Friday, March 29, 2013

Two Bites, Mr Owl.

Did you ever know someone to do something with their body that was oddly intriguing and possibly dangerous?  The one that I'm thinking about happened, as they always seem to, in college.  I knew these blokes that were very large, as in tall, muscular, basketball player, large.  One day, they decided to hold a competition in the cafeteria.  Each one grabbed an apple, and the competition was to see how many bites it took to eat the whole thing.

 Kind of like the owl in the lollipop commercials...

So the proceeded to shove this enormous, juicy, ball of apple into their mouths.  They pushed so hard, that they had to hold onto the back of their head as they pushed on the apple.  Satisfied that their jaw could unhinge no more, and in defiance of all that is normal in the world, they then began to push up on their jaw.  They had it jammed so far in, that they had no muscle control to bite down naturally.  So they held the top of their head with one hand, and pushed up with their other hand.  The apple would break apart at some point, and they would then have to chew up what would not fit in their mouth.  Then they would shove the other, sometimes bigger depending on the unlucky split, half of the apple into their hole, and eat that.

They ate an apple in TWO bites.

It was an awesome display of how the body can handle the mind being overwhelmingly stupid.

In accordance of the body overcoming what the mind might think is a good idea, I attempted my own intriguing and slightly dangerous feat.

I used a nettie pot.

I know, not the intense drama that requires a deep drum roll, but in my tiny world, it was death defying.  I mean, really, I water boarded myself.  Through my nose.

It had the required oddity that begets embarrassment, so I locked myself in the bathroom.  The ante was up'ed because I was on vacation, at my in-laws home.  Any one of eighty seven relatives could have walked in on my nose irrigation attempt.  So with the door secure, I leaned over the tub.  The picture on the box shows a pretty lady leaning over a sink, but I wasn't sure how the torrent of water was going to spray, so the tub was my go-to.

And just like those blokes that said they could eat an apples in two bites, the nettie pot worked!

In fact, the entire vacation was perfect.  We all had fun, and no one vomited until hour nine on the eleven hour ride home.

That is success.

Wednesday, March 20, 2013

Running on Empty

My son peed on his friend.

It was an odd way to end the preschool day.

I really wanted to tell him that golden showers were very inappropriate, but I thought I might giggle when I said 'golden shower', so I just said how nastygrossdisgusting it was.

Really... I'm not a guy, so I don't have the uncanny ability to direct my urine stream, which when thought about, seems like it would be fun... but who the heck thinks it's a good idea to mark his territory on the pants of his friend?!

My 5 year old, that's who.

I do think it would be handy (no pun intended) to have a penis.  I hike a lot, and have to settle for a hover, or this neato invention called a Pstyle.  I still haven't purchased one, but keep trying to think of a way to make one.  I get really weird looks by the staff of kitchen stores when I hold one of those silicone bake sheets in a funnel by my crotch...

I really haven't done that, but weird looks are probably the least of my problems if I do.

I'm one of those people that look at some super cool item and say... well, I can make that.  But a lot of times I do.  I've made my own stoves, hammocks, down covers, pack... all the stuff that I can do for a ton less green.  And I don't mean green as the environment, I mean green as in money.

When I'm rich (I hope never) I'll maybe buy a stove from some manufacturer.

...but who am I kidding. I could be the heir to Warren Buffet, and I'm still going to make a stove out of a soda can.  ...maybe one day I'll video how I do it and post it!  oooh, on to cyber fame!  I need cool music for my video though, and I'm pretty much stuck with my music lists from the 90's, because I still feel guilty spending $14. on an album when I constantly drive with my gas needle teasing the 'E'.

I know people who get very concerned when the gas light comes on.  To the point that their hear beat speeds up, and they expect to be stranded on the roadside in minutes.  They then calculate how many miles it is to the nearest gas station, even if it is the one that costs .15c more than the one 2 mile up the road.

Not me.

I know how many miles I still have before my heart should start speeding up.  I calculate how many gallons are left in the tank, the gallons per hour I will burn at certain speeds, and how tired I am.  If I'm really tired, I ask my tomorrow self if she wouldn't mind gassing up on the way to school drop-off.  My tomorrow self is very nice, at least the day before, so she always gives me a pass.  Then pokes me in the eye, hard, the next morning when I realize I have to leave 10 minutes early or run out on the way to school.  Ugh, my selves are complicated.

So when I find a way to fashion a pee funnel out of some random kitchen utensil, y'all will be the first to hear about it.

Hopefully, it won't be accompanied by a plea for a bail out.

Friday, March 15, 2013

I'm Going to Fry My Oyster

The light at the end of the tunnel is getting brighter.  

It's not the same light that you don't want to go into, it is the light of my real life.  (don't worry, no deep thought are coming...)

For the past 8 years, I have been a stay at home mom.  Which is why I decided to write a blog.  ...not because I have life altering information to impart on the cyber universe, but because that seems to be the thing that stay at home moms do.  Seriously, take a gander on the bloggosphere.  It's either a bunch of ramblings by white ladies pondering the art of crock pot cooking, or techies writing gibberish.  

This is my lead up to a mid life crisis.  I'm closer to 40 than I was last year, and kids are a bit of a downer when you want to get a two-seater sports car.  So like a natural buffer area that protects the city from the hurricane, I'm trying to build up to a level of excitement so that when 40 does come barreling into my life, it will say 'oh, pardon me, you are already at crazy level 40, so you'll have to wait until 50 to have the mid life crisis.  Have a nice day.'  Thus, a blog.  Super crazy, eh?

Yeah right.

Back to the light....

My 5yo is entering Kindergarten this fall.  I thinking of it as my probation, my ticket out of jail for good behavior.  I will be released from a full time mom prison, but will have twelve more years of checking in with my probation officers.  That check in time will be between 3:30 and 5pm.  Every day.  With weekend jail.

But the freedom!  Oh the freedom!  From 8am-check in time, the world is my oyster.  

So what am I going to do with all this free time?  I'm applying to a full time program.  And this is why 40 is going to turn around and walk away disappointed.  Because there is a level of crazy that it takes for a person to go back to school, and 40 can't compete with that level.

Sunday, March 10, 2013

Party for 3...

Since I have dismissed Sprint from my life, I have been very conservative with my new, no contract phone.  I only get 750 minutes per month, and they take a minute every time I burp.  At first I thought it wouldn't be a big deal until I realized that I called a lot with cell to cell, which didn't count the minutes if you were on the same provider.

Turns out, I won.  Today is my last day of the 30 day phone, and I have over 300 minutes left.  I did cheat though... I got a used ipod touch, and there is an app for free texting.

So has been born, Sparkle Snaferson.  This is the name I have taken for my friends to differentiate my two phone numbers.  Sparkle only texts.

I now have a real multiple personality syndrome.  Which I think is a very negative way of looking at multiple personalities.  Why do we have to call it a syndrome?  Really it should be more like a romper room.  There is always a party there, even if one person is grumpy.

I realize that the name Sparkle brings to mind a certain entertainment career.  Which is why I added the Snaferson.  No stripper would name themselves Snaferson.  And I like alliteration.

Another bonus is I get to pretend that I have a burn phone.  Now I can really act like a spy.  Hm, maybe I should give myself a spy name.  Let's get the romper room going.  After all, only 2 people can't lead to a party.... well, I bet Sparkle could make it a party.  But Sparkle isn't that kind of girl.

Claire Phillips.  That will be my spy name.  She was a dancer that passed info during WWII, so she and Sparkle can bond.  I'm not sure if she was with the good guys or the bad guys, but every good party has a bad girl, and it will take the pressure off Sparkle.

I'm limiting membership of the romper room to females only.  Mostly because it is only in my head, and I am not a boy.  But this party is already showing promise, so maybe I'll open membership to boys soon.

 ...oh, just found out that Claire was with the good guys, so the party might not be as bad ass as initially thought, but we're all drinkers, so anything could happen.

Sunday, March 3, 2013

Like I Needed a Hole in Your Head

There are a few things in life that make you realize that things have changed.

Having kids is the typical 'first' on these lists.  I don't think it should be on the list at all.  Having kids, getting a dog, inheriting your grandmother's parrot, these are all bunched into the category 'who suggested this?'  Having a kid, or getting a dog, usually is a great idea, and the person that suggested it needs to be kissed.  The parrot... not so much.  Those suckers live a long freaking time, and NEVER like you.

I worked in a pet store for one summer, and there lived a parrot devil named Rosie.  She wouldn't stand on your arm until she bit you, leaving a crescent shaped scar as her throne.  Well, every once in a while she would climb down from her perch and walk around on the floor, nipping at people's ankles.  Nothing says 'buy this bird' like seeing the pet store employee having to carry the devil on the end of a broom stick, wincing away from her evil stare.

If you inherit your grandmother's parrot, just know she didn't like you.  Your grandmother, not Rosie.  It goes without saying that Rosie never liked anyone.

My life changing moment happened tonight.  My little baby boy lost his first tooth.  I no longer have babies in the house.  I have kids.  Next comes high school, drugs, booze and motorcycles.  And high school is going to suck.

His jaw isn't that big.
This pic makes it look like I have a  hippo child.