My Day Out

These don't happen very often any more.  I have high hopes for these times and today had good points and the obligatory bad.

The good.  I got to see my best friend for a while.  This is also quite rare these days.  We planned to go to Melting Pot and to a friends birthday.  At 1 P.M. it started to snow.  We decided to go to Melting Pot early due to the snow.  We decided to go so early so figured who goes to MP at 4 P.M. and did not reserve?  Apparently everyone.  It was packed and we had to sit in the lounge with no raw meat, as they do not have burners in the lounge.  I wanted to shout out a big, loud F-U!!!  The one place in the world I can let my Vampire/Werewolf tendencies shine because I cook the beast my self.  Singe the bugs off and chow.  I am not afraid to die from beef bugs.  It is my inner cave girl, I guess.  All in all, we cheesed out and got our chocolate on. It was pleasant despite our slightly challenged waiter.  The snow got bad and we cancelled going to the party and decided to bring our "fun" closer to home.  Playing it safe and went shopping.  We were home by 7.  We are wild beasts.

We shopped, or rather, I shopped and J.J. window shopped.  I realized as we were shopping that I have become fat, complacent and boring. It was rough and real.  I am bored.  I don't do anything I thought I would be doing.  Don't travel. Don't have a store. Don't go out with my husband.  He can barely be near me anymore.  I rarely go out with my friends.  Welcome to my pity party.  Sometimes I just have to be real.

I came home hoping that maybe since the kids are at my grandma's that D would want to hang out.  He was, as usual up to eyeballs in computers stuff, with no end in sight, as I could see it.  My dad always sadly says "I hope you didn't marry your dad."  Well I am afraid I have.  After two hours I realized if I wanted to do anything, it would be with me.  I am my new best friend.

I got all gussied up in my most "people of Walmart" ensemble and took my own ass to a movie.  I wore a Hello Kitty Sweatshirt, which Charlize Theron thinks adult wearing Hello Kitty ensembles are  lame-os.  You got it jokeass, I am lame.  I date myself on Saturday nights with no kids.  Along with the kitty I added a black cardigan over the sweat shirt because I was freezing ass cold, some pink and red candycanish striped socks, jeans, and Sketcher shape up maryjanes.  It was dead sexy.  I grabbed the trash D reluctantly packed up for me and I took off for my dream date of sitting alone and trying not to bawl.

Got to dumpster and proceeded to throw my keys in with the trash.  There is 4 inches of snow on said dumpster wall and the lock is frozen shut.  I had to get a cooler from the garage as a stool because there is no way I was asking grumpy pants to help.  I scaled the dumpster walls in my Kitty finest and dug though garbage for my keys. Thankfully they were on the top layer of putrescence, so I was mostly unscathed.  I did some sweet, crippled ninja moves to get out and pouted off on my way to my solo festivities.

Get to the movie and manage to break my goal and cry twice during the previews because fucking Jack from Titanic loves Rose so much and I am all alone.  Asshat!.  Then there is a preview for some stupid Nicholas Sparks movie, whose only purpose in life is to make grown-ass people cry.  Not cool. I hate that guy.  Can't you just write something not ridiculous for once?  NICE!  I HATE YOU!  Needed that.

The movie starts and I realize I smell like garbage and have a raging headache.  I dig in my purse for my Advil stash and pop 4 Advil before realizing one didn't look like Advil.  It was the emergency Xanax.  So not only do I have my stink on, and I am sitting alone, but I just drugged myself.  As a nurse I know never to mix meds in bottles but I tend to break rules.  I like to push the envelope.

I made it through New Years Day, half stoned, which only served to remind me that I never do anything fun and that not even my son would kiss me on New Years Eve.  The only half good part was that Rachel from Glee was in it but she is one of my least favorite characters in that show.  I am pathetic, and I need a hug and my husband won't talk to me and I am pretty sure he purposely picked the show, when I got home, that I would least like to suffer through, so I would come to the couch and puke out my proverbial woes onto this blog.  BLECH!!!!  So there you have it.  My day out.

P.S. I did take a bath after dumster diving, using the only Farm Hussy bath melt my kids did not gluttonize in there bath bomb palooza a few weeks ago.  In case you are wondering, the oil slick that is my kids, is drying up and is no longer in the running for alternative fuel sources. At least I smell like apples now.  Good night.  I am dialing my whambulance as I type.  Pretty sure the Xanax is making me delirious.  Since no one reads my blog I am pretty safely thinking my misery won't have company.

Fuck off day and may the sun shine on a happier me tomorrow.  

I Slept With A Light Saber. . .

. . .and it wasn't as exciting as it sounds.  For one who is mildly, okay, way obsessed with Star Wars this sounds like a kinky fantasy or something.  Let me just relay that my reality was anything but fun or remotely moving, in any way.

I worked 7p-7a last night which puts me into zombie/vampire mode by 0730.  I made my usual treck home with one eye open and blaring the radio to keep awake.  Get home.  Smooch on the babies as they are being herded off to school by the big dood.  Throw scrubs in the wash that has preloaded soap and fabric softener to avoid any confusion. Strip (this is the most exciting this story gets.) fall into bed with eyes closed on the way down.

"ZZZZZ-gggerrrr-zzz!!!"  This is my lame typed impression of the sound of a toy light saber, click for real sounds, if you live in the stone ages, and do not know of what I speak.  I jump up convinced I must be hallucinating and I am pushing buttons on my phone to shut the madness up.  I have a light saber app on my phone, which, surprisingly, have not played in a long time.  It won't turn off.  I look for other sources of this cacophony, and it goes away.  OK, back to my 6 hour coma.

"ZZZZZ-gggerrrr-zzz!!!"  WHAT THE CRAP?  Look again, for there must be an explanation.  It turns off again before I can figure it out in my hazy, half alive state.  FINALLY, I can sleep.  

There is NO doubt in my mind, how this ends.

This time I actually get to sleep.  I am plagued with dreams of saber fights the whole damn time but am too exhausted to even give a crap any longer.  I know I am just hallucinating at this point.  If you have ever worked overnights and tried to live a NORMAL life the rest of the week, you know how this could be possible.  I just chock it up to "time to lay off the Wars."

I just got home from picking the chilr'ns up from school and still feel very unrested.  I lay on my bed to, I don't know, blog, maybe.  "ZZZZZ-gggerrrr-zzz!!!"  OK, now I know I am wide awake, dammit.  I am more focused and am able to track the sound with a more keen ear. What do I find?  My kids light saber, A.K.A my light saber. It actually is mine, technically.  Don't even ask.  OK? It is behind my bed with just a perfect amount of crap piled on it to activate it when someone lays on the bed.  It only stays on for about a minute if someone is not using it.  Hence, the turning off fairly quickly.  I can only assume that every time I turned in bed. "ZZZZZ-gggerrrr-zzz!!!" THE WHOLE TIME I WAS SLEEPING.

I am leaving it for DH to figure out tonight.  With my luck it only happens on my side and he gets to sleep like a baby, with no distractions.  This whole set up is like a perfect, accidental design.  You can't make this stuff up, people.

I am off to "ZZZZZ-gggerrrr-zzz!!!", I mean work tonight. I hope no one coerces me to The Dark Side.

Love Yoda, I mean Jilly.

P.S. I am not sure there are enough K cups in te galaxy to keep me alive tonight. Vader owes me a drink.

Keurig, My Love, How I Love Thee and Hate Thee

I got a beautiful, shiny, "top of the line" Keurig Single Cup Brewer, for Christmas.  I was proudly told it was the best of the best.  It came with 60 "K Cups" to use in it and I got one box of additional cups as a gift.  I love the K cups because they really do produce a fabulous and easy cup of coffee.  It takes the "brains" out of making coffee, which is a task I do with no brain on a daily basis.  My brain does not function well and I can't even see or hear properly, until caffeinated.

I love the plop the cup in and push button part.  A complete moron could do it, which suits me in the morning, or often in the afternoon as I work nights.  I also love the not having any extra coffee sitting around getting "stenchy."   I hate the smell of coffee that has been sitting more than about an hour or so. It is my love and hate relationship with coffee.  I love it fresh and hot, I hate it when it sits and stews.  It turns from my prince in shining armor to a warty, nasty-buzzard toad.  That is how I knew I was pregnant with both of my kids.  I barfed when I smelled the stale coffee at work.  There is always a pot or two or twelve of varying degrees of rotting coffee on nurse units.  Some people probably think I am nuts, YA THINK?  That is a given and this is one of my most serious "issues."  I really do have a strong aversion to this smell.

Anyhow, I am rambling and being terribly dull so far this year, but I had to speak of My Pretty.

I must go on to say that Keurig has a pretty sweet gig for themselves, though, with the patented K Cup.  I was in a bit of sticker shock when I saw that they are $12 regardless of the variety and store you go to.  I mean, really?  Folgers cost the same as Green Mountain "special as it gets" blend.   Regardless of this silliness, it is still far less than Starbucks, who I think are farking evil-assed crooks that must put crack in their coffee.  I did notice that Folgers has a knock off K cup, in addition to Keurig patented one.  That cracks me up.  Buy the knock off for $5 or the K cup for $12.  Whatever.  Keurig, I love you, and I want to punch you in the nut-sack.  Kind of like being married. Mostly I love you.  I am happy to have met you on Christmas, but don't be surprised if I think unhappy thoughts about you from time to time.

Now that I cursed the K cup, I can say that I have the reusable filter to use my own coffee with.  That kind of takes the fun out of it but will probably make more sense financially.  BOO.

How To Make Ginger Bread Without Wanting To Jump Off A Roof

A couple of weeks ago, the director of children's services at church sent me an email beckoning me to join the Presbyterian Women (PW) in baking ginger bread panels. They are to make houses with, at our Advent Festival.  There was some song-and-dance speech about how it is time for the younger PW to take on some of the responsibility of baking for events. BLAH, BLAH, BLAH!  Don't get me wrong. I love her and church and I do not want to shirk my duties, but I think older PW are more suitable to taking on baking duties for several reasons.

1. They probably don't have a preschooler hanging on their leg, while the other hangs from their neck, while they bake.  Baking requires being able to move and breathe for a successful outcome.
2. They probably have worse circulation than a constantly running mom of small children, so they don't mind standing in a blazing hot, baking hell.
3. They are more than likely retired and have more time to bake than a mom with a job, kids in school, after-school activities and 800 hobbies.
4. They probably are more prone to liking baking 36 ginger bread panels. Don't old chicks like baking? My great grandma would bake me a cake if I came over, while I sat and watched. On demand cake, I called it.

I could go on, but you get my drift here.  I am not trying to be agist, just realist.  I personally vow to make extra ginger bread when I am an old PW, so that a mom of the preschoolers doesn't have to play toddler bowling, while attempting to bake a ridiculous amount of ginger bread.  I did learn a lot about this process and how to make it better for other people who may have to do something this out of control.  What you will need:

*A pattern.
*Tubes of dough. (Don't even think you may be Superwoman or man and try to make your dough. Get real, OK? One tube made one house each, with its own little ginger bread man to live there.)
* A fondant roller. This takes the guess work out of rolling dough.  It automatically makes it 1/4 inch. The perfect size for this venture and any other "cut out cookies."
* The scooper/chopper thing with the blue handle in my pics.  No, I don't know what it is called. For REAL. My brain has no room for these types of details.
* Parchment paper. This will save on clean up and is of utmost importance in the keeping sane part of this lesson. Dough doesn't stick= you don't want to throw it into the pantry door, like my mom did to my ginger bread house, when I was a kid. (Does anyone know where Mr. Freud is right now?)
*Baking pans
*One thirst quenching drink, such as, water, juicebox, or 7-up.
*One beer
*One bottle of wine.
*At least a shot of liquor.

Roll the dough out until it doesn't squish any more, and place pattern pieces.  (Roll the dough between two sheets of parchment paper.  Remove the top piece and then place patterns to be cut out. )

Cut around pieces with the choppy thing or a knife. I like Mr. Choppy.

Keep the patterns on the dough and flip it over. Peel the parchment off and put pieces with pattern side up on pan. Leave room between the pieces for it to grow.   (I forgot to take pic of this part so it is imagination time.)  Then peel the pattern off and bake for 13 minutes at 350 degrees.  (The dough package says 7-12 minutes.  Ignore it.)

While the pieces are still hot, place patterns back on and use Mr. Choppy to cut pieces to the original size again.  The stupid things grow as baked dough will do.  GRRR!! Let cool and move to ever growing pile.  Throw the cut offs in ever growing heap, (see pics.)

This is the ideal rolled out dough. I actually fit all three pieces on one rolling.  I am too challenged to have done this every time.   If a piece didn't quite fit, I would just put more dough under the missing part and roll a bit more.  MAKE IT FIT!  HEHE!

Here are my original tools. Roller thing.  Mr. Choppy.  Knife.  Dough between 2 sheets of parchment.  7-up to stay hydrated.  (Juice boxed was slipped in by pre-schooler hanging on my leg and screaming. ) Scissor for cutting the pattern out the first time. 

After 2 rolls of dough, I changed my beverage selection. This is a good pic of the rolling of the dough between the two layers of parchment.

After roll 3 1/2 I switched to wine and fantasized about killing the dough. 

After roll 5, it is time to start doing shots.  My grandpa would have beat me with this dough roll if he knew I drank Glenlivet 18 to soothe vengeful baking thoughts.  See the pretty dough roll? Again I stress, DO NOT MAKE THE DOUGH!!  This cheesy white guy is so happy for you to use his dough.  I can't remember his name. 

All but one set of panels are here ready to get the heck out of my house.  They are all nice and uniform for building ease. 

This is what I did with my leftovers.  This is to avoid getting clubbed for wasting scraps, by ghosts of baking past.  A.K.A Great Grandma Coellen.  Never waste!!  Capiche? 

These are going to the island of lost cookies, never to be eaten unless some one comes to get them STAT.  I am already tempted to waste.  They are the  parts chopped off by Mr. Choppy.  I wonder if the beasties outside will eat ginger bread cast offs? I pretty much think squirrels will eat anything after they ate my jack-o-lantern faces.

Why I Fell Off The Edge of Earth

I was in a hostage like situation around late July to early October.  I was abducted by evil, torturing fiends and was in a bit of a dark place.  Truly it was work related and all consuming.  Evil Emperor politics, really bad managing and enough drama to fuel As the World Turns, for a good spell. I like to think of myself as a lady, albeit, a bit of a crazy lady, and don't like to talk about icky things.  That is a total lie, in a sense.  I like icky things, such as, really gross dressing changes, but not icky personal stories.

Sometimes in life you just get in a rut of bogus funk.  I like to live in shiny, happy people land and when I get thrust into evil plots, I tend to shut down.   That is my excuse and I will stick to it.

I went to a glamourous pie eating contest tonight and had a high school chum ask me if I still blog.  I felt a bit ashamed that someone actually reads this and I have not delivered in a long, long time.  Thing is I love blogging and I have missed it.  I actually went in to full time, new job search in August because I was written up for sticking up for my work colleagues. That and I realized I didn't craft, blog or do anything fun and happy anymore.  One of my dearest friends was fired for no good reason and I just felt stuck and like I needed a continuous infusion of Prozac.

As of the beginning of October I have a new job that I love. I am back in patient care and have been really busy getting back in to the swing of real nursing.   I have been in a really good place for a while, mentally.  Mid October I got super sick and I actually just got over it last week.  I had a cold/sinus infection that kept on giving so I killed it.

Now that my paranoia from evil torture world has worn off I am up for some fun again.  As usual, I have bitten off a good chunk of busy and have a ridiculous lineup of activities to keep me hopping until Christmas.  I have to bake enough gingerbread panels to make 5 gingerbread houses for the church.  I have 4 sweaters to knit for Christmas.  I have 35 clay handprints to paint for the kids Christmas gifts.  I owe two cancer kids hats (they probably think I forgot about them. That will never happen, babies.)  I also have to stop being a totally lame-o blogger.  With that I leave blog land and will embark into knitting land. Good night. 

GLEEK!

I pretty much want to be on Glee.  It would be super fabulous to just dance and sing my life.  I more or less do this in my head anyway.  I don't know how I got so cheesy. HAHAHAH!  My poor children are going to be scarred for life from my silly singing.  They will just have to get over it though.  We make enough to send them to therapy.

I am having a Glee marathon right now because I am hung over and sneezing my lungs out.  Had my 20 year reunion which I don't really think is possible being as I am 29.  I must be really smart to have graduated when I was only nine.  I am going back for more tonight.  Do you think they would mind if I sang and danced everything on my mind?  HA!! GLEEK OUT!!

Ten Things- Uses For The Cotton From Medicine Bottles

So as some of you know I work in a call center answering medical questions.  I got a call where the guy asked me why (Brand X) does not put the cotton in the bottles anymore.  My standard answer to these types of questions is "I have not been able to locate any information regarding this. I am sorry."  He told me he had just woken up with this vexing question and thought he better call and ask.  He called from PT at 0700 MST, on Saturday.  I find this rather disturbing.  When we were about to disconnect he says "Well, I guess I need to go call Advil now."  This I find even more disturbing.  This happened about a month ago and every Saturday when I am answering the constipation hotline, I think of possible alternate uses for the cotton.  This is, perhaps, the most disturbing part of all.

1.) Save for use when one has a bloody nose.  Use as a stopper.

2.) Use it to take of fingernail polish remover and save money on cotton balls.

3.) Save it and send it to me to use as stuffed animal stuffing.  (My grandma told me I should save dryer lint for this purpose.  HA!)

4.) Stuff your bra with it if you wear one.  If you do not, donate it to your nearest size A- chest.

5.) Put it in the end of the shoes of your kid so you can buy the 2 sizes too big shoes on clearance and get maximum use out of them.

6.) Soak it in wax and use it as ear plugs to drown out the sawing ZZZZ's of your loved ones. (This is dedicated to my husband.)

7.) Save it and use it as packing materials at Christmas time.

8.) Use it as kindling for when you light your next camp fire.

9.) Spin in on a spinning wheel into string and knit a coaster with it.

10.)  Save it for when your kids have kids and tell them way back when I was a kid they used to stuff jars of pills with big wads of cotton and I could never find out why because the call agents were so obtuse.  (I got called obtuse because of my answers.  Everything we give out is scripted.  This was by email too.  How warm and fuzzy and detailed do you expect an email from a drug company to be? SHEESH!)

Now if this man googles "Uses for cotton from medicine bottles" he may have some not quite true uses for it.  The real use of it is to keep the pills from breaking and/or to absorb moisture away from the pills.  I am not allowed to give out information that is not provided to me.  I hope this is a learning experience and I strive to be less obtuse in the future.

The Long Way

That is what I did today. I took the long way.  The way where you drive out of your way to see something extra, to be different.  The way when you stop to find a little magic.  I learned a lot about my niece and nephew by taking the long way.   We didn't go to extremes but we had fun.

I picked them up today to take them up to my dad's.  I wanted to go see my babies before I left for Vegas and they wanted to go up and stay with grandpa.

We drove past Tiny Town and talked about little houses.  We stopped to look for a beaver house.  Rowyn told me she wanted to be a beaver some day and I thought to myself some day you will punch some one if they call you a beaver.  They wanted to look for the cow farm, so we did.

They both talked to me a lot about who they were going to marry which I found a bit odd for a 4 year old and 7 year old but it was a good time.    Rowyn asked me if I knew who she was going to marry and Aiden told me he had to marry a girl with less age than him.  Typical boy.  LOL.

I came back down to get ready for this trip.  Had a bunch of laundry to do and cleaning.  I blew off the cleaning to go see Bridesmaids.  I was supposed to go with a girl from work but we never did.  I figured why not?  I wanted to see it so I did.

I absolutely love going to movies ALONE.  I think some people think I am odd for doing it but it is me time and really?  Why not?  It is not like you have a lot of interaction with a person when you go to a movie with them unless you are a pubescent horn dog with no regard for the other people in the theater.  Oh, and unless you are a scary, Russian, blind date that tries to maul a woman you just met. (Yeah, that happened to me. Awesome.) I suppose the EVIL movie talkers are an exception too.  If I were the rule maker, this would be a felony.  Shut up already!

Anyway, back on track. . . I just think going the long way can be kind of awesome sometimes.  I get tired of always being in a hurry, always expecting things to be a certain way, and always having people expect me to be a certain way.  So I stopped the rat race for a few minutes and took the long way. It was a good day.  

I Like Big Butts. . .

So today marks the second time I have had a black, male masseuse and the second time out of many, many massages that I had a butt massage.  I am not try to be stereotyping or anything but I am just saying, those are some interesting odds.  HA.  So the question is do they really like big butts and they can not lie?

I am not opposed to the butt massage.  I would be lying if I said I didn't like it.  So what is up with no one else going there?  PC-ness?  No one else likes big butts?  No one else likes butt massage? Come on people, don't lie.  I guess I lack the self conscious thing and maybe that is why that kind of stuff doesn't bother me.  Dunno?  Want some of this ham?  Come and get it.

I also don't object to them messing my hair up either.  I kind of like wandering around having people wonder if I just had a nooner.  (No I have never had "happy ending.")  Go ahead and massage my makeup off too while your at it.  Does this make me a loosey Lou?  Or just that I appreciate getting my ham tenderized?

At any rate, I pulled a pseudo "Elle Woods" today.  I had a challenging day emotionally so I bought shoes and got a massage.   I tried to do the nails too but everyone else had the same idea.  After 20 minutes of waiting to be acknowledged I left and stole their magazine for lack of service.  Now I am a proud owner of a People with Pippa Middleton on it.  I am all educated on the Princess' sister now.  Hooray for me.  That was my therapy day.  I have a nice relaxed glutteal region and some smokin hot shoes.  

Ten Things- Frontroom Pizza Fathers Day Fiasco

After a super long day of listening to "Darth Vader" breathing the death rattle on the other side of the work cubicle I embarked on a road to chaos in it's purest form.  Children (and grown ups that are kind of like children) on Father's Day.

1.) The grande decision.  Where to go, what to do?  In my family this is always a ridiculous spectacle.  Never is it an easy choice or event.  "What should we do?"  "Whatever works for everybody." "DO you think we should go?"  "I wonder if we should call ahead?"   (The answer to this, from a former bartender, is always HELL YES.)  "Is (insert anything) going to work for everybody?" (The answer to this is always HELL NO!!) "What is the phone number?" "Does anyone know?"  "Where is the phone book?" Twenty minutes later they have the number from the phone book when I already had it on my iphone after 21 seconds.  Grammy- "Well why did I spend all that time finding the right phone book?"  Me- "dunno."

2.) Waiting for the table entertainment.  Lincoln blowing kisses to everyone alternated with trampling the other kids to be with his mommy.  Ian dodging and dashing with the wait staff.  Sophie screeching and squealing and screaming that she has to "POOOOOOPPPPP!!!" Bailey and Flynn squeezing the beejesus out of each other and making all octaves of ridiculous sounds.  At one point Flynn squeezed the "men love" out of Bailey, whatever that may be.  All of the children took turns smashing my metatarsals into dust.

3.) The stalking for a table  After about 20 minutes of pre-dinner entertainment the older adults decided that they must sit right now and they disappear.  We get up to find them and they are at two tables on either side of a table of three who were enjoying some pizza delight.  Suddenly those folks became the meat in a Herman Family Impatience Sandwich.  I am sure they felt awesome knowing they were keeping the poor, poor chilr'ns from eating.  They left after about five minutes of being turkey and cheese.

4.) The pre-ordering entertainment.  All 5 kids freaking out and starving to death.  Gold fish were flying everywhere and then being masticated with utter delight.  It was not enough.  Lincoln got an emory board as an appetizer, and someone ate the styrofoam bowl the fish came in.  Sobs and wails, laughter and snorts of starving beasts.

Proof that a mom would do just about anything to hush a kid's howling.

Nom Nom NOM! Chomp Chomp a Chuey CHOMP!

5.) The big K/O!  This spectacle was performed by yours truly.  We had to push 3 tables together to make one big enough for the clan.  As we were getting up to get salad I rang my bell so to speak when I slammed my head into the little flying saucer lamp hanging where one table used to be. CRACK!! Chirp-chirp-birdies-flying-around-my-gourd!!  (To make this more awesome, I did it again. The third time this old dog learned a new trick and ducked.)

6.) The bad joke.  A cherry pepper was strategically placed in front of the first child.  It took a bite.  It gagged and it drank it's whole drink in one sip as it chucked the pepper in the middle of the table.  The pepper was placed by the next kid.  It took a bite and gagged and spit it's bite on the table as it chucked the pepper in the middle of the table.  The same pepper was placed in front of the next kid.  It took a bite and gagged as it chucked it in front of the person who put the pepper in front of it.  The big mean jerky jokeass placed the pepper in front of the baby as a joke and the baby grabbed it before big meany could move it.  Baby got pepper juice in it's eye.  Jokeass felt bad.

Return of the bad pepper.

7.) Mid dinner entertainment.  The boys snarfed down 3 pieces of pizza each.  They are one year old twins.  I think they ate more than me.  They sang and danced a pizza song for us to express their deep respect for PIZZA.

8.) Inappropriate snacking.  Flynn decided he wanted me to chew on his ear.  I pretended to and then his dad pretended to.  I always tell him give momma a bite of monkey meat.  I chew his arm and pretend it is rotten and spit it out.  I chewed too hard and he told his dad on me.  Meanwhile April is telling me about how Bailey got all dressed up for a boy.  I was totally into the story and Flynn says give me your arm momma.  I gave him my arm.  Next thing I know Darrell bit my arm really hard.  When the kids bite each other we bite them back.  He was getting me back for biting Flynn.  WTC!?!?! Everyone got a good laugh.

9.) Dessert. Free hot fudge calzones for dads.  That means we got three.  Which means the kids got three.  If you have ever seen these you know that five kids do not need three of them.  Prior to the arrival of dessert Lincoln had checked out.  Grandpa won him over with chocolate.  The next ten minutes consisted of five kids ether shoveling hot fudge calzones into their own pie holes or of ill intending grandparents assisting pie hole stuffing.  Result: FIVE kids crusty with ice cream ooze and choco-goo. One of the babies had a fist of chocolate mint and a fist of calzone as he was getting stuffed by spoon feeding. The offending grandma had a look of evil, knowing that the parents would be forced to take the sugar saturated baby off her hands in a minute or two.

10.) Post dessert= the big kids running in circles like mad rabid animals howling and singing. The babies looking like pot bellied Buddhas.  Sophie singing a "bird song" that sounded like she was spewing random alphabet soup lyrics.  Total f*cking madness.

At that is how it is done folks. 

Urban Dictionary- The Jilly Stunner

This is a story about poor orphaned Hot Pockets, gone awry, and complete and total raucousness .

Many upon a times people I work with have opened their freezers before work in the morning and selected a delectable Hot Pocket to make the journey with them to work.  The Hot Pocket rides shot gun in their car, with hopes of being a delish mid day treat.  The HP makes the journey to the end destination and is parked in the work freezer.  This is where it learns it is not special and most likely not going to be a delectable treat.  There it meets 45 abandoned HP's from other great intentions.

What happens?  The good intentioned co-workers get seduced by evil temptresses, such as myelf, into eating far more delightful morsels.  Poor, poor HP's.  They sit week after week.  Month after month. "Won't anyone just eat me?  For crying out loud!!!!!"  "Let us out, Gosh Damn it!!"

Thankfully somebody finally heard their pleas and deep sixed them.  I hope they gave them their last rights before sending them to the pits.  Actually I don't really give a flying poo, because now there is room for other reckless abandonment.  Why have I tortured you with this story?

Because it led my coworker to ask me about alternative meanings to "hot pocketing."  Me, being me, I googled it from my phone.  Low and behold there are meanings on Urban Dictionary.  Now this is my kind of website.  Raunchy and completely un-PC.  I read the first two definitions out loud and am rolling over them.  The other girls are laughing with me in a hyena medley of debauchery.  It was fabulous and all sorts of wrong.  I start to read the third definition and find myself in a rare moment of complete and utter, stunned silence.  I literally couldn't speak and almost couldn't even laugh.  I will refrain from posting the definitions in the act of feigning decency and save your virgin eyes.  If you can't stand the tension, click the link above. It is proof there is something that can actually stun me.

Later that night my sister and I found the definition for coonass as well.  What a lovely and useful tool for my future in smart-assing.  I forged a symbiotic relationship with Urban Dictionary that day.  It will provide me with much craved un-PC needs and I will pimp it out to the world.

The End

Green Mountain High School Class of 1991 Reunion 2011

**This message was not endorsed by the Class of 1991 Reunion Planning Team** This is a public service announcement straight from my heart to yours.

I have been working with some fellow classmates on the 20 year reunion.  In order to save costs of headhunting ($70 per person, or some such ridiculousness) for Green Mountain High School, Class of 1991, 20 year reunion we elected to network to find classmates.  I spent two months trying to get information from people and had out of pockets costs to find people.  I had a few people give me leads and ways to get in touch with others.  Thank you very much.  It has come to my attention that this method of handling the "people finding" may make people feel "shit out of luck" if they are not on social networking sites.  I, and the other planners, did not intend this. We felt that if people wanted to be found we would be able to find them with out spending $70 a person to find them.  I apologize to anyone that was not networked.  I tried.  I put a lot of effort into finding people before I had to have my thyroid taken out as an unexpected event.  I kind of lost the drive to look so hard at that point.

I am going to post the information here so there is another hit that comes up on Google.com. This is  an "in case people are looking for the information that do not have easily available contact information online" thing.  If people do not have computers and the will to find the reunion information then I guess they kind of are SOL.  I can not help this.  We were trying to save costs, and in turn have a bigger turn out in doing so.  Maybe we were dead wrong, stone cold losers for taking this approach.  I can't change it at this point.

We are holding a "more formal" dinner on the Friday, 29 July 2011, at Solterra Club House.  It is starting at 6 P.M.  Tickets include dinner, music, 2 drinks, and fun times!! Address: 15250 W. Evans Ave., 80228.  It is not a formal sit down type of event but more of a mingling type of event with several areas open to such activities.  We polled and people did not want a formal sit down.  BUY TICKETS BY CLICKING THIS LINK!!


On Saturday, 30 July 2011, we are having an informal event at the Rox Room in Denver. An informal gathering of old friends at the Rox Room on the roof. You can order food and/or drinks off the menu and self-pay. This is part of Lodo's Bar and Grill in Denver.  This will not necessarily be a private party. Make sure you come to the event on Friday night!!  


We would like to extend a warm welcome to anyone from class of 1991 to these events.  It was not an intention to exclude ANYONE.  I personally don't have opposing feelings if people from any of the years surrounding our 1991 class want to attend.   The more the merrier, and the more we have come the more alcohol we can buy.  :)  Please come.  Please pass this information on to anyone hiding in a technology hole, if you know where they are.  If we have a Buddha on a mountain top with out internet access and YOU know where to find them, by all means find them if you are so inclined.  If you know how to get a hold of someone that you do not want to feel SOL, and you do not feel comfortable passing on the information, I WILL.  


I feel more than comfortable giving any of the class of 1991 a ring, mail out, whap upside the head.  Whatever it takes, so bring it on.  Again, I personally apologize for making anyone feel bad.  High school is over, lets put it behind us and PARTY!!

What is Wrong With Ginger Kids

So I have noticed lately that is some joke I don't get about creepy ginger kids.  I have seen at least three movies/shows lately that reference red heads as creepy ginger kids. I know this has to do with red heads but I must be missing the "haha" from this line of joking.  I just about died laughing when Sue Sylvester on Glee called Miss Pillsbury a wide eyed, pygmy ginger.  Maybe I am blind to the ridiculing of gingers since I come from a long line of "Ginger Kids."  I have a brother and a sister that are of this shade.  We are all a bit on the looney side but that is more from nurture than nature.

Should I be grateful that my creepy, ginger kid husband did not give this trait to his children?  Yes, I married a ginger.  Have they narrowly escaped being pegged as creepy?  HAHAHAHAHA!!!  WHEW, who knew?  

Helter Skelter

The details of my night may be greatly exaggerated.  It has come to my attention that the details of my life are (possibly) greatly exaggerated.  Maybe it is all in my interpretation.  It all started when I was almost killed by Charles Manson.

Driving innocently, as well as quite responsibly down the street, as I embark on a journey, with my Bee-atch, towards artistic enlightenment.  How could it not be totally enlightening when a doofus jock from GMHS turns amazing artiste.  Tempting. . . Oh hell yeah.  This I had to see.  I had tinglies of anticipation all over the place.  I journey on in search of the husband guy, who is in charge of taking the children types far away, so I can enjoy a night out.  A.K.A. We met D at the Esquire. Out of no where a skanky car slinks forward into my personal space.  Just as I am piping up to get a little belligerent, I see none other than an incarnation of, Charles Manson.  Disheveled hair and mannerisms.  His beady evil eyes bore into my soul as I faced the dilemma of letting him into traffic or lay on the gas so as to put his frightening face in my dust.   I ask J.J. "what should I do?"

"DRIVE!!!" Tires spin rampantly, and emotions are high as we narrowly escaped with our lives.  Then we pull into the parking lot and see Terri from GMHS.  Turns out the three of us, more or less, dressed like triplets.  I expect this from J.J. but Terri is now roped in to the crazy.   All three with variations of black t-shirts and lace sleeves.  It is the Legend of Zelda coming to haunt us once again.  I will not delve in to the legend of Zelda.  Maybe another time.

We go together like Three Musketeers to the box office and some crazy blond draws little mini, partial Swastikas on our right, inner wrists.  J.J. and I, as if in a mind meld interpret this to be a sign from Charles and try to lick the stamps and rub them on our foreheads.  I know this isn't really funny, because I have a friend who has had the dishonor of serving Charles HoHos in prison.   She probably thinks I am a lunatic.  I am innocent, I swear.

We watch the presentation and I am amazed that the jock can pour out this amazing work.  He seems a little dazed and confused but there is a genius in there, there really is.  It is really incredible whether you like his style or not.  He tells a story about how a Cougar tried to ride him like a pony back before cougars were cool.  Then about his dad and what his dad meant to him.  J.J. had a little mini crush for a few minutes as she envisioned patting him on the little noggin and her in place of the Cougar. (She is going to drive over here and kill me now.)  It was nice knowing you.

CooCOOMAma

Cougar

Marked

The show ended and we were invited to "mingle."  To me mingling means walk around and shoot the shit with random people.  Apparently J.J. and I were showing out roots because we didn't get the memo that there was a right way to mingle.  She went to the lil girls room and I decided to check out the wares.  Apparently I was going the wrong way. Against the grain as I tend to do.  I but in line and ended face to face with jocko.  I am getting the stare down and exasperated sigh from all of those I slighted.  We said our awkward "hi" and I proceed to rub everyone else the wrong way just out of principle.  So ten minutes later J.J. finds me and she has just done the same thing, only she got called out on it.  Some lady dramatically exclaimed, "YOU ARE GOING THE WRONG WAY!"

"OH NO!!!!!!" is the reply as she proceeds to rub everyone the wrong way and plays cut-sies up to the artist.  They exchange sweet nothing and this starts a roll of ridiculous behavior that can only be us truly regressing into children.  I don't know what happens but I think the waitress at Cafe Jordano slipped us LSD in the burnt coffee.

We decided the waitress must be C.M's witch who is big pimpin for crack money.  she has that meth head look only her teethe are marginally more attractive. Worst service ever.  I have never had bad food there either until now.  It was a little bitty bit of H-E-double-hockey-sticks.   I gave her pittance for crack money which I never do.  I am chronic over tipper.  We proceeded to laugh ridiculously and quite similarly to deranged hyenas over every damn thing that crossed our minds until she came and gave us stink eye for the 50th time.  Out of control. I am surprised we didn't get bounced.

On the way home we decided to pretend my husbands car was Billy.  Billy is a special creature who passed away in 1995 from broken alternator.  He was left by the side of the road for months, full of snow.  He was my car.  I do not think D would appreciate us ramming Corvettes and other stationary objects, driving through blue paint, or plastering bandaids all over his car, so we really had to stretch to imagine this.  We rocked out to our fake eighties tunes and freaked out all who saw.

Well I am home now and ready for ninight.  The LSDish , Romy and Michelle-esque-ness has worn off.  I really love to be a mad fool.  Thanks to my BFF for taking me there. Also, thanks for not making out with me on our date. There was definitely not enough wine for that.  I love my BFF. Muah!

I don't feel like proof reading, so there!

Swimming My @ss Off

I had an impromptu pool party today.  My sissies, their kiddos and my mommy came over.  I tried to invite some friends but they were otherwise engaged.  We had a child friendly lunch of PB&J and fruit salad.  I had to feed my mom "chicken balls" because she can't eat gluten and hence, PB&J.  She is the one that called it chicken balls, not me.  I come by this S&*t honestly, honest.

I have a grand plan to swim my ass off this summer.  LITERALLY!  I would really like to lose, well I am not going to say exactly(the figure is not fit for polite society), a lot of butt.  I know Sir Mix-a-lot would not be happy with this plan but even he would need to drink a few 40's to be thinkin' this butt was any kind of all dat.  I really do try to use the pool to actually get exercise.  As in swim! Some people have different exercising plans.

There are several tweens and teens that are using it to foreplay baby making practices.  I think my kids got to see some serious tonsil hockey today.  It was almost more graphic than the zoo!!  I foresee some "bump watch" in the future.  I would never go so far as to say I am innocent of this particular behavior because I am sure there is someone out there that would call me out on that, but good grief.  As a mom now I can see how this behavior is not the most "flattering."

For some reason I think it is a prerequisite to smoke at the pool and I did not get the memo.  Today wasn't bad but I got fumigated yesterday.  I am not innocent from this activity either but there is no way you would ever catch me doing it ever again.  GROSS!  At least take it away from the children, PEOPLE!

Anyhow, it was a super fun day and I am super worn out now.  I probably did 50 laps and most of those were with a various assortment of toddler/pre K kids hanging on me.  If that don't @ss blast I don't know what will.  Take dat Sir Mix-a-lot!!! BAM!! BAM!!

Lost in You Tube Land- Send Beer

So thanks to a fellow '91 alum, I am lost in youtube and I can't get out.  Will some one bring me a four can pack of Guinness?  It started with promises of my old boyfriend, Andrew Eldridch seducing me to a video.  He is the soul of Sisters of Mercy and has the sexiest voice of any human alive.  I am a really faithful girl but I am pretty sure if he came and sang outside my window I would throw down my hair.  I remember the day I found out they were touring and stopping in Denver, I fainted for a second.  Absolutely amazing.

Then on to Front 242.  I am on a ride down memory lane and really wanting to go to Fashionation and get some black lipstick.  I just dyed my platinum blonde to black so no need to go there.  Although I have slowly shed my gothy girl wardrobe over the years I have maintained enough to get by if need be.

Flynn dumped Farm Hussie's Powder all over these.

Now I am delving into Bauhaus but that is also on my ipod.  I love the vids people post of shows they have gone to.  Peter Murphy has the second sexiest voice of any human. I think he may not even be human.  (This reminds me that I have to download some new tunes from this brilliant man.)  The only reason I even saw Twilight Saga: Eclipse is because P.M. was in it for about 5 seconds.  My retinas are now slowly healing from the damage the stupid, whiny, sparkly guy imposed on me during that show.  I suppose it was worth the pain.

Here is my favorite youtube video and one that I dedicate to my little baby brother, Matt.  It is our special song.  I love love love the guys in the blue shirts and the hair.  OMG, the hair.  I used to be so wounded that Morrissey was asexual.  MMMMM!!! He is HOT!!!

LOL.  OK I am done documenting my ridiculousness for now.  Off for more youtube fun.  My poor kids.  

Ubaldo Jimenez

I had a dream last night/this morning in which I was The Bachelorette and I was a contestant on a cruise ship.  I would like to say that ABC can kiss my butt.  They did an absolutely terrible job of picking my bachelors.  The dates were ridiculous, one of which was a drinking game that had drinks with umbrellas.  I do not even like umbrella drinks, so what gives?  I much prefer scotch, Guinness and wine.  Aren't shots more appropriate for drinking games, anyway?  Also why a cruise ship?  Even the nicest staterooms do not hold a candle to the Bachelor Pad.  I really like the rose garden out front and would have enjoyed that much more.  Also I never got to cruise around in a ridiculously expensive car.  No fair.

The finale was a mock wedding and there were all of these "Italian" rituals being done to make sure that the engagement and marriage would be long and "fruitful."  I had to wear a wedding dress and we had a cake fight.  There was a baseball game, indoors, in which some old Rockies players showed up.  I was really mad because I wanted to kiss my bachelor and the game went into way to many overtimes.   The only Rockies I recognized were Dante Bichette, and Ubaldo Jimenez, which we will get to in a bit.  I don't even really like Dante Bichette.  I had to wait on him at El Rancho once and he wasn't very nice even though he was pretty awesome as a player back in the day. I am pretty sure the Italian people would have me stoned to death if those rituals were carried out in their name.  There were a bunch of other details that have already been submersed into my subconscience and for that I am probably better off.

The world's most ridiculous baseball game was finally coming to a close and I heard a dog barking.  It was actually the ring tone for my grandma on my phone.  I chose that one so I would always know when it was her calling, just in case there was something wrong.  I always answer when the dog barks, so needless to say, I woke up. She was calling to check up on how I was feeling and remind me that my sister left me a goody basket at her house from Happy Cakes.  I was really mad because I never got to nosh on my bachelor's pout.  He was to be Ubaldo Jiminez.  Thanks Grammy.

You do have a mean arm, boyfriend.

I do really love the talent of Ubaldo and am grateful that I get to witness this talent in my home state of Colorado.  I appreciate his ability to bring us to glorious victories over teams like the Pitts. Pirates.  GO UBALDO!!  P.P. suck for hurting your hand.  What I do not appreciate is that, although he is not bad looking, Ubaldo is not Todd Helton.  He is my real, baseball playing, fantasy boyfriend.  I would like to order the Hot Toddy, please.  A second choice would be Dexter Fowler.  ABC, next time would you get it right? Put a little more effort into the bachelor selections.  Do you even care about your contestants at all, or is this just a big joke to you. Stop being jokeasses.  Thanks.  

I Am A Little LaLaLoopsy

Thyroid surgery has brought me one very special thing.  A new LaLaLoopsy Doll.  Her name is Pillow Featherbed and she is dressed in her jammies, just like me.  My very best friend has brought her to visit me and I am in love.  I am not going to even try to lie and say I get these things for my kid.  That would just be wrong and deceitful.  I am a gigantic child at heart, always have been and always will be.

Getting Ready For a Nap

Best Friends

Here she is in a solo shot and one with her friend Blossom Flowerpot.  LaLaLoopsy is a good description for how I feel.  The Vicodin has made me a LilLilLoopsy.  Sadly I am loopsy but it still hurts.  I do feel less like some mad, axe murderer has tried to saw my head off today though, so I guess it is a start and I will gladly take it.  One super bumming side effect of the surgery is I have a bit of bronchitis from the trach tube.  I have been coughing like a mad hatter and that doesn't do much for the incision pain.  :)

Hello Kitty Ice Pack Is Helping

I am spending the day in my two favorite articles of clothing.  My Hello Kitty Jammie bottoms and my Chewwy's New Hair shirt.  J.J. also brought me a Hello Kitty ice pack and bandaids.  I promptly needed a bandaid when I tried to slice my thumb open using a knife to open my LaLaLoopsy.  She sure did think of everything.  That is why I love her so.

Hello Kitty Jammies My Hubs Bought me for Valentines day

Chewwy Shirt

I am not even caring that I look like ass crap in these pics.  I just wanted to share all of my fun stuff.  Here is one last pic of my booboo on my thumb and the coolest band aid ever.

Hello Kitty to Save The day

MMMM? Makes you wonder why they have to make toys so darn hard to open.  When I worked at the hossy the number one injury on Christmas was from parents trying to open the kids toys.  Anyhow, that is a different discussion.  I am off to spend some quality time snoozing in my comfies and trying not to cough.  Thanks again for every prayer, gift, get well thought and all of the love from everyone.  You are all truly amazing and I love you.

Jilly

Happy Earth Day and Crafts

My children are celebrating Earth day by littering their room with an all you can eat cheese picnic and ripping limbs off of trees and pretending to plant them.

Yesterday my mom and step mom came over to help me clean the house before my big surgery.  We scoured the kids room and made it absolutely spotless.  They were playing in there so nice and were not making a mess so I went to watch some TV.  As I am watching I realize there is an eerie silence, and with silence like that, trouble is ensuing.  I go to check out the inevitable sabotage of my sanity. What I find is Sophie and Flynn having a "tea party," with Honest Kids juice pouches and a full cheese tray from Costco.  Of course they shredded and destroyed all of the Swiss cheese and cheddar.  What on Earth am I to eat with my whine now?  I am left wondering why in the bloody hell I can't have a moment without my kids being little devils and how did they sneak a whole cheese tray by me?  I know I have been distracted but a huge cheese tray, REALLY?

Sophie and her cousin are outside playing right now and they come prancing over to show me their "beautiful baby trees."  I don't know how they managed to dismember a tree in 5 minutes but they have.  I proceed to explain that once the limbs are torn off they can no longer get any water from the plant and they will die.   They both look at me like they are taking it all in.  They decided to remedy the situation by digging a hole in the rock bed and "planting" it again.  I guess the root thing is a little deep for four year olds.

The replanted tree

This flower smells awesome. Does anyone know what it is? Honeysuckle?

Sophie's Awesome Hop Scotch

Other than the tree and cheese massacre it is an absolutely fabulous day out.  Scratch that. . . Sophie was just trying to juggle rocks and threw one right in her cousins face by accident.  Now Rowyn wants to go home.  Sophie is mortally wounded to her soul, and is pretty sure she will die if she doesn't have a sleep over. WOW, real time blogging.  Well I did pause to console the kid and she, at present, seems to be over it.  I guess I will scratch the calling of the mom.  I may have to get a start on my wine with no cheese now.

Happy Earth Day.  Next year we will try to plant a tree instead of brutally mutilating one.

Following are some crafty things I have done lately.  I made my stepmom a locket for her birthday.  It has the kids photo inside on one side and their finger prints in clay on the other.  It turned out awesome.  I made it out of a silver-tone locket pink anodized copper wire wrapping, pink and green pressed Czech Glass.  I love it.  I also crocheted a mascot for D and Todd's business BloomWorlds.

I crocheted D a BloomBot

I made a monkey puzzle for the kids

Grandma Diane's Locket

locket close up

Some Craft pics.

The Best Dog EVER!!

Chewdogcca

I would totally let this dog ride shotgun in my car and I usually don't like punt dogs.  Sorry for whoever I stole this from but rad-ness like this needs to be shared with everyone.  

Also fun Chewwie related to Jilly facts:

1.) My ringtone on my sister's phone is Chewbacca howling his signature howl.  Is is super awesome.

2.) I got the absolute coolest shirt ever, ever made and it is in the mail on the way to live at my house right now.  I also stole this from my other sister but she should know that she can never rock Chewwie like me.  LOL.

Best shirt EVER. Click link to see it better.

You all don't need to tell me how jealous you are, I ALEADY KNOW!!  If you must, you can also rock this look by going to threadless.  www.threadless.com allows people to submit t-shirt art and then viewers vote on it.  If you win, you get your design printed and then groovy chicks like me can rock your art. HAHAHAHA!

P.S. When I was 5 and Star Wars first came out I wanted to marry Han Solo.  ;)