Ad Nauseum

That pretty much covers what I think about the whole New Year's Eve spectacle. For me, NYE is like Prom night. EVERY. SINGLE. YEAR. Lots of buildup and not much fun. Of course, it was fun in college. And I did enjoy a few parties in my early 20s. But, the older I get, the less interested I am in socializing with Other People. (There are people I like/love and everyone else is Other People). I stopped going to NYE Parties about 10 years ago. I have gone and had dinner with friends. But, I returned home safe and snug by 10:30 p.m. Thankfully, The Man has the same thoughts about NYE that I have. So we two cranks stay home.

This year presents a new problem - the weather. Where we live it is a balmy 80 degrees with the sun shining. Nice weather on the weekend totally rips me up, and here's why: The tape that runs in my head says that I must be "productive" on the weekends. It starts the moment my eyes open on Saturday morning. If I haven't completed a list full of tasks by noon, I start to freak out. I'm serious now, a full on panic attack about not being productive. Usually, The Man or The Best Friend has to talk me off a ledge.

My favorite NYE and NYD is to have HORRID weather. Cold, rainy and preferably sleeting. Then, there is no guilt about staying in my jammies ALL day and eating NOTHING but black eyed peas. I usually like to have a stockpile of movies, books and magazines, too. Napping and eating blackeyed peas are the only mandatory activities.

So, this year I've got my books, magazines, movies, etc. But, dammit, I've got that tape in my head too. I guess I'll have to enlist a glass of Fat Bastard to help with that.

What all are you doing this weekend?

Dance a Jig!

Okay, I wanted to post something about New Year's Eve. I guess I'll do that this evening. I just got word that The Kid got a scholarship offer from one of the Universities (sp?) he's interested in attending. It is enough money that combined together would pay for his entire senior year. This is a private school, so that is some SERIOUS CASH!!!

Yippeeeee!!! One day we can retire!!!!!!!

Goofus and Gallant

This could be a scenario right out of "Highlights" magazine if Goofus was a bipolar alcoholic and Gallant was an 18 year old stepson.

Shrinking Violet: Gallant, did you hear, I'm giving myself allergy shots now.

Gallant: To YOURSELF, that is kind of freaky.

SV: What do you mean, you have been giving allergy shots to your dog since you were 10 years old.

Gallant: There is a big difference between giving it to your dog and giving it to yourself. How do you force yourself to give yourself pain. Where do you inject it?

SV: That's the great thing, you inject into fat not muscle so it doesn't hurt.

Goofus: So, basically, she can give it to herself anywhere. Snarf.

Gallant: OR THE BETTER THING TO SAY, DAD, WOULD BE THAT SHE WILL HAVE A HARD TIME FINDING A PLACE TO INJECT IT BECAUSE SHE DOESN'T HAVE ANY FAT, YOU CAD.

Gosh, is there any wonder I'd take a bullet for that kid?

Laughter is The Best Medicine

Well, I'm back in the saddle again. The Christmas Holiday went splendidly well. The Man and I put the MRD (mildly retarded dog) into the doggie spa. Then, we drove to my parents' house for the holidays. I did some last minute shopping on Christmas Eve and was blessed with Doris Day Parking all day (front row space).

Then, off the the family party. We do "the Tree" on Christmas Eve with my Mom's side of the family. Various and sundry aunts, uncles, cousins, etc., arrive with food of all kinds and we pig out. We used to all bring all of our gifts and open them all at once. It was fabulous chaos. But, the family got so large that it ended up being to much of a fire hazard to continue. So now, we eat ourselves silly and watch other family members play dominos.

Now, keep in mind that my mother's family is populated by Baptists and a few Pentecostals (sp?). We also have a few preachers. The last two matriarch aunts - 80 and 83 respectively - do not drink. So for some 60 years everyone else has pretended they don't drink either. Well, what we usually do is drink wine before hand and then "hide" when they get there. Silly, I know. This time, my father had just poored a glass of wine when the doorbell rang. It was one of the aunts. She smiled and came in and I laughed at my Dad and said "where's your respect?" He said "Oh, hell, I'm 72 years old, I give up". Well, then everyone just let it all hang out.....cousins were filling what looked like Giant Big Gulp cups full of chardonnay. We stayed late and laughed a lot. So much so that our faces hurt because we smiled and laughed so much. It was the best party in 20 years. The Man, who is a recovering alcoholic, attibutes us to finally "coming out of the closet" and letting the wine "grease the skids".

Anyway, The Man and I drove back to our hometown on Monday. We were both sleepy. Not in an exhausted eye-burning way, but in a cozy flannel pajama kind of way. We picked up the MDR and laughed all the way home about our party. We got unpacked and were still chuckling when I check our voice mail.

I told The Man, "Hey, we got a message from your parents that they are in town. They stopped by to say "hi" but we weren't here. heehehee..They went on down the street and are staying with your sister." The Man said "They drove five hours on the off chance we would be here?" Hahahaha, that's crazy."

hahahahha....we snickered...good times...hahahhaaa...hahehehehehehehhahahaa

ha....ha...huh??????

THEY ARE HERE????

AAAAAACCCCCKKKKKkkkkkkkkkkk.....

And gone is that nice flannel pajama feeling.....it is replaced with panic.

But it still was the best party I've been to in 20 years.

Merry Christmas

Okay, internet, I'm FREAKISHLY behind at work and at home. I'm going to take off until after Christmas so as to prevent a pre-holiday breakdown.

Take care and enjoy and Merry Christmas!

Shrinking Violet

Twelve Days of Christmas

On the 12th Day of Christmas My Doggie Ate for Me:

Twelve pounds of birdseed.




Eleven plastic lighters.

Ten rubber bands.

Nine bottle caps.

Eight paper towels.

Seven Benadryl.

Six tube socks.

FIVE LENGTHS OF ROPE.

Four packs of smokes.

Three beer cans.

Two down pillows.

AND THIIIRRTTYY SEVEN CENNNNTTS!

Reason #438 for Marrying The Man

The Man's gardening skills:



Violet's gardening skills:

Smells Like Teen Spirit

I went to the high school today to drop off the yearbook ad. The school day ended with final exams at 1:00 pm. The parking lot was a ghost town except for a few parents waiting in the traffic circle. They were snoozing in their cars and waiting...for what, I know not.

Walking into the school, I am blasted with the "Smell of Teen Spirit". Every school smells the same. I'm sure you could walk into a school in Siberia and you would smell socks, paper, stale gym clothes and floor wax. There are a few parents going through the lockers looking for possessions belonging to their children.

I think to myself, will I be the kind of parent that will do that? Not that there is anything wrong with that...it was just a thought. But my point is not about searching lockers for backpacks and purses. My point is that I will not be having my own children. So why would the question pop into my head as "will I"? I also realized when I saw the parents snoozing in their cars that I thought to myself "I'll definitely be that kind of parent".

That happens every now and again for me. Like, somewhere else a parallel universe exists where I will be a parent. Now, Don't Cry for Me Argentina. I've generally made peace with the fact that I will not have my own DNA passed forward to the next generation. But every now and then it just comes up on me. (sorry for the grammar of that sentence, I know of no other way to say it). There will be no diapers, no feedings, no Gymboree. My only child is my stepchild, and trust me, he rocks, but he is 18. I don't feel like I got to have him for long enough. I'm already going through empty nest syndrome.

I have no idea why I posted about that topic. It was just there and I needed to get it out. Now, I can go back to gloating that I've already been through the teaching to drive/driver's ed thing. And, I might have a chance of retiring at a decent age. hahahahhahhahaa. sniff.

All Calls Are Recorded for Quality Assurance

"You've reached God's Help Desk, for English, press #1. Para Espanol, marque el numero dos."

"Returns, this is St. Matthew, along with me today is St. Mark for training purposes. Can I help you?"

SV - Oh wow, Matthew and Mark....like THE Matthew and Mark? Where's Luke and John.

Mat: Oh, yeah, like we've never heard that one before....anyway, what can we help you with?

SV: I'd like to return my head.

Mat: ID please

SV: Shrinking Violet

Mat: Age of the head?

SV: Forty- ish...

Mat: Does it have all its original brain cells?

SV: uhhhh....probably not

Mark: Is says in the system that she went to college in the 80's...she'll be lucky if she has half of em left.

SV:....hey now, that's not nice..

Mat: What seems to be the problem with the head?

SV: Well, first off, the hair. I got a really bad spin of the genetic dice and ended up with really bad hair.

Mat: The system says your genetic spin was just fine.

Mark: In the notes section, the A/O says that your problem is that you are spectacularly lazy about your hair and that if you would just get up an hour ealier...

Mat: SHHHhhhhhh ...you're not supposed to read all that...

SV: Who is A/O?

Mark: Ummm..the Big Guy...You know... The Alpha and the Omega...so...anyway, the A/O says the hair is problem that will be fixed when you accept, ummmmm, certain realities. What else?

SV: Okay, umm, my forehead looks like a topographical map. The wrinkles are REALLY deep for a 40-ish person...and the sinuses and allergies really make me feel bad.

Mat: The system says that those wrinkles were caused by sunbathing by the owner. Again, not really anything "RETURN" worthy. And, it looks like you have a doctor's appointment on Thursday to resolve the allergy issue...

Mark: And the notes say that any returns regarding wrinkles are just really shallow anyway.

SV: I'M NOT SHALLOW!!!!!

Mat: Ease up now, no yelling. I might have to transfer you over to S&R to speak with St. John.

SV: S&R???

Mark: yeah....St. John is such a hard ass ...he's in charge of Smites and Retribution....it's a better fit if you know what I mean...

Mat: Mark, I've told you a thousand times to stop saying that....Peter is going to overhear and we'll be in a lot of trouble.

Mark: Are you KIDDING? Pete is so deep in denial that he'll never even notice....

Mat: THAT IS NOT FUNNY EITHER....Okay, SV, anything else? You wanna return the head because of the hair, wrinkles and allgeries? Do you understand that there is no guarantee you'll get a brain like your own in the exchange?

SV: WHAT???? What do you mean...

Mat: There is a shortage of brains like yours....so, we'd have to give you what is in overstock. Right now, all we've got is Paris Hilton and Pat Robertson...take your pick.

SV: NOOOOooooooo.....I'm so sorry.... I really don't want to return my head. I can live with the allergies, the wrinkles and the bad hair...It WAS A SHALLOW request...I'm so sorry...can I retract my request.

Mark: Yep....better the devil you know than the devil you don't know..huh?hahahahaa

Mat: You know Mark, that joke isn't any funnier the thousandth time than it was the first. You might need to check in with St. Luke.

SV: What's Luke doing?

Mat: Well, being the only Greek and all, the A/O thought his experience with mythology would be just right in the Muses and Inspiriations Department. Lord knows Mark could use the help. Well, so you want to retract your request?

SV: Ummm yeah, just forget I called.

Mat: You bet. Thanks for calling Returns and God's Help Desk...feel free to call anytime.

I'D Like to Give a Shout Out to God

God is great, God is good, let us thank him for our food:

1. Donuts
2. Coffee
3. Cheese - including the fake cheese sold on nachos in movie and sport venues.
4. Pasta
5. Bread - including the faaaabulous white bread that has virtually no nutritional value.
6. Bernaise Sauce
7. Jones Diet Black Cherry Soda
8. Potatoes - ALL KINDS
9. Chocolate
10. Captain Crunch with Crunch Berries!

Yea God!!!

Okay - what are some of your favorites?

Perfectionistic Procrastinator

Hello! Good Saturday to Everyone!

I know I haven't posted in several days. You see, I'm not really a writer. I'm more of an emailer. Every now and then I write something funny. Then, I feel this overwhelming pressure to write something funny again. Something with great timing and pitch perfect. I will stare at the computer until my eyes bleed trying to figure it out. As a result, I end up putting it off for another time. I realize that I'm that way about a lot of things. I've worked in an office for five years without putting anything up on the walls because I couldn't have it just the way I wanted (due to lack of funds).

So this week, I've been "writing" an ad for The Kid's high school yearbook. He is a senior this year. Typically, parents, family and friends place ads in the back of the yearbook congratulationg the graduate. Well, I didn't want to just slap Congratulations in an ad and leave it at that. I'm the Stepmom. I have a very special relationship with The Kid. He's the best thing since sliced bread. So, WHAT DO I WRITE??? Something funny? Something deep and meaningful? Something instructive? GEEZ THE PRESSURE.

As I said before, I'm no writer. I'll never be in the league of say...Wordgirl. Whenever I try to write something serious, it always sounds overwrought and preachy. I'm generally not thought of by most of my friends as sentimental or weepy. But my love for The Kid is so deep and profound that I wanted him to know it. So, my freakout continued through the week. The Ex-Wife called and assured me that the draft I had written was good and truly the way to go. So, I've typed it up and picked out photos and I'll drop it off Monday to the yearbook staff.

So, here it is:

"When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, you become Real" - Margery Williams from "The Velveteen Rabbit"

Dear Kid - Thanks for Making Us Real.

Love Dad and SV

Any thoughts?

Stepmom Chronicles - Part 1

Five years ago I got married and immediately became part of a blended family. I was really struggling with my new role. I didn't know about blogs back then, so I just wrote little stories and emailed them to friends. This little ditty is what I wrote after attending The Kid's sporting event without my husband:

Okay, so I had delusions that I was the perfect soccer mom. Okay, so it wasn’t really even a soccer game and I’m really only the stepmom. But still, there I was in all my stepmom glory. I arrived at the Lincoln Junior High football game at five minutes before 5:00 p.m., the scheduled kickoff time. In the spirit of the sport, I donned by my navy athletic sweatshirt with the our town name in big block letters. Pinned on the sweatshirt was all of my Booster Parent Flair. I’m wearing blue jeans and Keds. I’m totally a Proud Parent and a great Booster. I am fully-assimilated in my new role.

In my right hand I am carrying two stadium seats – one for me and one for my husband’s ex-wife. (at all of my stepson’s activities, we sit as one family in the stands – my husband, my husband’s ex-wife, her boyfriend and me – we are blended, damn it!). In my left hand was my tote bag with planner and cell phone – I’ll need take notes and give a half-time report to my husband, who is home in bed with the flu.

I take my seat and look for my stepson on the field. I spot him. I try to wave without looking like an idiot. I notice other parents arriving and sitting around me. None of them look familiar, but they all have on their red booster pins. I relax and contemplate an order of nachos. It is ten minutes after 5:00 and still no kickoff and no ex-wife. I begin to worry. The stands are filling and the people around me don’t have “Lincoln” on their red booster pins. Theirs say “Washington”. What is “Washington”?

I look across the football stadium and notice that the fans on the other side are also wearing red. Everyone is wearing red. Then I see them. The ex-wife and her boyfriend are sitting on the other side. I, the totally appropriate stepmom, am sitting on the wrong side of the stadium. I, with my stadium seats, cell phone and booster pin, am in enemy territory. I am a complete moron. I skulk out of the stands and go to the other side. I tell the ex-wife of my adventures and she explains to me how to determine what side your supposed to be sitting on at future games. Then she buys me a Diet Coke. I offer to bring wine to the next game. She advises that Junior High sporting events have a strict “no tolerance” policy for alcohol, tobacco, drugs and guns. Bummer.

The game begins and we are all excited. The Kid draws his first penalty. Then he receives a pass and runs about 20 yards. We are screaming. Then he is tackled….and tackled hard. He does not get up. He still does not get up. The ex-wife is very upset. Thank God. The Kid finally gets up. It seems he only had the wind knocked out of him. Okay, this is not as fun as it was a little while ago. They keep him out of the came for about 2 minutes and then put him back in to catch another pass. He gets tackled again and apparently I scream a little to loudly “LET HIM GO YOU ASSHOLE”. People look at me and are clearly thinking “she must be new - she doesn’t know about the no tolerance policy for badmouthing other players”. Quickly, I try to think of something more politically correct to call the ape-like 7th grader that continues to tackle my stepson.

The game mercifully ends about an hour later. We lose. But The Kid rocks. He played offense and defense. After the game, we go down to talk to him and congratulate him on his performance. The ex-wife introduces me to more Lincoln parents. In my excitement, I shout to The Kid, “Hey, we finally got electricity at the house!!!!” The Kid, knowing that I’m referring to our recent electrical problems, gives me the thumbs up. The Lincoln parents look at me like I just offered up Spam and Moon Pies for dinner. Oh well, such is life for the ultimate Booster Stepmom.

Tonight, Lincoln Junior High Fundraiser. There will be a Karaoke booth…..hmmmm….I wonder what the tolerance policy is….?

Better Living Through Pharmaceuticals

Hello!

Sorry I didn't post yesterday. Recently, I went to the doctor and he said I can't take Claritin, Benadryl or Afrin for at least seven days. I'm having that allergy scratch test so I can go back on shots. Benadryl and Claritin screw up the test. I can't have Afrin just because I've been snorting too long. Now, I have so much pressure in my head I'm sure it is affecting barometric readings at our local weather station. I feel like CRAP.

You see, I'm a big fan of Better Living Through Pharmaceuticals. It is a belief system for me....something like politics or religion for other people. The doctor says "take of these a day and you will not get pregnant." WHOOPPEEEE...."take one of these a day and it will clear that cholesterol out right quick" HOT DAMN...."take a Claritin once a day and you will breath easier." I'M THERE!!!

These drugs do not require that I take any responsibility for myself. A pill does all the work for me. (I'm going to leave out Prozac since personal responsibility has nothing to do with depression). If I want to continue my eating habits, BULLY FOR ME!!! Lipitor will correct that. I don't want to demand that our dog be sent somewhere else to live....NO PROBLEM. Claritin will cure that marital discord in a jiffy.

So, I called in sick to work. I always feel guilty when I'm not productive. HIDEOUSLY GUILTY. I have to do laundry or something to make the guilt go away. Finally, however, I gave myself a break. I sit down to watch daytime TV. "Alias" is on in syndication. Cool. Love that show. Then, on comes Oprah. And the God came down from the heavens to SMITE me for staying home.....MARIAH CAREY IS ON THE SHOW. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO...

Sadly, I have no access to Thorazine.

I'M SOOOO NOT KIDDING

SV: "Honey, would you put away the leftover pizza?"

The Man: "Sure, I'll do it right now."

Chewables

Hats off to Todd Rundgren! I've changed his lyrics ever-so-slightly to fit my mood:

"I don't want to work...I want to bang on my blog all day!"

Happy Friday everyone!

WMD

So, after having been married for over five years and parenting a step-son, I've come to many conclusions. Mind you, these are not merely theories. These are tried and true scientific method type conclusions. You know, UNIVERSAL TRUTHS.

As a result of these UNIVERSAL TRUTHS, I have determined why no WMD (weapons of mass destruction) were found by UN Inspectors and US military in Iraq. See if you answer correctly:

1. Because George Bush was acting on flawed intelligence.
2. Because George Bush was lying.
3. Because all the WMD were moved to Syria.
4. None of the Above.

If you guessed 1, 2 or 3, I certainly understand why. BUT YOU ARE WRONG. It is #4 none of the above!!! The reason that WMD were not found is because the UN and the US did not employ the ultimate tool for finding them:

U.T.E.R.U.S. - Universal Tracking, Extraction & Recovery of Unlimited Stuff.

You may not be aware, dear reader, that the U.T.E.R.U.S. system is a PROVEN locater of all manner of detritus - big and small. When thinking about UN/US inspectors, I can't help but invision Wyle E. Coyote. Wyle E. is out there looking for a building that says "ACME WEAPONS OF MASS DESTRUCTION - TOP SECRET - ENTER HERE". Meanwhile, Roadrunner knows perfectly well that if something is not where it SHOULD be than it is certainly is where it SHOULD NOT be. I'm convinced Roadrunner utilized the U.T.E.R.U.S. system.

Case in point, the wife of a cheating asswipe. Those hotel receipts will not be labeled "HOTEL RECEIPTS THAT WERE USED WHILE VISITING MY ACTION ON THE SIDE". They will be somewhere else. She will find them and the jig is up.

Or, the mother of teenagers. Yes, while doing laundry, those with the U.T.E.R.U.S. system will find the odd-looking seed in the pocket of the jeans. The mother is able to identify that this is not in fact your science project, but instead, is a baby censimilla plant. And no, don't even try and tell her you were holding it for a friend.

In my case, it became abundently clear with my wonderful stepson. Known hereafter as "The Kid". He comes to me and says "I can't find my camoflauge hunting chair". I walk to his bedroom and in the MIDDLE of the floor is a camoflauge hunting chair. I picked it up and said "DO YOU MEAN THIS THING?" He guffawed and said "obviously the camoflauge was working."

Or, my co-worker (a former marine), who asks if I've had a problem with the cleaning staff stealing my cds out of my radio. I answer in the negative and ask what of his is missing. He says his dvds that were in his filing cabinet. He says "I already looked in the file cabinet and they are not there". I said "did you look where they SHOULD NOT be? Like, behind the file cabinet drawer or in the dvd player?" He says, hesitantly, "yes". I know he has not employed the U.T.E.R.U.S. system. I pull the file cabinet drawer out and LO AND BEHOLD, the missing dvds. He mistakenly employed the PENIS Search system which is seriously outdated and only worth scrap value on today's market.

So when you read the newspaper about WMD, you will know, that women were not out there looking....otherwise we would have found them AND OSAMA BIN LADEN on the first day we looked for them.