Plant, Palmer, and Page: Sounds Like a Rock and Roll Band

The other day B and I were on our way to dinner with friends. B likes to listen to either (a) talk radio or (b) sports. I prefer to listen to neither. Unless it is talk radio. Then I make fun of the callers, even if I have no clue what they are talking about. B loves this.

So on this particular day, B was listening to actual sports. A football game to be exact. I did not think I was listening until I heard the announcer say "Robert Plant just fell on the field" or something like that.  This intrigued me:

Me: Did that guy just say the player's name was ROBERT PLANT?

B: Yes, but it is just his name.

Me: Well, I know.  But now all I can think of are women in black dresses and the player snapping his fingers singing "Simply Irrestible" (Note: I may have sung a verse or two here).

B: What? That's Robert Palmer not Robert Plant.

Me:  That's right. Easy mistake since they were in a band together.

B: WHAT? No they were not.

Me: Um, YES THEY WERE.

B: No. You are crazy.

Me: I am going to look it up.

Me: ...

Me: Huh. I may have been thinking about Robert Page and Robert Plant.

B: Oh. Were they in a band together or something?

Smartass.

 

When I Pictured Myself the Star of a Movie, I Didn't Think it Would be This One

The other day I came home and opened our pantry to find that all of the boxes on the top shelf were neatly placed on the shelf in descending order according to height rather than the jumbled mess I usually leave it. Apparently B had been to work.

Me: So, I see that you reorganized the pantry...

B: Yep.

Me: And all of the boxes are in order of height...

B: Yep.

Me: How very Sleeping With the Enemy of You

B: [blank stare]

Me: Remember when he declared all of the cans had to face front, and all of the towels had to hang evenly? And then if not, Julia Roberts got beat? Should I be worried?

B: When it comes to organization, I like to think of YOU as the enemy.

I don't know what he means.

Christmas Songs Make Me Sing, Curse and Profess My Love for Santa

In preparation for today and tomorrow, I decided to start listening to Christmas music on my satellite radio in the car. Of course, I was too lazy to look up what stations were offering such music so when one station mentioned a country Christmas station, I dialed in. I figured it didn't matter if I wasn't that fond of country music, it was Christmas music after all? How bad could it be?

Oh boy.

First of all, apparently country Christmas songs like to talk about Christmas geographically. For example, there is "Tennessee Christmas." Then I heard "It's Christmas in Texas, Y'all." No kidding. I am pretty sure it is Christmas everywhere (at least those places that celebrate Christmas which includes all 50 states). Also, I really don't think of Texas as country. Is it because of the cowboys? I guess that is plausible.

But "Colorado Christmas"? Now it is getting ridiculous. First, I am not sure what the difference is between a Colorado Christmas and a Tennessee Christmas and despite hearing both songs no less than 1,000 times, I didn't bother to listen to the lyrics to tell you. However, I know for a FACT that Colorado is not "country." They are not in the south. They do not have cowboys.

Nice try, Colorado.

Speaking of nice tries....Taylor Swift? You're my girl. I am sorry Kanye was rude to you. I even like some of your songs despite the fact that your lyrics speak more to 14 year olds than to 30 somethings. But even my love has a limit. You know what that limit is? Your rendition of Silent Night.

Just stop.

I turned that off in 2 seconds flat. So, so bad. I am all for making a song your own, but please make it your own GOOD song. Not this:

On and speaking of making a your own rendition, do NOT change the words to one of the most common Christmas songs around. It will not end good. I will not be happy and will probably be cursing on one of the most holy days.

The words to Little Drummer Boy do NOT include "I have no gifts to bring to give Jesus the King." Um, WHAT? And repeating that over and over without talking about actually PLAYING YOUR DRUM makes you a Little Drummer Boy fail.

Whew.

Maybe with the holiday passing I can get over my holiday rage and then my Mom will stop singing Christmas songs to pacify me. It makes her laugh. It makes me curse.*

Me: I hate these @#^@&# drivers!!

Mom: :starts singing We Wish You a Merry Christmas:

Me: I *WISH* you would stop singing!

Me: Look at that !#^&@#*&

Mom: :singing Silent Night:

Me: I wish there was something else *SILENT*

Me: What the @#^&@^# is that person doing?

Mom: :Oh Holy Night:

Me: Oh Holy F -

Despite my foul mouth, Santa loves me. Do you know how I know? Because he shouted out mine and my SIL's name at our latest Holiday Nights walk. We were super excited jumping up and down, waving our arms and shouting "SANTA". And just when it got quiet, I shouted with open arms:

I LOOOOOVVVVEEE YOU SANTA.

We had a moment.

That moment may have included "Santa" laughing into the microphone before moving on to another name, but it was a moment.

Merry Christmas, peeps. I hope Santa is good to each and every one of you!

*When don't I curse?

Why Can't You Set Your Monkey Free?

A couple of months ago, when my Mom and I took a roadtrip to see some family, we also got to see performance art for the elderly. At least by the elderly. At first I thought their coordinated dancing was cute:

Right after the above, the man smacked the woman's ass. I wish I were kidding.

Then, however, I came to find out that it was all an act. Of course, I could tell that it was choreographed. However, I did not know that they came out and did the SAME dance EVERY weekend. Nor did I know that there would be costume changes:

Right after that above picture was taken my uncle turned to my Dad who was playing with a child's toy from the gift shop, and said:

If you put you hand in that puppet, that lady over there will grab her monkey.

Little did we know he was not kidding:

The moral of the story? I like spontaneous, well choreographed, dancing elderly people. I do not like well choreographed, dancing elderly people that appear "spontaneously" every weekend and who have costumes and puppets.

Especially those that are really not good ventriloquists.

Actually I don't like puppets or ventriloquists.

Neither does B.

That's why we are in love.

*Bonus points to those that know where the title of the post comes from.

Is That a Long Tube of Cotton Sticking Out of Your Ear?

The other day B picked up a small box I had received in the mail, held it to his ear, shook it and said "What do we have here?" in a weird British accent. I said "Tampons." He put them down and said "Whelp, I wont be needing those."

I hope not.

But if he does? I have PLENTY. You know my little obsession with buying bargains/deals? Well, when I wasn't looking, I apparently bought an entire store of tampons. I seriously keep finding them everywhere. I could supply a whole village. Well, if they only all just used one which would be weird. You get my point.

Instead of supplying a village, I decided to come up with some creative uses for my abundance of product. In no particular order:

Wine stoppers (who wants to come party with us now?)

Drain clogs

Upside down hanging ghosts (perfect for Halloween!)

Tie to a stick for a cat toy

Use as a newfangled way to "drink" vodka

Use as earplugs when the cats won't stop hissing, yelling and crying (like now)

Use as a newfangled way to get the cats to drink vodka so they will be quiet

The options truly are endless.

This picture was taken by my Mom's house. How fun are those fall decorations?

*This insane post is brought to you by too many hours at the office and not enough hours in the bed. At this time I would like to thank my sponsor, i.e. the law firm. I couldn't have done this without you. Cheers!

Driving Miss Debi - an Ode to my Mama

Every Saturday I have a date with my Mom. Well sometimes it is Sundays. Then there are the weeks it doesn't happen. But you get the point. Although our dates tend to be routine, we always have a good time. The routine is breakfast and shopping. We have been going to the same breakfast place for YEARS.* They don't know our names but they know our orders. All 8 waitresses. The shopping is usually grocery shopping, but sometimes we get wild and go to Target. Then, of course, there is the garage/yard saleing. Is that even a word?

The other thing that is routine about our time together is that it is always a blast. We are constantly giggling, making jokes and having a good time. Here are just a few examples:

-One time I made my Mom pick up two bottles on the side of the road just so we could get the cap for a contest. And by "made" her, I merely suggested it and she was opening the door and reaching for them. Yep, we're a team.

-One time we went around and took pictures of every bank's sign in the neighborhood as B had told me the day before that I could not name more than 5 banks in the area. After receiving multiple texts with pictures, B declared the game "already over" and that he had already won. My mom and I laughed for 20 minutes straight.

Then there are the insane conversations and observations like last week when we had this exchange:

After we got into the car, I said "oh" and immediately burst out laughing and continued to laugh until tears streamed down my face. My mom could not figure out what was so funny, but she started laughing too and then I finally whispered:

Me: I just looked at that guy and wondered why he was carrying his ventriloquist dummy.

Mom: What?

Me: Don't worry, it was just his girlfriend.

Mom: WHAT?

Mom: He was carrying his girlfriend?

Me: No. He had his arm around her.

Mom: Oh. Yep. That is funny.

Who else would get what I was talking about? Maybe someone that followed that conversation with this one:

Mom: I hate when the skin behind my eye itches.

Me: BEHIND your eye?

Mom: You know what I mean.

Me: That reminds me, I know a guy with a little hand.

And then the laughing started all over again...

Mom is also fun on road trips. Recently we went on a road trip to visit some relatives. More on THAT later. Seriously, who else will model the biggest most god-awful sunglasses for you while you snap photos in the middle of a crowded store? Mom, of course.

The last two are my favorites. I love that little smirk. If you are thinking, man these photos are blurry. You are right! I was just laughing too hard for a steady hand.

One last convo:

Mom: I don't think there is a sign preventing you from turning right on red here.

Me: No, but I am thinking all of the traffic coming at us doing 50 might be a problem.

So, while I am quite late on this, as I am with all my posts, I would like to wish my Mom, Debi, a belated Happy Birthday!

Happy Birthday Mom! Now let's go eat cake.

Or take some pictures of them for Cake Wrecks.

*We found a new place and it is bigger and brighter and cheaper. And they already know my Mom's order. Loyalty shmoyalty. We outta there former breakfast place!

Got Any Bat Lately?

Recently, my brother called my Mom to tell her that there was a drawing of a bat at the entrance to their condo community. After puzzling over why someone would draw a bat (my Mom thought it might be a warning that "old bats" live there, whereas I thought someone was trying to use the bat signal to alert Batman to the crime in the area) and questioning whether it was spray painted on, my Mom promptly forgot about it.

That is until my Dad called later:

Dad: You better get your son's eyes checked.

Mom: Why?

Dad: That is not a BAT that is on the street.

Mom: What is it?

Dad: It is a vagina with a penis sticking out of it!

Yes, folks. My brother thought a pornographic drawing of a sex act was a bat. After we all had many laughs over this, we all had a final thought:

Dad: That boy needs glasses.

Mom: Dad, you need to sit your son down and teach him about the love of a man and a woman (or in this case, at least the body parts).

Bro: I was driving really fast and did not look really good.

Me: So, bro, have you gotten any bat lately?

Bro: That wasn't a really good drawing of one!

How about you judge for yourself? **Warning - May or May Not be Obscene Photo***

In bro's defense, he was coming from the other direction:

Um, maybe that doesn't help his defense all that much.

*I was going to post the picture by itself and have you all guess at what it was until B said "the penis pretty much gives it away." Ha! Tell that to my bro!

**Oh, and happy anniversary Mom & Dad. How's this for a nice family post?

And Now a Word From My Sponsor...

No, not my AAA sponsor silly. My life sponsor a/k/a my Mom. Here is an email that she sent to me three years ago for my "special" day. Enjoy!

HAPPY DAY BEFORE YOUR BIRTHDAY!!

Many, Many, Many years ago on this day, I had gone to the beauty shop (used to be able to afford it, before I had kids ) and then went to the bathroom .... I knew then that my oven was done baking, but at least my hair would look good. Well, let me tell you....when you decided to break open the shell, my hairdo was the last thing on my mind. It had been in a updo, you know, ratted and lots of bobbie pins, well the pins went flying and I was a big tangled mess. I am sure I looked like someone on LSD that had put her finger in a socket.

And the hours kept going by and you kept trying to hatch. Believe me - that is when you decide you will NEVER have SEX again...No..No..No!

And did you know that minutes are really hours? Yup, it's true ! And to top it off , the damn hospital room had a big round clock on the wall in FRONT of me ....Believe me, the old saying "Time flies by" is sooo not TRUE when you are in labor ..No..No..No..

And of course the Man you love is by your side...but He has a damn radio stuck to his ear listening to a Tiger Baseball Game. I mean - gee, sorry it's taking so long and you can't watch it on T.V...That's when you REALLY decide that you will NEVER have sex again, well...at least not with HIM!

And then...out pops a beautiful little person, screaming and crying like I had a lot of nerve bothering her.

And then they clean her up and calm her down and bring her over to you and you hold her and a feeling of Love you can't describe comes over you.

And then in a little while, you think...Oh My God, I'm a Mother! I don't know how to be a Mother! What am I going to do, I have to take care of her for the rest of my life, what if I am a bad Mother, blah, blah, blah........... and then you really want YOUR Mother, cause SHE knows what she's doing.

But in the end, you figure it out, good days, bad days, mistakes, etc. And in the end you figure out you must have done some things right, cause you sure have one terrific Daughter who you are so proud of, you could burst.

And I thank God everyday for you, any pain would have been worth it.

(although...some of your teen years were another pain in the Dupa )

But I am so blessed, I have a wonderful Daughter (and a wonderful son) ...what more could I ask out of life, I have it all....

I love ya Punkin

Mom

( I won't spoil this beautiful letter by telling you that your Dear Dad is still a Butthead. He took me to Walgreens, need I say more?)

*my favorite part is a toss between my Dad listening to the game while my Mom was in labor and that very last line. Love ya Mom! xoxo

You Can Please Some of the People...Never!

Nothing like going out with the family to hear some harsh criticism of your blog:

Bro - doesn't like posts with a lot of words, didn't understand the post about the Googlers (thought the google searches were riddles I made up because yes, if I attempted a riddle it would totally be "riddle about two boxes three boxes two boxes"), doesn't like posts about cats (mind you I haven't posted about the cats since October except an occasional reference or Chester sticking his head in B's picture).*

Dad - doesn't like renovation pictures and I quote "BEFORE and AFTER - BORING"**

B - thinks it should be all pictures and few words and captions with the pictures, then added it should be all about him***

So according to these "fans" who think they make up 1/3 of my readership (they do not), from now on my posts will have to consist of:

Lots of pictures but no words

No pictures of cats

No pictures of renovations

All about B

But no pictures of B

Sorry, fingers, if this crew had it their way, I could only post more pictures of my pantry apparently. Good thing I don't listen to them.

And to end, I leave you with this scenario that played out at Easter dinner in public shortly after the above criticisms. Right in the middle of a story, my father says:

"And the sign said ACME Dildo Shop - big or small you can have them all, custom fitted"

...just as the waitress was pouring our coffee.

And Jesus wept.

*Bro admits to having not read my blog in quite some time. That is obvious.

**Dad NEVER reads my blog but just happened to read it on Easter because my Mom left it up on the computer purposely.

***B only reads blogs about Jon and Kate Plus Eight. That, alone, disqualifies him from all opinions.

Just out of spite, here is a picture of the cats in one of their rare loving brotherly moments. At least they are not making out which they also tend to do.

Your Mom Might Be a Lesbian If...

You have this email exchange with her...

Mom: I just used my new Cherry Chap Stick. Is Katy Perry going to come kiss me?

Me: Ha! You are NUTS!

Mom: Have you ever tried it? It is VERY cherry and smells so good. Hell, I would kiss a girl just to taste it.

Me: Please STOP! No, I haven't tried it but I will have to with that ringing endorsement.

Mom: Don't buy it, I have another one over here. The smell goes away pretty quick and I don't want some random girl grabbing you and kissing you although your co-workers might find it interesting.

Me: You are really too much right now. You need Twitter.

And you might be a dork if you have this email conversation later:

Me: Do you mind if I blog about your cherry chapstick email?

Mom: Not at all.

Me: And do you mind if I imply that you might be a lesbian but then say that you are not?

Mom: Nope.

Yes, my Mom is not a lesbian.

Yes, my Mom is hip. She raps AND knows who Katy Perry is.

Yes, I am a dork.

Just a Phone Call Away...

As I sit here surfing the internet and trying to think about what I will blog about next (and just about to go into the archives a/k/a post it notes and my notebook), my phone rings.

It is B.

He is downstairs.

In our house.

Me: Who is THIS?

B: Hey.

Me: Yes?

B: What's up?

Me: Where are you?

B: Downstairs.

Me: That is completely ridiculous.

B: I thought you might say that.

Now I hear him talking to someone else.

I wonder if he called the cat.

New Year, New Me?

Not so much. I do get super excited about the beginning of each new year. Like last year, when I decided it was going to be a great year, only to have it tarnished upon getting to the office.  I also don't much like resolutions because I never follow them.  However, that does not make me any less excited about the new year and the new possibilities. In fact, I get so geeked on that first day, I am liable to make anyone nearby, usually B, physically ill.

This year, I was going through my things when I found no less than 7 journals, all but one blank. This is very amusing to me because every year I ask for another journal. It is an obsession. Writing in them? Apparently not so much.  Except that one.  There was ONE page written on. Of course, January 1, 2008 where I declared my exceedingly high optimism for the upcoming new year. I also noted B's thinking I had knocked my head or was high or something.  That, however, was not the highlight of that one and only entry. That would be where I declared that 2008 was the year of organization...for me...and my parents!

BWAHAHHAHHA.  I can assure you that neither of us are organized. In fact, I do not think B has ever laughed as hard as he did when I told him that.  Nor my Mom. Sadly, we all got a good laugh out of this.  Another year, another laugh.  No progress.  Maybe this year? After all, I have dubbed it the Year of Productivity.  Although I have not written it down as a single entry in a big fat journal, so it might not count.  Hmmm....

And B does not seem to understand that time has passed.  On his way out the door the other day he yelled up "maybe you should get some organization going" to which I replied:

"Nah! That was last year. It's 2009 now."

And so I will go forth and will try to be productive.  This may also include organization as a necessity, but don't tell B...I wouldn't want him to think these goals roll over every year like growing interest or something.  After all, a girl has to have time to blog too.

Happy 2009!!

The One Where My Mom and I Decide to Go Into Business Together...

My Mom and I have some great ideas. None of the come to fruition however, because they are too far fetched and half the time we do not even know what we are talking about.  Take for instance this IM exchange:

Me: B's brakes are out again.

Mom: Damn! Bro's turn signal is out again and that is dangerous.

Me: It is less dangerous than his brake lights being out.

Mom: I better have him check those too. Thanks.

Me: You are welcome. I am SO handy when it comes to cars.

Mom:  You are! You should get a side job doing it...

Me: Yeah, right.

Mom: and I will help. Two Women and a Wrench.

Me: Oh I like that name!  Do we even know what a wrench is?

Mom: Well, I do. And I think if you saw it you would too.  Yep we will get lots of work.

Me: I am pretty sure I know what one is.

Mom: You use it to loosen or tighten a pipe.

Me:  Too bad there aren't any pipes in a car (except maybe the exhaust)

Mom: We will just FIND some, then tell them that is their problem and bat our eyelashes at them.

Me: Good thing we have long eyelashes then.

Later that day, coincidentally, I got a newsletter from a blog called Cars for Girls. And the post shows the inside of the engine. So I send it to my mom:

Me: Doesn't look like there are any PIPES in there. ROFL

Mom: Well then "Two Ladies and a Screwdriver". Damn this starting a business is hard when you don't know anything.

Me: Except you always hear mechanics talk about wrenches. What do they use them for? Whom can we ask?

Mom: I know they use them. I will ask your bro and pretend it is for a contest or something.

Me: Like HE's gonna know.  Ha!*

Mom: I bet he does. Guys seem to pick up on that stuff.

Me: Have you met our guys? When is the last time bro worked on a car? I think I know more than him. Seriously.

Mom: I am trying to give them some macho cred.

Me: Okay, but you don't have to front with me.

I think it is safe to say my Mom and I won't be going into the car repair business anytime soon.  It is also safe to say we are huge dorks, especially when we try to be "hip" and use "street talk." Oh, and you would think since I subscribe to a blog called Cars for Girls, I could have easily found the answers to our questions, but I didn't even try. Because that's how I roll.

*My bro definitely knows more about cars than I do. I think.  And he is macho. He really is. All of the guys in our lives are macho.**

**And this has been a legal disclaimer brought to you, from me, to keep my ass from getting into trouble with the macho men in our lives.

The One Where I Sing...

Friday was my uncle's birthday and we have this long standing tradition where we call each other on our birthday's and sing happy birthday to each other. That is it - no cards, no gifts.  Just a phone call and a song.  It is quite a special tradition actually.  The fact that many family members over the years have gone to great lengths to see that it is carried out such as calling us to remind us that it is the other's birthday does not diminish the tradition at all.  There has only been one year that I missed it entirely and that was because I had been dumped by my long term boyfriend and probably spent the day (a) crying, (b) wondering if he would take me back, (c) crying, and (d) asking others if he would take me back.

As an aside, how cruel is it to dump someone right before the Thanksgiving holiday? Nothing more painful than having to go to a family event that your ex used to attend with you, without him, only to be asked where he is while you make sad puppy dog eyes and your cousin is behind you making the cutting her throat sign to the person inquiring so that you won't (a) cry, (b) wonder if he will take you back, (c) cry, or (d) ask the people there if he would take you back.  Cruel, I say.  

In any event, that was a long time ago and really has nothing to do with last Friday when I called my uncle.  Pure digression.  So, on Friday, I call my uncle and as usual, I launch into the birthday song immediately.  And this is what occurred:

{phone rings}

Uncle: Hello

Me: {sings Happy Birthday}

Uncle: Why thank you darlin'.  I am in another city today with an astronaut, Mike so and so, and I have to give a speech.

Me: Well, good luck with that.

Uncle: Yep, I am walking up to the podium right now.

STOP

He was on his way up to give a speech in front of what I imagined to be a lot of people about an astronaut and he took my call? And listened to me sing?  That is craziness.

I immediately hung up and called my Dad and informed him how crazy his brother was. We had quite a good laugh.  Then my Dad said:

Dad: Well, I am ironing a shirt right now. I know it is not an astronaut or anything, but...

Me: Very funny...I will let you go.

Later, I had the opportunity to ask my Uncle why on earth he decided to answer the phone when he was about to give a speech.  His response? "I always answer my phone. I don't know how to turn it off."

Phone issues must run in the family.