It's Been Awhile

It has been awhile. I didn't even know I still had this blog until I had to go into my google settings for something and it showed up. I don't think anyone does these anymore, but it was fun reading through things I had written so long ago. Mostly good memories. Some...were probably better left unsaid. Still, we are the sum of all of our experiences, yes? If so, then I have been very fortunate.

Mr. DamYankee (racoon remover, suppository purchaser, Mr. Fix It, aka Lloyd) and I are doing really well. Empty nesters. 





OH MY GOD, we love it. We loved raising our children and we still have one that is half in and out of the nest, but mostly away at school. The other two have fully catapulted themselves from the nest and have their own families.

You know, you worry about how things will be when it's just the two of you. I assumed that we would be good and have a great time just ourselves, but do you ever see those couples in Cracker Barrel eating dinner and they never say a word to each other? Outside of the family they raised, they have nothing to say to each other. They hate each other and have for a long time but murder is wrong and they just hope they can outlive the other. 



Lloyd and I have spent the entirety of our relationship raising children and we have gone on dates, and long weekend vacations but the last few years that Cole was home...he joined us on a lot of our dates. He's a food snob (his fathers fault, entirely) and if there was a chance for a free...quality meal, or movie, he was already in the truck before we had the keys in our hand. 



Our lives truly centered around our kids and their activities. You only get them for 18 years and they go by fast. (Not the toddler years, so much but the rest...yes)  And it was a privilege to watch them grow up and become the adults that they are. 

The 1st week after Cole left for school, we stared at each other. We missed him, just as we missed the girls when they went to college. The house was quiet...too quiet. Except for our schnauzers that bark when the grass moves ever so slightly. But by week 2, we were singing "Zip-A-Dee-Doo-Dah". By week 3, we were binge watching TV shows that had come out 10-15 years prior and drinking adult beverages in the pool whenever we wanted. 

I had NO IDEA how freeing it was going to be to not have to worry about what we were going to eat for dinner ever again. Make no mistake, I didn't really care before, but I felt obligated to ensure that there was food in the house and that "meals" were made available. Now, I don't care if we starve. We won't, I promise you. If you know us in real life, you know that I could go without eating for an entire year and probably still make it. 

The next topic will be slightly contentious: boiled hot dogs. Yay or nay? 

Litter Critters

Do you ever look over and see something so jacked up that you stare for a good long minute or so before taking action? I'm not talking about the burning building sort of thing, or impending train wreck to where some primal instinct kicks in and immediate action is taken?

No, this is different. This is where your eyes don't trust what they're seeing and you struggle to process it, as you run through  realistic scenarios of what you're seeing before stepping in and taking action.

Case in point, from a distance, I watched a young relative playing outside by herself with what appeared to be cat shit. A lot of cat shit. Busily, she seemed to be making shapes and forms out of it as if it were play-dough. My HOPE was that it was play-dough. PLEASE GOD, let it be play-dough. Putty. Bisquick? Anything other than disgusting cat shit. However, she was surrounded by a bunch of cats at the time and I wasn't feeling hopeful.

Since no other adults were around, I took it upon myself to walk over and inquire as to what the budding Michelangelo was working on. David, it was not.

 Within 10 feet, I could smell the warm, evidently pliable, cat shit. Pig and elephant poo smell worse....but not by much. Even the agitated cats were looking at her like "dude, why are you playing with our poo?". Good question, feral cats.

Me: Honey, uhhh....why are you playing with cat-poo?
Her: 'Cuz it's fuuuun
Me: Do you play with cat-poo a lot?
Her: uh huuuuuh
Me: Baby, that's not good for you, it will make you sick. We don't play with poo. Of any kind. Ever. Everrrr.
(she looked hurt, I felt a little bad)

She showed me her artistic creations, the cat shit cigar, the cat shit ball and the ever popular cat shit star. (Like a ninjy-star made out of cat shit. Fun for the whole family!)

I did what any responsible adult would do and brought her inside and washed her hands for 10 minutes, followed by nearly an entire bottle of green apple scented hand sanitizer. If this were one of my children, they would have been treated to a Silkwood Shower, but you can only do so much with a child that's not your own. I assure you, her hands have never been cleaner.

All in all, you what what this reminded me of?  Litter Critters. Seriously, you have to watch it! It's hilarious. And disturbing. But mostly hilarious.

It's Almost Time For Glasses on a Chain...

My husband asked me what time it was tonight, I looked at my watch, and held it far away, and close, and then far away again. I squinted a little, blinked a few times, and mumbled mmbblpp o'clock. He only slightly raised his eyebrow before consulting his phone.

I don't know why he asked because I can't see anything, it's all a blur. The watch is completely useless, it's just a pretty piece of jewelry I wear to constantly remind me that I'm blind. I know I need reading glasses, but I just don't want them.

Why? Because I can't even keep up with my debit card, or my regular sunglasses, or my badge for work. Hell, I even lost one of my kids the other day.  I'm not worthy of the responsibility of having something else to worry about. My friend Melissa wears TWO pairs of reading glasses on top of her head and a pair around her neck, and is forever looking for hers. "Hang on, we can't leave, I can't find my glasses", as she gives herself a pat down that is police worthy.










 



Back in the day, I used to share an office in Chicago with an older lady named Gladys that wore her reading glasses attached to a long colorful beaded necklace, maybe a little nicer than Mardi Gras beads.










She had a system that she would stamp hundreds of documents that she processed. She would perch her glasses on the end of her nose and proceed to lick her finger and thumb, and separate every single piece of paper for stamping. Lick, Stamp, Lick, Stamp, Lick, Stamp. Lick, Stamp. All.day.long. I couldn't help myself, sometimes, I would stare at her, somewhat hypnotically, until she yelled at me in that nasally Chicagoan, "whaddyalookinat???" (I'm looking at a nut job, but I didn't say that because she probably was, and I was young and sort of scared of her.)

If that wasn't bad enough, not only does everything close look blurry, I can't see at night to drive. If I had a dollar for every time I've scared my husband...

Him: You are going to stop, right? Like NOW? HOW ABOUT NOW??

Him: You know you're off the road, right? That's gravel flying up at the car, sweetheart. (sweetheart is said between clenched teeth)

Him: Why are you braking? That truck is two football fields away. No, you're not right up on it. Why are we doing 40 MPH on the Interstate? Do you want to die? Because this is how we're going to die. Do you want me to drive? No, I'm not trying to make you nervous, I'm just trying not to die.

Him: Do you hear that sound? Do you know what that sound is? Those are called Rumble Strips. Do you know what they're for? They're for when you go off the road, and the car vibrates that's your signal to get back ON the road. If you would get back on the road, that would be great. Do you want me to drive? I will. I don't mind. No, I'm not trying to make you mad, it's just that my head hurts from you riding on the rumble strips for the last 5 miles. Yessss, it's been 5 miles.











I'm that person now. I can't see to read. I can't see to drive at night.

So, it's come to this: I'm scared of turning into Gladys. I don't want to be known as the reading glasses on a chain finger paper licker lady. I don't want to go into a restaurant and dig around in my boobs for a spare pair of glasses just to read the menu, when I've got two pairs on top of my head. I feel like I've got plenty of other quirks without adding new ones. Until then, someone is just going to have to read the menu to me, or tell me what time it is, and drive me around like Miss Daisy. Which would be cool if they would also narrate my life in the voice of Morgan Freeman.

Destin - The Good, the Bad and the Ugly

These were all posted to my FB account while we vacationed in Destin.

July 7  - Lil' Nut Brown Hare and the family are beach bound!! California Love kicked it off on XM, a good omen. Thank you to Nick and the rent-a-rottweilers, Ruger and Maximus for watching the house.

July 7 - Update: So far so good. Haven't seen any sharks yet. Condo is really nice. Only weird thing is that you bring your stuff up with grocery carts. Thought I picked up an empty seashell but it had a critter still in it. Put it in my pocket. Pulled it out to show Lloyd, a head popped out. I never learn.

July 8 - Observations from the tenth floor balcony (around 12:30 AM):

1. There's a lone kid out there digging a massive foxhole. Midnight. Dedication, or sketchy parenting, I'm not sure.

2. People are running in the sand. How is this possible? I can barely walk in it. I'm like new born Bambi until I get to the hard part by waters edge.

3. People are swimming RIGHT NOW. "Come on in, the water's great!" Famous last words.

4. I'm going to get one of those ocean sounding machines to sleep by when we get back. Very peaceful.


July 8 - 8:00 AM - A pretty day

July 9 - Around 12:30 AM
Observations from the sand & surf (I do love people watching):

1. We sat near a woman that had on the exact same hat AND swimsuit type as the one that slapped Chief Brody in Jaws. (Mrs. Kintner). I pointed her out to Lloyd, he laughed, because she looked just like her. I looked around to see if she had a little kid. With a raft.

2. I watched 3 out 5 women on a bachelorette trip fall like dominoes into a large, extremely noticable hole to China that Cole and others dug near the shoreline. Fortunately, drunk people rarely seem to get hurt. Not one of them spilled their Strawberita's...so, high fives all around, in the hole.

3. I had to get into the water, it was hot. I grabbed a piece of seaweed to move it out of my way. It was actually a long thin green fish. We were both a little surprised. More so it, when I flung it.

4. The short walk down to the beach with all of your stuff in the morning takes 2 minutes, everyone is carrying something, joy is in their hearts. The one on the way back, later that afternoon, is through the uphill dunes of the sahara, 200 yards might as well be 5 miles, and somehow you have twice as much to carry back as you went down with. How is this possible?

July 9 - 8:30 AM
LSU got up early this morning and beat Alabama in best tent placement. They are now tied up at 1-1. #SEC

July10th - 12:30 AM - Observations from the 10th floor neighborhood:

1. Around 8, about half a cup of coffee in, Katie and I are bonding on the 10th floor balcony overlooking the beach, when she pops this one out: "You don't see a lot of squirrels around here." I side eyed her....Yeah, you really don't see that many sea squirrels or palm tree squirrels, anymore. Her: "yeah, that's true. Oh. I forgot to tell you why I'm up...there's something burning inside". I'm not prepared for that with only 1/2 a cup of coffee. I'm a whole cup disaster person, really.

2. No. There was nothing burning inside our place. The Filipino neighbors on the other hand...had problems. I wasn't exactly dressed to go find out what was going on (women, you know what I mean), so Lloyd had to go and investigate.

Here is his report: Met the neighbors. Front door was open. I knocked. There may or may not have been 15 people in there (sleeps 6). There were pallets of beds everywhere and lots of shoes. I asked if everything was ok, they had the balcony doors opened too, airing the place out because they may or may not have burned up the owners cookware with their breakfast of God knows what. It was bad. Real bad. (Seven hours later, it was still bad. I am unimpressed with his investigative techniques.  I personally would have asked...Soooo...didja kill anyone and you're trying to dispose of the evidence? What's going on up in here?).

3. I jokingly asked Lloyd to get the little vanilla scented Christmas trees that you hang in the car because of #2. I figured he would actually get febreze or something. Nope. We now have vanilla scented trees hanging from the faux palm trees in our condo. I am pretty surprised at how well they have worked.

July 10 - 4:45 PM

Guess who was picked to do the alligator show in front of 100 people at Fudpucker's? They gave us a complimentary 5x7 to commemorate our son having his shirt tucked into his underwear. #soproud — with Lloyd

July 10 - 11:30 PM
Observations from around town:

1. While leaving for an adventurous day about town, we noticed that our mysterious neighbors had vacated suddenly. I suppose nearly burning down the condo will shorten a stay. Or????

2. The Fudpuckers picture. I swear we had NO IDEA his underwear was like that. His back was to us the entire time during the show. He turned around for the picture and Lloyd and I were both thinking oh sweet little baby Jesus, NOOO!! So, there you go.

3. We have a new family member. His name is Jordan. MJ, for short. A picture will be posted below. So, crab hunting has been mostly unsuccessful each night. Pretty tough when your net and your bucket get stolen by the "bad kids" that sit unsupervised 5 chairs down. Last night, Lloyd caught a white crab, bare handed and was only pinched 3 times, but without a bucket to put it in, it's not like he could trot that back to the condo a mile away.

So, we "borrowed" the mop bucket from the condo and went out on our crab quest tonight. Still...no net. We should have bought another net when we were out earlier, but the truth is we were pretty sick of each other by then and the thought of going to another store was more than we could handle.

We walked another mile, an hour has passed, no luck, Cole and Lloyd have ventured at least 30-40 feet out into the surf...Cole spots it, Lloyd makes the grab and starts screaming and running towards the bucket. It was no ordinary crab, it was the Michael Jordan of crabs. The hermit crab with the basketball shell. We caught a store bought crab IN THE OCEAN. Now we have to keep it. And buy a bunch of stuff to take care of it. What are the odds on that?

our store bought crab found in the ocean.

July 11 - 9:30 While waiting for some crabs

July 12th - 12:10 AM - Observations of full moon madness. Yesterday was our last full day at the beach. The plan was simple, hang out at the beach all day, get dressed, family pictures near sunset, eat dinner, and relax surf side one last night. We accomplished most of those things, but we are not "easy button" people. Oh no. No.

I'm too tired to type it up, I have the whole drive home later today. Meanwhile, I can hear my sleep talking son in the next room saying nonchalantly, "Shark". It's cute, in a creepy way.

July 12th 3:30 PM -  Observations of super moon madness, Destin style Part I. A last simple day was planned: beach, pictures, dinner and relax.

1. The day was stunning...sunny, with a very light breeze, the water was super clear. It was 7 hours of perfect. That is, until we rode back up to the room with 75lbs of beach gear and the elevator doors opened. Have you ever smelled chum? No? Me either, but I've been to a few harbours and they were cutting up dead fish and throwing it into a giant bucket for some Godforsaken reason and THAT was the smell that we were assaulted with from the elevators. It only got worse as we walked towards our condo. Much much worse, the girls were gagging, I thought Kayla might cry. So, new neighbors were making dinner. We never seem to get neighbors that make pizza, you know? Just stuff that smells like a garbage dump on a hot sunny day.

2. Momma wants a new family portrait. We made it out to the state park, coordinated outfits, and each of us looking our personal best, no easy feat, that. Remember that perfect weather from earlier? Gone, from the moment we left the dead fish smelling 10th floor. That's cool, I can deal with a storm coming in. I'm pretty good with Photoshop. Choppy water? may be a little tougher to edit. Flattened seagrass due to 40 mile an hour winds? Tough fix, but not impossible. Kayla, Katie and my hair looking like Cousin Itt's from the Addams family, or 3 feet horizontal? Internal camera lenses fogging up? Blowing sand? Kids fighting, Lloyd yelling at Cole? Cole acting like the worst Betty White ever and no Snickers in sight? Not fixable. Every other night we were there, picture taking weather was perfect. I want to take pictures, it's the perfect storm. About right. At this point, I'm thinking if we feed everyone, it will all get better. Nope. Wrong again.

Stay tuned. The best/worst....END is in sight.July 12th - 7:30 PM - Observations of super moon madness, Destin style, part II. THE END.

1. We weren't all speaking by the time we reached the restaurant, poor Cole was still being such a butt that Lloyd told him "son, I love you, but you make me drink a little" ( ala Ellen Degeneres) A dad near us laughed, and said that his kids make him drink a little, too. I was feeling sorry for poor little Coleman at that point, so I had him sit next to me, and we all ended up having a nice meal after only an hour and a half long wait.

2. Back at the condo, instead of the planned relaxation, I decided to start packing up to leave. Cole took "Hermie", formerly known as MJ out of his bucket to let him walk around under the careful supervision of Lloyd while he was deflating all the water rings.

I personally thought this was a terrible idea because we had decided to try to find a place to take Hermie, as we just weren't up for taking care of a hermit crab. We researched enough to know that we needed to buy him more stuff, and get him some friends. Lloyd found out that he was a large purple pincher, and we really felt like we were going to be able to find him a good home.

So, there Cole was, laying in the floor, playing with the Hermie for at least 20 minutes, singing "crab crab crab...I caught a crabby crab crab crab." I'd passed through the living room approximately 20 times with stuff I was packing up and told Cole at LEAST 10 times to put that crab up. Put the crab back in the bucket. Put Hermie away. Put the crab up, Cole. Put him up. Bucket. Crab. NOW. Please put Hermie in the bucket.

Did he do that? No, he did not. What happened next is not in the least bit surprising, but happened, it did.

Apparently, Hermie got tired of being manhandled, or maybe he didn't like the "crabby crab crab" song, because he took his large purple pincher and pinched Cole's finger with everything he had. Have you ever slammed your fingers in a car door? It hurts so bad you can't even scream at first? Yeah...that's how it went down. Cole opened his mouth wide to scream...nothing came out...at first. But when he did scream, it was BLOOD CURDLING!! Given our fishy chum eating neighbor's...GOOD...I hope it woke them up. He screamed a good long time too. Loooong time.

During the first half a minute of screaming, Cole was hysterically waving his hand at approximately 200 miles an hour in an attempt to get Hermie off. He flung him off alright. Fortunately, it was onto the carpeting, and he only suffered a minor crack in his shell. I feel terrible about that.

I swear to you all, I positively lost it in a National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation "newel post is fixed with a chainsaw" kinda way. I was so sick of the neighbor's cooking smelly cr@p, gagging on it every time we opened the door, got off the elevator, or just woke up. I just wanted a nice family picture...but nope, can't have that. I never wanted a hermit crab. I definitely didn't want it loose in the living room, it's not like it's a fluffy cute kitten. I told him to put it up numerous times. So, I completely lost it and I yelled at him that THIS is why I told him to put it up. THIS is what crabs do. They eat, they poop, they make more crabs, and they PINCH THINGS. That's their goal in life! They spend their life searching for things to pinch! Oh, look! Seaweed! PINCH! THAT'S ALL THEY DO SON!!! I even imitated the pinchers with my fingers. (Keep in mind, he's still screaming). Blood pressure, through the roof. I had to go out on the balcony to calm down. Definitely not getting mom of the year.

 3. (Takes a deep breath.) Cole was fine, a little ice, an advil and a healthier respect for pinching sea creatures, possibly. Sometimes the most valuable lessons are the hardest. Hermie was ok, too. The bummer was that none of the surf shops or pet stores would take him after multiple phone calls this morning. They suggested taking him to the state park where we tried to get the pictures done the day before. We sat in a long line to get into Henderson State Park, and the lady at the window told us that hermit crabs don't live there, we needed to go over the mid bay bridge, as that's where the hermit crabs lived. *sigh*. Of course.

[on a good day...not what it looked like when we crossed]
 
 4. I hate bridges. They make me sick. Anxiety...I already knew we had to go over the bridge to get home, but the crab had been traveling around in a solo cup in our back seat for about an hour already. The plans were to take him to the state park, find a good spot, hit the outlet malls and THEN go over that big bridge on the way home. But with Hermie in the solo cup in the back seat with a little bit of dasani, and us feeling pretty bad about not being able to get a good home for him, and the horrible events from last night, well...we were going the distance on this one. Hermie was going to LIVE, I tell you!! Nothing else could get weird. Right? If you think that, please go back and read the last 5 days worth of posts.

So, 10 slooow miles later, we're on this huge bridge, I feel like puking. There's a storm overhead. Cole yells out...tornado!! What??? That's right...a waterspout. Tornado on water. Fear of bridges? What fear of bridges. I love me some bad weather! I had my good camera in the front seat (first piece of good luck in nearly 24 hours), rolled the window down, stuck my head and snapped away from the top of the bridge. I couldn't get a decent picture of my family, but I got a waterspout! It's going above the fireplace.

5. Back off the bridge, we found another state park with sand, rocks, and evidence of other hermit crabs. So, with rain and lightning nearby, Cole said goodbye to Hermie, who seemed pretty pleased to be away from us. Can't say as I blame him. This is his new home.




6. We really had an awesome vacation, we love the beach. There were a few not so awesome moments, too, but that's normal for us. We are so thankful to have been graced with a good sense of humor...it will get you through most anything. We've really appreciated all of the likes, comments, laughs and the opportunity to get to share our vacation with you. You've all been really great!!

We're home. We're all still alive. We made it.

Motel Hell

For Cori, on her birthday...

A little over a year ago, my baby brother, Nathan, and his gorgeous wife, Hope, were married. The wedding itself was beautiful. Stunning, in fact. It was held down in Natchez, MS at a southern plantation called Dunleith.


[Dunleith]

We had the option of staying at Dunleith for the weekend, but they are not fond of young children running amok inside the mansion, what with all of those priceless antiques and knicknacks. Can't say as I blame them; I have seen what Cole can do with scissors, a Sharpie, gorilla glue, and supposedly washable finger paint. Not that those things would be lying around the mansion, but if they were, he has an uncanny ability to sniff them out. He's like McGuyver, able to take seemingly innocuous items, put them together in unique ways, although his purposes are more geared toward destruction, rather than self-preservation.

Needless to say, we didn't stay there. My other, very slightly younger brother, David, found us a place to stay, that was not only economical, but on the internet...looked decent. Not only that, all of my other out of town relatives were staying there, so win/win..right? NOT SO MUCH.

[Front of our motel, obviously taken when it was built, because it sure as hell doesn't look like that now]

Looking at the pictures below, it doesn't really look like the hell-hole it is, right? However, had I spent two seconds reading the reviews on trip-advisor, I would have at least been forewarned. Did I do that? nooo...I did not.

[Internet picture of what our room was supposed to look like]


[Internet picture of what our bathroom was supposed to look like]

Anyway, we arrived at the hell-hole, mid afternoon on the day of the rehearsal dinner. Immediately we saw the sign in front stating that they offered "Free Deluxe Continental Breakfast with Frozen Waffles". I laughed, because I seriously thought it had to be some kind of joke. I mean really?...advertise the fact that you were offering L'eggo My Eggo's on the big sign out front? Like that would be the deal clincher.


Hmm...where to stay? where to stay? Ohhh...THIS PLACE has FREE frozen waffles...that does it for ME! I'm in!!!

We got our room key from the much less than helpful (if not downright rude) desk staff. As soon as we entered the room, Katie, my then 13 year old, asked why we always stayed in dumps? Um...not sure Kate, but it looked good on the internet! Of course, the motel was one of those older kinds in which you access your room from the outside.

We opened the door, and after getting past the initial smell of cigarettes, old people, and fungus, we noticed the room was TINY. The double beds were nearly touching each other, the TV was probably 20 years old, the carpeting was not the kind that you would ever consider walking around in bare feet, the sink was one of those rusted out basin kind with the plumbing exposed, with only a sink and NO counter space; there was a chair available near the TV, and of course...the ever popular Gideon's Bible. No self respecting motel is without one of those! The only thing missing was the chalk outline of the dead body of the previous tenant. Joy.



Entering the tub/toilet area, it was not possible to close the bathroom door, if in fact you were actually sitting on the toilet. Instead, you would have had to stand in the tub, close the door and then you would have had enough room for your feet. Actually, Lloyd still did not have enough room for his legs, he had to sit on the toilet, with one leg in front of him and one leg in the tub. I'm sure that was comfortable. The exhaust fan didn't work and I wasn't the least bit surprised. I happened to read some reviews when we got back and noticed that one person had complained about a bunch of toe-nail clippings near their sink. Toe.Nail.Clippings. *gross*

I was a little nervous about the double beds...Lloyd and I are not really made to sleep in those together. He is big, and I am not tiny by any means. Therefore we had to sleep on our sides, laying in the same direction, and perform synchronized flipping throughout the night, lest one of us fall out and land on the disgusting carpeting.

[Actual picture of our room]


[Actual picture of the "sink area"]

No crappy motel room is complete without the disgusting, rattletrap, leaking, moldy window unit. Lloyd immediately took that apart and set the pieces and parts in the tub for a thorough cleaning with bleach. YES...he has done this before in several crappy motels we have stayed in, so he is a veritable pro at it. And YES...we did bring bleach.

I know that one or two of these problems would have been enough to send some of you packing, but as I said earlier, we have stayed at a crappy motel or two before, and we can tolerate a lot. Or we are just stupid, take your pick.

Anyway, the rehearsal and subsequent dinner at Dunleith went well, and we made our way back to the motel around 11. We noticed that lots of folks weren't actually in their rooms, they had dragged their lowly chair to the balcony landing in front of their rooms and were partying with their friends, family and neighbors. When in Rome (or the ghetto, as it were)...you know. So, we spent an hour or so mingling with our out of town family ghetto style, and headed off to bed for our synchronized swimming sleeping.

[Balcony view...lovely, isn't it?]


The next morning, Katie got up to go and get her continental breakfast, consisting of NOT L'eggo My Eggo waffles, but the generic Walmart Great Value freezer burned waffles. She was already very unimpressed by our choice of motels, and that pretty much just sealed the deal for her that we, as her parents, are cheapskates and we suck.

I had to get dressed to go to the bridesmaids bruncheon at Dunleith, and really couldn't spend a whole lot of time worrying about her overall well being and happiness. I dressed in a button down blouse and khaki shorts that seemed acceptable at the time. Much to my dismay, not only was I the oldest bridesmaid there by nearly 15 years, but I was also horrendously under dressed. I vaguely recalled something on the invitation that said something about wearing a dress, however, I must have ignored that because I only owned two dresses: one that I wore to the rehearsal dinner the night before (purchased earlier that afternoon) and the one that I was wearing in the wedding that day. The other bridesmaids looked refreshed, wearing pretty dresses, with their hair and makeup looking perfect despite the fact that the majority of them had been out partying ALL NIGHT. I could only take solace in the fact that their 26 year old selves would one day be 40+, and looking great would not come so easily to them. Muwahahaha.

Having made it through brunch, somewhat sheepishly, it was now time to start getting ready for the wedding. Lloyd ferried me back to motel hell, and took the kids for lunch at Pizza Hut across the street, so that I would have the whole room to myself to get ready. THIS is when things really went down hill.

I went down to the front desk to see if I could get an iron, as I had not yet ironed my dress. To obtain an iron, in this fine establishment, the following things were required: $10 *cash*, a current drivers license (surrendered through the duration of the iron lease), your first born, 3 references with phone numbers, and a pap smear. Ok, not the last three, but you seriously had to pay for the iron and give them your drivers license. Obviously, that was a little bit too Orwellian for me....not to mention, the ladies at the front desk were just plain mean. I really couldn't understand what they said, although I have lived in the south a relatively long time. It sounded like a ghetto version of the guys from Swamp People.


...so I went back to the room and "attempted" to plug in my garment steamer to allow it to heat up. YES, we had brought the steamer, but I am not terribly good at using it and was really hoping for an iron. It never occurred to me that the room wouldn't have one!

Another thing lacking in motel hell were outlets. There was one behind the ancient chinese secret TV, but getting to it proved to be a b!tch. I tried to move the "entertainment console" however, it was bolted to the wall. I found another outlet behind our nightstand...however, that was also bolted to the wall. I discovered that if I removed the drawer, I was able to successfully plug in the steamer. A lot of work for such a simple thing.

Into the disgusting tiny shower I went, and upon exiting, I noticed that not only had the bathroom taken on a sultry/South American Amazonian type feel, but so had the entire room due to the steamer warming up. Crap, the fan doesn't work. Literally, you could not see 2 feet in front of your face. I half expected to hear the shrill sounds of those weird forest monkeys.


Women are going to understand this next part. It is NOT POSSIBLE to do your hair and put makeup on in 100% humidity. You can try, but I can assure you that any and all makeup is going to slide off of your face and your hair will go one of two ways: dampish poofy frizzy, or limp frizzy. Take your pick. Either way, it's all bad.


I won't lie, I felt slightly panicky then. I had less than 1/2 hour before Lloyd was going to be back, I couldn't put makeup on, I hadn't steamed my dress, and my hair, given the current humidity, was hours a way from thinking about being dry, or it was going to be an afro in minutes. Either way, the options were not looking good. So, I put on a bra and panties, shook an entire bottle of travel sized baby powder between "the girls", slapped a bunch of giant velcro rollers in my wet hair (which if you like to *keep* your hair is bad bad bad) and attempted to steam the dress. I figured if I got that done, I could at least cut the steamer off, and open the doors to the "breeze alley" of our motel and maybe it would be a little less rain-foresty.

Now the dress was one of those full length, poofy Scarlett O'Hara kind (I am sure there is a proper name, but since I only own two, I am no expert in dress "styles), and it was nearly as tall as I was. I tried to hang the dress on the steamer but it was just too long and was dragging on the disgusting floor.

[My dress, on a much thinner person...but in watermelon]

What to do? What to do?

Aha!! My dumb@ass came up with what (at the time) seemed nothing short of a brilliant solution. I would put the steamer on the bed, hang the dress from that, and steam it.

This WOULD have been a great idea if A) the steamer was made of cast iron and B) it didn't have roller wheels and C) the dress didn't weigh a lot more than the steamer. No sooner had I hung the roughly 35lb dress when the whole water filled thing tipped over...onto my dress, subsequently crashing everything to the floor. In fact, the entire butt of my dress was soaked right through the crinoline. At this point, I definitely started cursing and even made up a few new words, and then I cried. At *exactly* that moment my dear sweet husband came back to pick me up, expecting me to have my hair and makeup done, and dressed ironed/steamed. HA!! Was he ever in for a rude awakening!

He was assaulted by the Amazonian feel as soon as he entered the room, only to find his wife wearing only a bra and panties, velcro curlers in still wet hair, crying, and kneeling on the floor desperately trying to towel off her very expensive bridesmaid dress. I give him a lot of credit. Lesser men would have turned around and immediately fun far far away. But he must really love me, because instead of asking what the hell happened, or giving me a bunch of crap about it, he told me he would take care of the dress, and I could finish getting ready. Hallelujah. Amen.

I put on a blouse and shorts, opened the door to the room, and plugged my blow dryer into the single outlet located near the sink.

ZZZZTTTTT!! (I know that sound)



Oh. My. God.

I just blew the power to the room. No power. Nada. Zip. Zero. Zilch. Pure Darkness.

Insert maniacal "psychiatric ward" type laughter here.

Lloyd, being calm, cool and collected went down to the front desk and asked them to reset the breaker. Apparently, he hadn't yet had to deal with the mean women working the front desk. Good luck with that, I thought.

There was nothing I could do at that point, but wait. And wait. Ten to fifteen minutes later, he stomped back into the room, pissed off, and explained to me (with gritted teeth) that the building maintenance guy didn't know how to reset the breaker, and that it was "going to be awhile".

Insert more maniacal laughter here.

What the hell do I do now? I wasn't dressed, didn't have any part of my hair done, didn't have any makeup on my exceedingly greasy face, had giant pink ghetto rollers in my hair, my dress was soaking wet, and I couldn't see in the dark to gather up my stuff. On the plus side, since the steamer had been shut off, the room was slightly less tropical. Very slightly.

The only option was to call my dad and beg to borrow his room at the mansion to get dressed. Of course, he had no issue with that. I am sure he heard something in my voice that said, if you don't do this, I may end up killing you, so he really didn't have too many options.

The downside of this (haha...where was the UPSIDE?) was having to to do the walk of shame into the mansion with the big pink velcro curlers still in my hair.



The wedding itself was lovely. Hot, but beautiful. My dad's room at the mansion was amazing, probably the nicest room I have ever seen in my life. His bathroom, alone, was bigger than our entire room at motel hell. We were gypped...no doubt.

Much later that night, we arrived back to motel hell, the power was back on, our air conditioner was working, especially after Lloyd banged on it a few times. We slept the sleep of the dead, our stress was over. I had no more complaints after that, after all....what more could have happened?

Exactly a year ago today...

Funny isn't it? How times flies? It was a year ago today that my family and I were visiting Disney World. If I could turn back the clock, we would be at Typhoon Lagoon...

For those of you not Disneyfied, Typhoon Lagoon is one of two Disney water parks. It is a beautiful park, very tropical, which is pretty nice when it is hotter than the hinges of HELL if you are stupid enough to choose to go to Disney World in June. Although we were ridiculously lucky when we visited that week that it was only in the low 90's, I don't care who you are...that's STILL HOT. Factor in the humidity and even larger bugs than Mississippi has, and you are a complete moron if you decide to vacation there in the summer at all. That being said, I sure hope we can go back next year!! If you have ever read even one blog, you already know that we are morons.


SO...where does this adventure begin? *sigh*...

There we are, about to embark on our one day visit to the water park. I, Queen Moron, decided to wear "Old Faithful". Women know what I am talking about. Old Faithful is the bathing suit you have had so long, it is an extension of yourself, an appendage really. It no longer looks good on you, it just serves a purpose: You can get out of it to pee. That's right...I said it. It's the comfortable bathing suit that you really shouldn't even wear in your back yard, even if Favorite Neighbors aren't home, much less out in public.

You see, bathing suits for more...ahem...mature women aren't made of the usual material that you see women under 40 wearing. Women over 40 are wearing bathing suits constructed of rebar and space-age trampoline material. There may even be some of that sham-wow crap in there, I can't say for sure.

Take the ever popular Miracle Suit...guaranteed to make you look 10 lbs thinner. It's claims are absolutely true. You see, it sucks in all your stomach fat and pushes it into your boobs. If you are an A/B cup, you look fabulous. If you are a C/D cup, well...you look like Dolly Parton. It cinches your waist, lifts your butt, and gives you a brazillian wax. Ok, I am kidding on that last part, but it really does make you look like a much better you. The only catch is: if you take it off, you can't get the damn thing back on if its wet. It's physically impossible. You can't pull it to the side either if you have to use the ladies room. The steel netting just won't allow it. It would take the Jaws of Life to wrench that sucker to the side.


Your only option is to take the whole thing off, do your thing, hang your bathing suit on the hook provided, stand in just your flip-flops in the stall of the nasty bathroom of the Water Park, hoping to God that it will dry off soon enough that not TOO many people will be looking at your bucked naked booty through the crack of the stall.


YES...that's happened at Geyser Falls. Lloyd finally sent someone in there to look for me because he got worried. It takes 30 minutes for one of those suits to dry enough to get back on. That's a whole lot of people looking through the crack of the stall at your nakedness wondering what the hell you are doing. Just drying off...

Anyway, having had that little situation happen the previous year, I opted to wear Old Faithful to Typhoon Lagoon. I figured I would never see anyone I knew, and I don't care if strangers think I look like a whale. It's not as if I haven't seen a hundred Chewbacca looking European guys wearing banana hammocks at other water parks. At the very least, I am mowed down, and completely covered. A veritable super-model in comparison.

SO...One of the first things we decided to check out was the wave pool.




I have been to a lot of water parks, and spent a fair amount of time in wave pools...they are a lot of fun. This one, truly, is the biggest one I have ever seen. It's absolutely enormous. Every three minutes you hear a GONG, everyone starts screaming, and they release...one tsunami style wave. So, there I am, standing in about hip deep water, I hear the GONG, the crowd goes crazy and I noticed that everyone is turning around, placing their backs to the wave. Huh...interesting.

Like the good sheeple I am, I follow suit. Baaaa.

I turn around, and this wave (way way over my head now) propelled me forward about 10 feet, smack dab into the back of this young college guy in front of me. The only problem was that it also knocked off the top part of my suit.

So, me and my Mamaw boobs...are planted squarely on this poor guys back. In fact, I knocked him down, I am laying down on top of him...

bare boobed...writhing....desperately trying to get up

with more and more water rushing over the top of me, I couldn't get up, no matter how much I fought it, or how much he tried to get me off of him. Truth be told, he was just a little fella...he never had a chance.

[momma's gonna take good care of you]

You know, in some states, I could go to jail for lesser things than what just happened...

SO...the wave finally passes, and I am now in 18 inches of water, panicking, trying to get my suit back on...he's out from under me, but my boobs are scraping some seriously rough concrete.

I tried to apologize to him, but what do you say? UM...yeah...sooo....I am really sorry about just molesting your back with my big 'ol mamaw boobs... Meanwhile, he is just stammering, "uh uh uh uh uh", his buddies...are literally peeing in their pants laughing. Awesome.

Humiliated, I finally got Old Faithful back on. I really didn't care that lefty was trying to sneak out of the armhole, and that righty was pointed due north. Adjusting and positioning them at that point would have seemed a little superfluous. Coverage was the only consideration. Head hanging down, I went and went and sat with the other Mamaws and Papaws in the shade, where I belonged, looking around to see who had video camera's.

I haven't looked on YouTube, but with as many people that were there, the odds aren't really in my favor that someone WASN'T videoing their grand kids playing in the wave pool that day, and got more video than they bargained for. Hopefully they just don't know how to post it on the internet.

A funny thing happened...

One weekend, in the recent past, we helped our favorite neighbors put up a new fence. Fortunately for me and Mrs. Favorite Neighbor (Mitzi), we are just the grunts and do as we are told. Chief Engineer for this project, Mr. DamYankee, was the one with the muscle and would be doing the bulk of the work.

Prior to starting on the fence building we needed to rent a two person auger. Now, the last time that an auger was used, for a different section of fence, it was Mr. DamYankee, and Mr. Favorite Neighbor at the helm. This time, it would be Mr. DamYankee, Mitzi and myself.

I won't lie...I was a little nervous that we wouldn't be able to handle it since weighed more than a large bull (with horns).

That being said, we trotted off to a rental place in a neighboring town to obtain the beast. Mr. DamYankee told us to wait in the truck while he took care of business.

Um...riiiight. There is no way I am going to a place like that, with tons of cool stuff to look at and wait in the truck. Sorry...don't see that happening. Fortunately, Mitzi and her inner 5 year old felt the same way, so we hopped out. Just because we are grunts, does not mean we will always do as we are told.

Inside the place was a myriad of interesting things to look at, most of which I would never be able to name or describe. However, there was a party section amidst all of the machinery and tools. In this festivity section were a large selection of crystal and silver, wedding columns, fake looking funeral flowers (or wedding, depending on context...I suppose), candelabra's...you name it...it was there.


So...she and I busied ourselves touching everything and commenting on some of the gaudiness, when in the middle of our snarkiness...I stepped on something. (karma much?)

Something mushy. Something mushy...that stunk REAL REAL bad. At first I thought maybe it was a dead mouse or something. I have stepped on one of those before, barefooted, and it did have a similar "give".

Looking down...Oh no, Hell No...I just stepped on a dog turd...in the middle of a store... on berber carpeting no less. *crap*



And upon further inspection, this was no wayward turd...there were piles EVERYWHERE. You know...in hindsight, I realize it was my fault for not looking down and watching where I was walking. But in all honesty...in the 40 years that I have been here on this Earth, I have never stepped on anything even remotely like that in the middle of a business establishment. It just hasn't happened.

So...not knowing entirely what to do...I mean, this wasn't something that you could just flick off...as it was ALL UP IN the grooves of my tennis shoes, I solicited Mitzi for some advice.

After I explained my predicament, and trying to do our best to stifle our hysterical laughter, we decided to sneak outside and find a grassy knoll in which to attempt to remove said poo from my 993's.

So...there we are, me walking on the side of my foot, nonchalantly trying to exit the store without drawing attention to the problem, while nearly peeing myself from contained laughter. Across the way, we found a little grassy area, a small stick and I went to work...laughing even harder. I know that if I don't get it off, I will have to get into Mr. DamYankee's truck with crappy feet and he won't be happy. Not to mention the smell when he turns the heat on.

I managed to get a bunch of it off, and at that time he waved us over telling us it was time to go. We are still hysterically laughing at the absurdity of the situation when he asks..."what is the matter with the two of you?". We told him...and he asked us if we went back in to tell them about what happened.

UM...no. No we did not.

I mean...obviously judging by the number of piles over in the wedding section...SOMEONE in there is very aware that there is a dog that prefers to poop on carpeting over going outside. It wasn't like some random dog just wandered in from the outside and used the wedding section for its own personal toilet (multiple times), you know?

So...the question is...would YOU have gone back in and said something?

What's that smell?

Cue the Lynyrd Skynyrd song..."oooohh...what's that smell?"

Tonight's topic: I smell bad.

No..no...I really do. I bought some new lotion from the Body Shop. You know, I often wonder...what the hell was I thinking? I don't know what it is about the Body Shop, but I can drop some serious cash in there, and never use one single thing I purchase. Here's the reason: they lure you in with these wonderful smells; it's just so intoxicating. So, the friendly goth helper person talked me into making my own lotion. UM...no, I just want some of the stuff that already smells good. You know...pre-made. "oh, you will be so much happier with your own concoction".

DERRR..ok.

So...I mixed together a few things...earthy things. I remember there being some cedar in there, maybe some saffron (I really have no idea what that even is...it just sounded cool), and some other things that the helper person said would be "interesting". I really should pay better attention...I don't want to be "interesting"...I want to blend, fly under the radar. Not smell like an armpit. That being said, the concoction smelled good while I was still in the store....so I left happily with my purchase.

However, something must change in the chemistry as soon as you walk out the door. You know how chili takes a few days to develop it's TRUE flavor? Apparently the crap that I mixed up from the body shop was much like that.

It's smells like an earthy...dirty...stinky

butt. hole.

I went to bed wearing the lotion on my hands and arms and within minutes Mr. DamYankee was asking me if I had farted. Uh...no. I am wearing a new lotion. Do you like it? He started to laugh and asked if I had really paid for a lotion that smelled farty.

Not intentionally.

Another 10 minutes went by and he was begging me to PLEASE go wash it off, as there was no way he was going to fall asleep with that putrid smell next to him. It would seem that the smell grew stronger, and more like pig poo on a hot sunny day...as my hands and arms warmed up. If you have never visited a pig farm, then you really have no idea of the level of stench I am talking about. TRUST me...it's hideous. I think the only thing that would be worse might be a chicken coop...with dead chickens inside of it.

Now, to be fair...this is NOT the first time I have come to bed with something smelly on my person. I have a deep conditioner that smells like a cross between an ashtray and rotten eggs. He really loves that. And I have been known to slather a pound or two of vicks vapo rub on myself when I have had severe colds. He claims that it makes his eyes water and nose run all night, but I am sleeping like a baby when all that happens, so I can't really confirm that. I would say however, that the scented pig poo moisture body whip...was much much worse than anything else I have donned at night. Sadly, although my hands smelled ridiculously bad, they were so soft and smooth. I really hated to get rid of it, but momma always said, you can't go through life smelling like pig crap. People just won't understand.

ok...you got me...she never said that, but had she smelled it...she might've. :)

So...$25 dollars down the drain and another lesson learned. C'est la vie.