Demon #2 (the 11 year old) yesterday...
Demon: Men should have to wear a bra. I don't want to see their nipples and when I stand next to a man his nipples are right here (as she makes the motion that they are eye level to her). Even with a shirt on, I can see their nipples. I don't want to see their nipples.
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
A different kind of wife?
I just don't get it, I really don't. So often I am called a good wife or the husband is told he is lucky to have a wife like me. Why am I so different? The problem is; his snowmobiles. But it's not a problem. Sure, he's got an addiction that doesn't seem to have a cure and I haven't heard of any rehab centers for snowmobile addicts, but why is that such a problem? Ok, so we have an unknown amount of snowmobiles and lets not even talk about the parts he has... he doesn't even know what he all has anymore! But can someone direct me to the direction of the actual problem? He goes in his garage, works on sleds, goes to snowmobile shows and talks smart or he is on the computer looking at sled porn.
For those of you who are not sure what sled porn is, it's worse than real porn. If the husband would look at real porn I could somehow relate - yep, she's got a nice rack, etc. But sled porn? It's a whole different world...
So out of the three things, thats it. Thats all he does. No bars, no gambling...
unless you count spending a grand on parts with the hopes of turning it around and making money on it, I suppose thats a gamble.
I hear the other guys talk about how their wives hate their husbands habit. Why? I don't get it. It's a snowmobile, not a woman. Sure, his excitement about sleds is sometimes pretty close to the same excitement he gets from me but I know I'll always win in the end. There's one guy who's wife actually got pissed because he got a free sled. WTF? It's free! How can you get mad at a free sled? It leaves me literally frazzled at how some of these wives think.
I was talking to a guy yesterday who asked if the husband was going to a certain show this weekend. I told him no, he had too many projects in the works that he had to get done and that I was grounding him to the garage this weekend. What kind of wife grounds her husband to the garage??? I guess a whacked out one.
Maybe the 2-stroke fumes have effected my brain.
For those of you who are not sure what sled porn is, it's worse than real porn. If the husband would look at real porn I could somehow relate - yep, she's got a nice rack, etc. But sled porn? It's a whole different world...
So out of the three things, thats it. Thats all he does. No bars, no gambling...
unless you count spending a grand on parts with the hopes of turning it around and making money on it, I suppose thats a gamble.
I hear the other guys talk about how their wives hate their husbands habit. Why? I don't get it. It's a snowmobile, not a woman. Sure, his excitement about sleds is sometimes pretty close to the same excitement he gets from me but I know I'll always win in the end. There's one guy who's wife actually got pissed because he got a free sled. WTF? It's free! How can you get mad at a free sled? It leaves me literally frazzled at how some of these wives think.
I was talking to a guy yesterday who asked if the husband was going to a certain show this weekend. I told him no, he had too many projects in the works that he had to get done and that I was grounding him to the garage this weekend. What kind of wife grounds her husband to the garage??? I guess a whacked out one.
Maybe the 2-stroke fumes have effected my brain.
Monday, October 08, 2007
Rock of Love
Had my notify thing set up days in advance for the Rock of Love Reunion Show. Now mind you, I only started watching it halfway through the season, but from what I saw from the recaps - I didn't miss much. Let me first say that I was surprised. Really surprised. A Jes & Heather hug? Wow. And for Jes to basically tell Bret & Heather they deserve each other? What a woman! Yeah Jes!
But let me also say that I hated Heather. I hated when she totally disregarded Bret needing to eat on their last date. When you are with someone, you keep their health in the back of your mind and if someone you know has diabetes and they say "I need to eat" your brain really should stop you and make you think twice. Lets hope there was some major editing going on there.
But hey... if Heather is really what Bret wants, more power to him! I can handle that. I've been a fan of his since the 80's and even got to see him in a little hick town ballroom in 92. (And yes, I have washed my hand since then!) He's a very sincere guy... at least from what the cameras show. I wish him the best and it was a great show. Had me hooked, thats for sure.
I gotta give Jes kudos for what she did - she didn't play the part that some would just for the fame part of it. She walked down her own road and made her own fame - crushing Bret on tv. But was it really crushing him? I don't think so... I think he got what he wanted in the end and Heather? The tears throughout the reunion showed her true feelings - she really does love Bret.
But let me also say that I hated Heather. I hated when she totally disregarded Bret needing to eat on their last date. When you are with someone, you keep their health in the back of your mind and if someone you know has diabetes and they say "I need to eat" your brain really should stop you and make you think twice. Lets hope there was some major editing going on there.
But hey... if Heather is really what Bret wants, more power to him! I can handle that. I've been a fan of his since the 80's and even got to see him in a little hick town ballroom in 92. (And yes, I have washed my hand since then!) He's a very sincere guy... at least from what the cameras show. I wish him the best and it was a great show. Had me hooked, thats for sure.
I gotta give Jes kudos for what she did - she didn't play the part that some would just for the fame part of it. She walked down her own road and made her own fame - crushing Bret on tv. But was it really crushing him? I don't think so... I think he got what he wanted in the end and Heather? The tears throughout the reunion showed her true feelings - she really does love Bret.
Sunday, October 07, 2007
Saturday, October 06, 2007
Big Sky Carvers
Anyone need ideas for gifts for me this holiday season, look no further. Oh come on, I know you all want to buy me a present. Everyone wants to buy me a present! That is, everyone except my husband. He just throws money at me and tells me to go buy what I want. What fun is that? Where's the thought? Where's the surprise?
Anyway. Go here. Buy me that stuff. Take a chance that I don't have the one you are going to buy me.
But don't buy this one because I just bought it for myself yesterday.
Friday, October 05, 2007
Who's Your Daddy?
Last night was Parents Night at the swim meet. Demon #1 is in swimming. She came in last place, again, but I always tell her - somebody has got to be last. So after the meet we all meet in the school commons area for a round of desserts.
As we are waiting we keep seeing parents bringing up pans of bar, cookies and other yummy additions. Husband looks at me and says "Were we supposed to bring something?" I don't know, nobody said a word. As we wait, more and more pans of bars and plates of cookies arrive. "I think we were supposed to bring something" How am I supposed to know? Nobody said a thing to me. More time passes and the pile of calories grows. "I think we were supposed to bring something". I had to bite my tongue, but I wanted to ask him if he wanted to run home and bake a pan of brownies, but he was not happy to be there to begin with because it was so late at night. 8:30 late. Which is late for a lot of people, but really late for him since he starts beating his alarm clock at 2am. Hey, he's the one who wanted to be a truck driver!
So the party starts and the whole thing is, each swimmer gets to introduce their parents. They start with the bottom of the totem pole, the 7th graders, which does include our Demon. She's the last one to introduce her proud mommy & daddy. Even though daddy, by this time, is ready to just walk home. She stands up and says
"My name is Taryn - insert last name here - and this is my dad......."
long pause as she stares at him with her hand on his head.
".........."
I turn my head, hoping nobody realizes this is MY daughter who can't seem to remember her own father's name.
"........... Jason."
Everyone starts laughing and I'm dying. I'm hoping that nobody is thinking we just grabbed some bum off the street to pass off as her father or something.
The coach is a good sport, though, and she lightens Taryn's embarrassment with "How often do you call Mom & Dad by their first name?".
After we got home I did ask her, did you pass that "All about me" test in Kindergarten or not?
And about the bars & cookies. I'm pretty sure we weren't supposed to. I don't remember seeing any 7th grade moms or dads walk up with goodies.
The picture isn't from last night, but the look is pretty much the same. And her hair is wet, so that fits, too.
As we are waiting we keep seeing parents bringing up pans of bar, cookies and other yummy additions. Husband looks at me and says "Were we supposed to bring something?" I don't know, nobody said a word. As we wait, more and more pans of bars and plates of cookies arrive. "I think we were supposed to bring something" How am I supposed to know? Nobody said a thing to me. More time passes and the pile of calories grows. "I think we were supposed to bring something". I had to bite my tongue, but I wanted to ask him if he wanted to run home and bake a pan of brownies, but he was not happy to be there to begin with because it was so late at night. 8:30 late. Which is late for a lot of people, but really late for him since he starts beating his alarm clock at 2am. Hey, he's the one who wanted to be a truck driver!
So the party starts and the whole thing is, each swimmer gets to introduce their parents. They start with the bottom of the totem pole, the 7th graders, which does include our Demon. She's the last one to introduce her proud mommy & daddy. Even though daddy, by this time, is ready to just walk home. She stands up and says
"My name is Taryn - insert last name here - and this is my dad......."
long pause as she stares at him with her hand on his head.
".........."
I turn my head, hoping nobody realizes this is MY daughter who can't seem to remember her own father's name.
"........... Jason."
Everyone starts laughing and I'm dying. I'm hoping that nobody is thinking we just grabbed some bum off the street to pass off as her father or something.
The coach is a good sport, though, and she lightens Taryn's embarrassment with "How often do you call Mom & Dad by their first name?".
After we got home I did ask her, did you pass that "All about me" test in Kindergarten or not?
And about the bars & cookies. I'm pretty sure we weren't supposed to. I don't remember seeing any 7th grade moms or dads walk up with goodies.
The picture isn't from last night, but the look is pretty much the same. And her hair is wet, so that fits, too.
Wednesday, October 03, 2007
Subjects
So back to this journal subject thing and Mr Stromme. I was just out in the garage having a cigarette and I was thinking about that. He didn't give subjects/questions like "What did you do last night" or "What did you do on your summer vacation", he gave odd things like "Today's subject is 'a blue ball'". A what? A blue ball? What the heck are you suppose to write about a blue ball?
Now mind you, I don't have any of these journals, so I don't exactly remember if that was one of the subjects or not, it's just an example that I came up with.
Mr Stromme - if you ever read this. Try the blue ball subject. It could make for some interesting reading.
So you take some words like a blue ball and he left you sitting there with the most blank look on your face trying to be creative and come up with something that even came close to making sense or even came close to the subject he gave you. I think I blame him for my strange thinking. See, I think strange things. Random things that either nobody else thinks of or I am the only one that admits that I think these things. One day, in the shower, I started thinking. I mean, seriously, what else can you do while standing there waiting for the 60 second lapse time for the conditioner to properly work? I don't have one of those removable-put-where-you-want showerheads, so I have to just stand there thinking. So I'm standing there with conditioner in my hair and I wonder - if someone broke into my house right at that very moment and went all Psycho movie on me and killed me in the shower ..... would the funeral director rinse out the conditioner in my hair?
Deep thoughts, people, I tell ya. And it all starts with a blue ball.
Now mind you, I don't have any of these journals, so I don't exactly remember if that was one of the subjects or not, it's just an example that I came up with.
Mr Stromme - if you ever read this. Try the blue ball subject. It could make for some interesting reading.
So you take some words like a blue ball and he left you sitting there with the most blank look on your face trying to be creative and come up with something that even came close to making sense or even came close to the subject he gave you. I think I blame him for my strange thinking. See, I think strange things. Random things that either nobody else thinks of or I am the only one that admits that I think these things. One day, in the shower, I started thinking. I mean, seriously, what else can you do while standing there waiting for the 60 second lapse time for the conditioner to properly work? I don't have one of those removable-put-where-you-want showerheads, so I have to just stand there thinking. So I'm standing there with conditioner in my hair and I wonder - if someone broke into my house right at that very moment and went all Psycho movie on me and killed me in the shower ..... would the funeral director rinse out the conditioner in my hair?
Deep thoughts, people, I tell ya. And it all starts with a blue ball.
Creative Writing Class
Remember back in high school in Creative Writing/Composition Class, whatever you want to call or did call it or do call it, the teacher had those writing journals that they insisted you have? I loved mine and wish I would have kept them all.
I took every writing class high school had to offer and I must say that in the 15+ years that I've been out of school I haven't taken the time to keep up on my writing skills. So if you are already bored with this blog, that's my excuse.
Anyway.
The journals. Each day our teacher... *here she goes again, off subject* Mr Stromme. He was the best teacher. Even invited him to my wedding, but that's a different story. He was funny, creative, loved him. He could talk, write and I think even possibly could do both at the same time.
Anyway.
Teacher. Journals. Yes, that's where I was at. Subject of the day. They picked the subject for you to write about each day. I loved that. Give me a subject and I can talk about it. But, see, that's whats weird about this whole blog thing for me... nobody is telling me what to write, so often times I sit here staring at the blank box wondering what I want to write about, what would someone like to read. I mean seriously, who really wants to sit and read about my days of laundry, letting the dog out, cleaning up cat puke and running my demons to and from activities?
Tonight it's choir at 6:00, Confirmation at 6:30. Two different demons, two different times, same place basically.
Is that really what people want to read? Is it really?
I don't know. Someone should give me a blog entry so I don't have to ramble so much.
To end... with a picture. Not mine, either. Just a picture of a tiger and a bear. Meow.
I took every writing class high school had to offer and I must say that in the 15+ years that I've been out of school I haven't taken the time to keep up on my writing skills. So if you are already bored with this blog, that's my excuse.
Anyway.
The journals. Each day our teacher... *here she goes again, off subject* Mr Stromme. He was the best teacher. Even invited him to my wedding, but that's a different story. He was funny, creative, loved him. He could talk, write and I think even possibly could do both at the same time.
Anyway.
Teacher. Journals. Yes, that's where I was at. Subject of the day. They picked the subject for you to write about each day. I loved that. Give me a subject and I can talk about it. But, see, that's whats weird about this whole blog thing for me... nobody is telling me what to write, so often times I sit here staring at the blank box wondering what I want to write about, what would someone like to read. I mean seriously, who really wants to sit and read about my days of laundry, letting the dog out, cleaning up cat puke and running my demons to and from activities?
Tonight it's choir at 6:00, Confirmation at 6:30. Two different demons, two different times, same place basically.
Is that really what people want to read? Is it really?
I don't know. Someone should give me a blog entry so I don't have to ramble so much.
To end... with a picture. Not mine, either. Just a picture of a tiger and a bear. Meow.
Meow meow big kitty cat
It's a baby puma! I always wanted a big cat. In fact, when I was a teenager I said I wanted to die in the jaws of a big cat. How stupid of an idea was that? I no longer wish my death to be the meal of my beloved feline friends, but I also don't want to own one anymore. I hate the thought of owning one, although what joy it would bring to wake up with big cougar eyes staring at you or tiger breath in your face! Nope, as much as that would be a dream, I wish to leave all my large friends where they belong - in the wild. Who gives me the right to cage one up? I cannot give them the amount of acres that they would need to hunt for their own food, find their own mate and raise their own cubs. And a fenced in area of no matter how much acerage couldn't give them that anyway. They need to be free... free to do as they please, when they please without humans always getting in the way.
I love to watch them at zoos, but it saddens me like you wouldn't believe. To watch a tiger lay in it's enclosure.. looking up at it's watchers. Amazing, right? Not really - what is he thinking? What is he feeling? If he was really wild he would run at the sight of a human, either that or charge them. We take them, cage them, put them on display for what? Education? Entertainment? It's so sad.
And then the public outcry when a zoo animal attacks. Common sense, people. Think about it. At some point enough is enough - even for a dumb animal.
Blogging
I always thought the idea of a blog was sort of silly, but I started one anyway. Out of bordem actually. But I really am sort of liking this.
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
The sounds of sandblasting
Thats what I hear. Actually it just sounds like air, but I know what he's doing so I can identify the sound. He's out there again. In the garage. With them. Them being snowmobiles. Yes, thats plural. How many? I lost count... 15? 20? I don't know. There isn't even the smell of snow in the air yet and I have lost him to the world of white. It's ridiculous actually.
He's building a racer this time. Some green thing. It's a Kawasaki, that much I'm sure of. Thats all he has. Kawasaki Interceptor, Kawasaki Intruder, Kawasaki Invader. They all look the same, sound the same, but from what I've been told, they aren't the same. I pretend to pay attention with interest when he tells me about it, but I just can't get past the cylinders or belly pans. Once he starts talking parts I just smile, nod and say "thats nice, honey". It keeps him happy thinking I maybe understand a little bit of what he's yapping about. I don't, but it doesn't matter.
By the way... Interceptors are black. Different from the rest. But he's buying me one and I'm going to paint it pink. And I'm going to name is 'Ceptorlicious. All those Interceptor fans are going to be pissed.
This is an Interceptor. They look really good with puppies on them! (Thats my Chico!)
He's building a racer this time. Some green thing. It's a Kawasaki, that much I'm sure of. Thats all he has. Kawasaki Interceptor, Kawasaki Intruder, Kawasaki Invader. They all look the same, sound the same, but from what I've been told, they aren't the same. I pretend to pay attention with interest when he tells me about it, but I just can't get past the cylinders or belly pans. Once he starts talking parts I just smile, nod and say "thats nice, honey". It keeps him happy thinking I maybe understand a little bit of what he's yapping about. I don't, but it doesn't matter.
By the way... Interceptors are black. Different from the rest. But he's buying me one and I'm going to paint it pink. And I'm going to name is 'Ceptorlicious. All those Interceptor fans are going to be pissed.This is an Interceptor. They look really good with puppies on them! (Thats my Chico!)
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