Tag: fun

Dodging Balls

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In case you were wondering what I’m up to:

Yeah, that’s pretty much it. Dodging balls speeding toward my head from every direction (work, home, family). Fortunately, my team is most kick ass. The book festival booth planned for work is awesome, uplifting, and will make a difference while allowing others to pay it forward as well. I tackled clutter piles and called the Hubster to tell him he deserves more attention than I’ve been giving him with my nose in research, eventing, or convalescing in exhaustion. And the Site Council at the NOW 10 YO! boy’s school has articulated a focus and voted to maintain their current building. Now if only we knew whether we’ll be an intermediate school or a middle school and how to fund it and…. Oh, time to do that kid thing! Pancake supper? Uh…. One sec. Hubster who? Can you ask him to hold?

Class Dismissed

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I channeled Miss Emily Litela today as a parent chaperone on a field trip to the subversive produce mecca of the 17th Street Market, though I didn’t realize it at the time. For those of you not fortunate enough to be reared by parents who worked late into the night, thus allowing you unfettered access to comedians like the brilliant Gilda Radner, take a gander:

Oh, Big Brother and I spent hours dotting and crossing on Mom’s chalkboard! Perhaps this goes some distance explaining why I’m such a teacher groupie, or why I adore the cardigan, or why I can’t pee in the ocean. I think this skit was probably the inspiration behind my brother and I silently, or loudly, saying, “Vacuum!” to one another, though we did occasionally say, “Olive juice,” as well. There was no sport in letting our parents presume we liked each other. Our alliance was forged in secret. Such subversiveness allowed us far more nefarious activity than we otherwise would have enjoyed. When Big Brother is watching over you, you get to hang out at Expresso Royale. Oh, yes. And it went without saying there was nary a snitch about our willfully impious cherry vanilla Italian sodas or peppermint tea brewed in a French press. OUI!

That must have been when all went wrong. Espresso Royale, secret codes, and Miss Emily Litela. “Vacuum? I just did it yesterday. F*** you? Oh. That’s different! Nevermind.” But today was about olive juice with the kid I can actually claim to love in public without Olympic eye gymnastics. Hawt Mz invited us to name our favorite part of the market. Just because I played rugby doesn’t make me a fish fan, but I gotta say the fish monger was my favorite. Brett must have known because he took a picture. And looky who’s there with me!

Yes! I looked deep into the eyes of Emily Litela and hadn’t a clue as she and I mirrored each other’s every move and gesture and indoctrinating comment to future voters of America. At the same time, I think I’m an adequate foil to Hawt Mz, who made fun of me for taking my group to the frozen food isle to admire the ice cream and define decadent for first and second grade students. That’s right! They can’t hear POTUS tell them to stay in school, but it’s totally cool for Emily Litela to define decadent. And that my friends, is nefarious.

Fun with Google: Part 2

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I caught these mourning doves doing the dirty deed. Every day they are out there. I don’t find doves to be all that bright. Rather I find haphazard nests on precarious perches with sad fallen eggs splattered nearby.

I’ve been watching a pair humming birds outside my picture window for some time. This photo wasn’t taken with some fancy zoom. These birds were about four or so feet from where I sat in my big red chair. They are anna’s hummingbirds with shiny red necks. They weren’t fighting as territorial birds often do. I wondered if perhaps they were related.

I don’t have photos of the verdin or quail as my sweet innocent Princess of a cat is very much pleased by their slaughter. That sucks really. It doesn’t suck like this:

You can ask the 9 YO boy. Nothing sucks worse than changing the oil in Mom’s car.*

In reverse: Mom. Suck. Bird. This brings me to Denveater’s Google Search Laffy Time – a roundtable examining the myriad ways in which people arrive at a blog. Yes, someone arrived at my blog with the keyword search, “Mom suck my bird.”

Rather than going to a particular post, they came to the main page based on the posts A Bird Pooped on my Head and Jesus Can Suck It. Incidentally, that bird poop post scored another interesting keyword search – “pooping into oblivion.” My heart weighs heavily for that surfer and what s/he must be suffering.

What’s fascinating about this particular searcher is his/her determination to find my blog. In conducting my own “mom suck my bird” Google keyword search, I waded through pages upon pages of results. Honestly, would you be disappointed if you were looking for “mom suck my bird” and found Mom-a-Tron instead?

* His attitude increased mightily after the car was jacked up and he got into the mechanics of things. I think the Mexican Coke did some to elevate the attitude.

Rated PG-13

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I’ve been, uhm, looser in my language lately. Tweeting at work and in the 6 YO girl’s salon (put an accent on that “o” and it’s classroom in Spanish, not a place to get your hair done where language can be more racy) has elevated my awareness of just that. So I took this test and got this result:

OnePlusYou Quizzes and Widgets

This rating was determined based on the presence of the following words:

  • suck (4x)
  • ass (3x)
  • sex (2x)
  • fucking (1x)

I imagine that in posting my naughty word count I may have caused an exciting development in my blog rating.

We’ve Been BOOed!

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The hubster and I endeavored to teach our kids the time-honored tradition of ding-dong ditch. We called it something else when I was a kid and though it was alliterate, it wasn’t very nice. Pranking isn’t part of the value system we normally teach our children, but with Halloween coming and all we were happy for the chance provided by some goblins at my daughter’s school – the happiest place on earth with all due respect to Disneyland. We were BOOed, you see. It’s a cool tradition even if it does smack reminiscent of chain letters.

The other night as we fought over homework, there was a frantic knock on the door, but no one visible through the peephole. JEEPERS! A mystery! Upon opening the door, we saw a sack full of candy and a note that read, “You’ve been BOOed! Blah blah blah. You have to BOO two other families.” As we read the note, there was another knock. The thing is you are supposed to put a note on your door stating that you’ve been BOOed to prevent spam BOOings, but you can’t do that if you are still in the act of reading the directions. More intrigue! Upon opening the door that second time, we had a pumpkin full of Tom’s children’s toothpaste and toothbrushes, among other stuff. How cool! Why, oh why can’t we be BOOed all the time? Oh, yeah, the chain part.

The kids and I went shopping for spooky gifts to pass on. We made sweet little bundles and set out with the master of delinquency, their father. Heh heh. First house, darn! Door’s open and barking dog spies the kids through the screen door. The 6 YO girl shouts her brother’s non-standard name. RUN! The door answerer squinted through the dark as the kids ran to our vehicle.

On to door number 2. The kids are fighting about whether or not the gifts are placed close enough to the door and when the bell should be rung. DING DONG DOH! The door answerer through the bushes spied the 8 YO boy attempting conversation outside the driver side door to his father who urged, “Get in the car! Get in the car!” Fortunately, by house 3, we had the procedure down.

Ding-dong ditch, easy peasy lemon squeazy heavily laced with adrenaline.