Wednesday, August 11, 2010
So, this Stephen Slater guy is all over the blogosphere today........"I wish I had an escape slide from MY job......blah, blah, blah". I wish I had an escape slide from my LIFE half the time. This shit ain't as easy as it looks. I'm here to tell ya. What the real story here is this: YOU DO NOT FUCK WITH THE GAY FLIGHT ATTENDANTS. THEY WILL CUT YOU. OR HURT YOU WITH THEIR WORDS. As a person that loves her gays, I can tell you with authority you do not want to get into with them. You will never, ever win. They can out-bitch the biggest bitch going. And if they can't, they'll pull something like this out of their ass and wind up in the spotlight. The escape slide? Oh, that's not dramatic at ALL. When faced with a gay flight attendant, I am always on my very best behavior. I do not want to be the victim of a verbal tongue lashing. Or an untimely critique of my in-flight wardrobe. Most gay guys will tell you exactly what is up which while helpful at times can make for some uncomfortable situations wherein you CANNOT change your clothes. Because you are in a plane. Flying. In the AIR. So really, somebody needs to find out who this dumb bitch is that clearly knows nothing about our gay friends. Silly, silly girl. You just bought him his fifteen minutes. That'll teach him. Most of my gay friends simply cannot stand the spotlight. And if you believe that I'm sure I've got something I could sell you. You go on with your bad self, Stephen!
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Thank you ever so much for going freaking nuts with the barking and waking my ass up at 4am. Not sure what the problem was. Coyotes? You've lived with us for a year. They yap. All. Night. Long. Apparently so do you. Was it the milkman? You never bark at the milkman when he shows up at the back door. We love the milkman! I guess if you were barking at an intruder, that's cool. Although there's not much here worth intruding upon us for. I don't like jewelry and therefore have none. I don't have any priceless art (unless you can't Jack's stuff and I'm pretty sure that's only priceless to me) and my eating utensils are from Pottery Barn. NO valuable silver here. My furniture is covered dog hair and has kid food smeared on it or ground into it. Although you probably don't see too many Quatrine sofas at pawn shops. I wouldn't know. I've got some cool Sticks pieces but I don't think the intruding sort is into that kinda stuff. My clothes are cool but my closet smells like a dead hamster. If the potential intruder cares to walk around with the smell of rodent death clinging to his person, they may go for it. As far as anything of real value, it's either impossible to steal (6-burner stove anyone?) or it's something that an intruder is going to have to go through me for. You take my computer, phone, TV's, Chanels or my bag and I am goin' with ya. Guarantee I'd be deposited safely back home with all of my goodies within the space of an hour. They might even throw in some cash to sweeten the deal. "We'll do ANYTHING!!!! Just TAKE HER!!!!!!". So anyway, Grady, as it turned out, whatever alarming thing you heard with your super-sonic ears was not worth the trouble. I am so happy that you were able to fall immediately back to sleep and were curled up in a cute little ball looking like something out of an LL Bean catalog. You suck.
PS Thanks for the noxious gas you just blasted at me just now. If your intention was to either clear my sinuses and or cause me to find Jesus you may have succeeded.
Friday, August 6, 2010
Well, it seems that I could not find time to post an entry yesterday in spite of my best intentions. No, there was no fire rolling down the mountain and threatening my very being. No pestilence either. Although I do think there is still a hamster loose in the house. So there's that. The fact is, I was busy. That's right. In spite of my husband's insistence that I "don't do anything" I was plenty busy doing "something" all day yesterday. So much so that I could not attend to my beloved "Deep Thoughts". Let's see.......I started out the day at the crack of six wherein I tidied up the kitchen, folded a load of laundry and watered my "farm". I'll tell ya about my farm later. That's another ball of wax entirely. I then proceeded to walk four miles. Four HILLY miles. Granted, I stopped at the halfway point (which happens to be my country club) to refill my water bottle. While there I did happen to end up chatting to a couple of girls I like that work there (word up Erica and Steph). I then huffed my way back up the hill (waving at golfers I know all the while......I should have been riding up main street sitting on the back of a convertible or something.....the "Miss Behaving" float) and was informed that I needed to have Jack at the pool by 10:15 to meet a friend. Uhhhhh.......okay, but I have a class that starts at 10:00. Whatever. Jack comes first. Race to get him ready and down there. Deposit child at pool. Tell pool manager I will hold him personally responsible if anything happens to my child on his watch. This was redundant as Jack's friend's nanny was watching them both. I threatened her too. Went off to Iron Women. Had ass kicked by 59-year old woman. Did 30 minutes on elliptical machine. Went to Pilates. Had ass kicked by same 59-year old woman. Limp into pool. Check on Jack. Jack is fine. Jack is so fine that I see the carnage of shit he's ordered from the cabana. I don't think these children are aware that THAT STUFF COSTS MONEY. Just because no cash is changing hands does not mean that we do not pay for it. Arrgh. Go home to change into swimsuit. Realize that I've got a bit of a problem. Shit. Can't go to the pool like that. Reference waxing blogs. Lettuce hanging out of the bun. Good God. Where's the Nair? Hot damn, that shit stinks. But it did the trick. Nice and tidy! Let Grady out. Decide to see what will happen if I LEAVE Grady out. Go down to pool. Ahhhhh.....my friends are there. Pop a squat on a lounger. "MOM!!!!!!! CAN YOU HAND ME THAT SQUIRT GUN????" Fine. Notice that Jack has acquired some "mystery goggles". The kid just finds stuff laying around the pool and pops 'em on. The other day, a friend of mine approached him and said, "Jack, you can wear those today but we need them back when you leave.....they're ours". I said, "Are you sure?" She's like, "Yeah, they say 'Brock' on the back". Oh dear. Klepto-Christie strikes again. Chat for a little and realize I should go home and check on Grady. Can't find Grady. Shit. Start shaking biscuit box around. Voila. Decide that I won't be able to relax if I'm worried about him. Put him in kennel as he's still inclined to destroy everything if left to his own devices. Like mother, like dog. Go back to pool. Am somehow manipulated into allowing Jack to have the friend he was with sleepover. I was not nuts about this plan as Dave was playing last night and I frankly did not want to be responsible for two kids. It went a little something like this: Jack: "Mom, can Nate sleepover?" Me: "No." Jack: "WHY???" Me: "Because Dad is not going to be home and I said so". Jack: *mumbles something inaudible but which conveyed his displeasure in shitty fashion* Me: "What did you just say to me?" Jack: "Nothing. That was a rimshot." Jack: "I'm going to be really bored if I can't have Nate sleep over". Me: "Fine". I am such a pushover. Have to run back up to clean up house. And to poop. Can't poop at the pool, now can you? Lifeguard: "Uhhhh......Mrs. Christie plugged up the toilet in the cabana bathroom.....AGAIN." Not going there. Go back down. Kids want to go back up to the house. Fine. Pack up the car. Drop them off as Dave is home. Go back down as my friends are still there. Chat for a little more and then go home. Discuss dinner. Determine that pizza is the call. In the meantime, Jack and his friend are invited over to a friend's house to play "kick the can". Okey-dokey. As the mother of the friend in question is also MY friend, I go down as well. That way we can eat HER pizza. SCORE!!!!! There were some other girls from the 'hood there sitting on her patio. Chat, chat, chat, laugh, laugh, laugh. This brings us to 9 pm wherein it was time to call it a night. Bring the boys home and they announce that they are going to have an all night video game marathon. Fine. Nighty-night. And I fell into bed. And THAT, dear readers, is a day in the life of a person who does nothing. Doing nothing is kinda exhausting. And now I get to do it all over again. Yipee.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Thank God. Registration is today. The beginning of the end. The light at the end of the proverbial summer tunnel. The last three weeks of school are pretty brutal. So much crap going on......Field Day! Carnival! Teacher gifts! Amped children! Even I am excited for summer break to begin. Getting out of the routine sounds great at that point in time. That being said, the last three weeks before school STARTS are just as brutal. I forget about that part every year. We've been to the pool (ad nauseum), we've had the birthday party, we've had about twenty five sleepovers, we've been on the vacation. And now we're bored. Or at least Jack is bored. Bored Jack is harder to take than amped Jack. I'll take positive energy over negative any day of the week. And it's not just the incessant moaning and groaning about having "nothing to do". Nothing to do with a golf course, a pool, multiple lifelong friends, a "puppy", X-Box, Wii and a flatscreen TV. But Spaulding's toys are beside the point. It's really about me. I'm now quite eager to have order restored. Not that there's ever much order around here but still. I'd like to go grocery shopping by myself. I LOOOVVVVVEEEE my boy. I really do. But grocery shopping with him is a bit of an exercise in frustration. He wants to push the cart. Okay, he's old enough now that he only only bashes me in the heels two or three times instead of twenty. I even assign him part of my list. This is helpful until we get to the checkout. Seems he's got some high falutin' taste. Organic bananas? Seriously? They're in a PEEL. Who gives a shit if they're organic? Apparently he does. And all sorts of random shit finds it way into my cart. Ping-pong balls? "We need them". Alrighty then. And don't even bring up a trip to Target. He lights up like the Chrysler building and practically has the car backed out of the driveway at the very name. Target apparently equals "getting something". Probably because he has like $9500 worth of gift cards from various holidays throughout his life. So instead of getting in and out commando style, I'm sitting in the toy aisle while Junior ponders what life-changing Lego set or X-Box game he should procure today. Normally I have a schedule. I basically know what's going on each day. Sure, you have your daily surprises but that's just life. Things in the summer are just so random. You don't know what to expect from one day to the next. This is fun for all of June and half of July. It totally sucks from the second half of July until school starts. But as I said, the end is in sight. I shall go into registration and with pen in hand, fight the good fight. Thank you, local public elementary school for letting me borrow my child M-F from 9-4 but you can have him back now.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Okay. I'm not trying to be rude and I probably don't understand because I only have one kid but WHY in the ASS would you take a screaming baby to a movie? The baby has no concept of what's going on. None. The baby is too busy pooping its pants and is probably blind as a bat. I get that your two-year old might be interested in the pretty colors but she was screaming as well. I know this because this mom chose to sit right behind me. The thing about it is when her kids finally totally lost their shit and were full on screaming in concert, she lost her shit too and not quietly. Maybe it's just me but I wouldn't loudly yell, "If you don't be quiet we're LEAVING" four times before actually doing so. I felt like telling her if SHE didn't be quiet I was leaving. I get that this mom was trying to do something fun with her kids. That's exactly what I was doing. With ELEVEN YEAR OLDS. You don't take kids of screeching age to a movie. There's lots of shit you can do with kids that age. I know because I did them. Gymbo-fucking-ree, for example. Ahhhh, how I (did not) love Gymboree. But Jack liked it. And screaming and running around was encouraged. And there's places you can go where you're not disturbing others if your kid starts having a nuclear tantrum. Like the zoo. We have a lovely zoo here in the Queen City of the Plains. Little kids can run around and stare at the gorillas and lick the glass. And there's a choo-choo!!!!!! Don't forget the choo-choo. Whoo-whoo!!!!! Screaming abounds. Lemme put it this way. If your kid requires a stroller, he or she is probably too young to attend a movie. Shit, we suffered through things like Disney on Ice and Sesame Street Live for several years. You expect screaming children at things like that. Age appropriate things. Like Jack going to the bar on Sunday. Completely appropriate. He owns that place. "Bartender, I believe my mother will have another round".
Well, I sat down yesterday afternoon to hammer out a blog entry as I have really been trying to post every day. Typing, typing, blah, blah, blah, Deep Thought, Deep Thought. Phone rings. It's my friend. "HOLY CRAP, MOL.....the Hogback is on fire". What?! Look outside. Don't see anything. Think she's crazy. Back to typing. Phone rings again. "MOL. YOU HAVE TO SEE THIS". Okay, okay......go upstairs and ask Jack and his friend if they would like to accompany me to witness the apocalypse. Nope. They can't be bothered. Something about X-Box 360. Fine. It's your funeral. Drive to the appointed meeting place on the side of the road. Lots of other rubberneckers were in attendance. It was like a little neighborhood party minus the booze and nudity. *I've personally never witnessed nudity at a neighborhood party but it sounds colorful so I thought I'd toss that in* Anyway, there was indeed a rather raging fire burning up the Eastern facing slope and threatening to go over to the other side which is uh.........WHERE WE LIVE????!!!! So, we watched until my friends daughter got a bloody nose. Only blood could drive us from a dramatic scene. Stupid nose. Go back and watch the news (and intermittently drive down to the country club parking lot where I could get a good view of the flames leaping over our side of the mountain. Lest you all panic, it's all good now. They were able to contain it and everything is fine (except for me not blogging yesterday and oh.......the huge black scar going up the side of the Hogback. Here's what gets me. They think the fire was started by some fucktard tossing a cigarette out the window from the neighboring highway. Of all of the numerous things that bug me in the world, that has got to be the topper. If you want to smoke, knock yourself out. Hell, I myself smoked until I found myself in an MRI machine because I had a "suspicious spot" on my lung. At that point in time I made a deal with God/the universe that if I didn't have cancer I would never smoke again. I didn't and I haven't. But I get the addictive nature of cigarettes. They suck. I feel sorry for people still in nicotine's clutches. If you've never smoked you wouldn't understand. But what I find to be the very height of arrogance is to smoke and then toss the cigarette, WHICH IS ON FIRE, out the window. Is the thinking, "Gee, I don't mind if I inhale this thing into my person but I certainly don't want it stinking up my car!!!!"? What do you think is going to happen with that thing that again IS ON FIRE after you flick it out the window????? Nothing? Maybe nothing but maybe something. And if you're too stupid to figure that one out you are surely too stupid to be driving a car. How 'bout if we try to toss flaming bags of dog poop into your car???? How'd you like that? Because although all's well that ends well, our community surely spent a shit-load of money taking care of the result of one act of stupidity. And it could have been a helluva lot worse. It certainly caused a bit of excitement in these parts. Livened up a Monday afternoon. And snarled traffic all over the metro area. It took Dave an hour and a half to get home from downtown when normally it takes 30 minutes. So I hope whoever is responsible feels just lovely about themselves. I'm pretty sure cars still have ashtrays. If you don't want that shit in your car, we sure as hell don't want it tossed onto the side of our mountain. It's amazing how the actions of one moron can change the course of an afternoon. I'll have to remember that the next time the urge to do something moronic moves me. Which is sometimes hourly.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Last night, I thought I was having a fairly measured and reasonable conversation with Jack regarding why he could not attend our neighbors housewarming party. The party started at 4 and we weren't going until 8:30 as Dave had a gig prior. I told him that not only was it a fancy, catered, grown-up party but by the time we were going to arrive, there would probably be some kinda drunk people. His response? "OH. Like I don't see THAT EVER". Shut up, smart-ass. Don't you have some people to kill in a video game or something? Damn. He further stated that he didn't think it was fair that we were going to have fun and he wasn't. Since when are kids entitled to have fun every second of every day? He practically has a freakin' panic attack if he can't find somebody to come over for a sleepover. Shit, I don't have fun all the time. 95% of the time, to be sure but that other 5% is a total bitch. Oh, and speaking of "bitch", this word has been enthusiastically introduced into Jack's vocabulary. Jack: "Mom, so and so is a little bitch". Me: "Yeah, you're right. He is". When I recounted this conversation to Dave it went something like this: "Jesus, Mollie......he's going to say that at school and get in trouble. But I agree......so and so IS a little bitch". So at least we all agree on that. While I am not thrilled with his recent foray into adventuresome language, I at least appreciate that it is used in an appropriate context. If you're going to call someone a little bitch, you best be sure the person in question is in fact a little bitch. And this little bitch IS a little bitch. But I digress. The Christie family is heading to the bar today. And no, we're not going to sit at the local watering hole doing shots. Dave is playing and we do allow Jack to go to the Holiday during daylight hours. Not by himself. That's where we draw the line. He says it's because he really likes to see his dad play. I say it's that he likes the video games. There's not a finer way I can think of to spend the Lord's day than packing up the fam, heading to bar and watching your child look down the crosshairs of a plastic rifle in an attempt to shoot some varmints while your husband sings, "Community Property" by Steel Panther up on stage. That's about as all-American as apple pie right there. Happy Sunday, everybody.