the bowl.

Fish in a bag, anyone?

shit...

So I looked it up on line, and it says that goldfish and bettas can peacefully co-exist. Great! I dropped our non-descript silver-white-see thru goldie into the bowl and it seemed fine. For a while. But the goldie started freaking out trying to swim through the glass and THAT excited Floaty, and it became apparent that Goldie was not going to live long and prosper.

We decided to put Floaty into the wee small bowl we use for cleaning until a different bowl could be purchased for Goldie, but the damned fish net had disappeared. I'm sure it will show up at some point as the catapult in some Littlest Pet Shop of Horrors scenario, but Little O swears she has no knowledge of its whereabouts.

Friends, using a slotted spoon to catch a fish is a bad idea even in expert hands.

In the hands of a klutz, it is, apparently, a deadly weapon. My pretty pretty betta flopped right out of the slotted spoon, onto the entertainment center, then onto the floor. In my hysteria, I dropped him/her again on the way up to the temporary housing.

I have stated repeatedly that I'm not much of a pet lover, but sweet lord tiny baby jeebus, I hope this fish lives. The goldfish? meh. But my pretty Pink and Purple Rainbow Floaty, please forgive me for trying to spike you into the berber. Twice.

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

To cap off our evening of horror, Little O just ran smack into the back of our breakfast nook, splitting her bottom lip right open and giving her upper lip that nice swollen/bee sting look.

School starts Tuesday.

Sweet.

Amazing stuff.

This is where our money should be going. The money that is going to corrupt contractors and fat cat back room accquaintances of Dubya and Dick.

Go watch the video of this amazing
set up.

I'll buy THAT for a dollar!

Can you tell me what movie that's from?

As the mother of a long haired five year old girl, I gotta tell you, I suck. I don't know how those Mexican mamas get those laser sighted parts in their daughters' hair. My poor girl is the frizzy braided, slightly off center one in the class pictures. I'm sure all of her teachers suspect I'm a drunk. But my one ray of hope has been the dollar store. You kind of have to dig for them, but they have some cute clippies and pins and things, and I can buy enough of them that it's okay when Little O loses them all.

(I kind of picture her on the playground like the witch that chased bugs bunny, hairpins flying. Crows must love her. )


On slow days, I'll wander the REST of the dollar store, and my goal is to someday be able to compose an entire blog post like this:



Easy to be dry after delegating
no peculiar smell
becteria are hard to live.

So very true.....


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

On a side note, I'm geeked out that Annie left me a comment, because of all the things in the blogosphere that I covet? One of Annie's buttons for the Gaggle of Whiny Whores is at the top. I love that she posts the code and lets you claim it if you want it, but I fear that I just don't have the chops to put one on my blog--Dog knows I've got the whiny thing down, but I think I found her through IT2M, and I was waaaaay too chicken to ever toy with them. I like my paperthin ego intact!

But I think the Gaggle of Whiny Whores is much better suited to me than the Thinking Blogger ever was....

;)