Quote of the Day

While you are destroying your mind watching the worthless, brain-rotting drivel on TV, we on the Internet are exchanging, freely and openly, the most uninhibited, intimate and, yes, shocking details about our config.sys settings. ~Dave Barry

Apr 28, 2011

Recipe for InstaRage

I think I have a concussion.  From what I can tell about them, the only thing doctors can really do about them is talk, so rather than fork over the dough for an ER visit, I'm talking about it here.

I was putting leftovers away and barely hit my head on the freezer door.  Just a little tap, nothing, really.  But it hurt.  And it made me SO MAD.  I'm a pretty chill individual, but if you ever want to make me insta-pissed, hurt my head.  There is an anger trigger in my hair follicles, and if it gets hurt, I go all HULKSMASHEVERYTHINGICANSEE.  That was symptom number one.  Luckily, the kids were gone, so I yelled at the pork chops.

Symptom number two was that I couldn't see anything for a minute.

The third sign of concussion was the immediate need for a nap.  I don't think you're supposed to take those when you have a concussion, but I know you're not supposed to take them when you're a mom, so I didn't do that....as far as I remember.  There are about ten minutes missing from the evening, but it looked like some more leftovers got put away, so I am assuming I did that, rather than napping.

The fourth sign is that now my head hurts really bad, and also I was nice to some strangers.

Now that I've talked about it, I do think I'm feeling a little better.

Apr 27, 2011

Too Classy for Criminals

This afternoon, I was working on the accounting project from hell.  It took two weeks, but I finally got enough courage up to take it back out of its drawer and look at it a second time.  After working steadily for a couple hours, a took a break and checked my phone. 

There was a missed call from a number I didn't recognize, and a voicemail from Sgt. Somebody calling about a criminal investigation and really needing to talk to me.

Immediately, thousands of awful scenarios were running through my head about what could have happened at the kids' schools, what goofball ex could have said about me this time, which of my friends were more likely to be involved in something requiring a criminal investigation, and of utmost likelihood, who the ex would have owed enough money to that they could gain that kind of clout.

It turned out to be none of those things, but instead, a lesson in how much information a person can scare out of me by allowing me to believe something terrible had happened and then letting me off the hook and telling me I just need to answer some questions.  In the euphoria of relief, I told that sergeant everything about the last eleven years that I could squeeze into a fifteen minute conversation, including names, addresses, phone numbers and a promise to answer anything else he wanted to ask just as soon as he could come up with more questions.

I quickly figured out that he was investigating the ex, but not for anything that had actually happened.  Also, I made a plan to never talk to anyone while I am that scared for the rest of my life, because he honestly could have been anybody and I was ready to hand over my social security number and a kidney or two in exchange for telling me I wasn't the one under investigation. 

Don't tell me any secrets, is my point.  I am not cut out to keep things secret if there is any sort of threat, real or perceived.

Apr 26, 2011

Mission Impossible

At this point in my life, I hate grocery shopping to the point that I don't even care if we eat; I only shop so that I can have something to write about.  Also?  Still not quite worth it.

Yesterday was the Big Day (as in we didn't have anything for dinner, requiring a trip to the store as soon as school got out).

When we walked in, we got all the normal stares and pretty much ignored them because I was really busy trying to keep a vague list of things we needed in my head.  Until one guy, who stopped and hollered "CAN I TAKE ONE HOME?" 

This is actually a common question.  Being in a cranky mood because of the whole Being at the Store thing, I told him he could just pick the noisiest one.  He grabbed Warrick by the arm and said he wanted that one.  That's where it gets less common, because people aren't normally too comfortable grabbing kids who don't belong to them in Walmart.  This guy had made a point to be extremely drunk so that his level of comfort was somewhat different than, say, mine.

Just to reiterate:
People asking to keep a kid = common.  People actually trying to take one = uncommon.
Drinking before grocery shopping = WIN.  Drinking and grabbing my kids = FAIL.

Dude reeked of alcohol, then proceeded to squat down and try to talk to each one of my kids, who were terrified.  I finally just grabbed them all and walked away.  As I left, he leaned down into the face of this little old lady in a wheelchair and told her she was the most beautiful girl he'd seen in a long time.  She hit the turbo on her chair and didn't stop until she got to the garden center.

After we lost Really Drunk Kidnapper, we happened into a guy with what seemed to be Cerebral Palsy, although I don't know for certain.  By "happened into" I mean that Donovan tripped him and they both fell into the paper towel display.  After the man yanked Donovan back to my side of the aisle, he decided to figure out what exactly was going on with me having all these short people at Walmart in the first place.

Dude:  Are these all yours?
Me: Yes
Dude:  No, I mean ALL of them.
Me:  Yes, all of them.
Dude:  And you brought them to Walmart?
Me:  Yes.
Dude:  Who helped you?
Me:  Um...I helped myself?
Dude:  No, I mean who helped you get all these kids?
Me:  Get them...into the store?
Dude:  No, just get them...it takes two people, right?
Me:  Oh....uh...he's not here.
Dude:  Well, he should be.  He should be right here pushing another cart and holding a couple kids!  How are you going to push the cart while you're holding that kid?
Me:  I've got lots of practice.
Dude:  I'll help you!

So the followed me for three or four aisles, counting my kids over and over out loud, stopping every time to say "I can't believe you have three kids!"  I would say "There are six."  And then he would scream "SIX??  WHO HAS SIX KIDS???"  My kids were also afraid of this guy, either because of the way he walked or because of the experience with Drunk Dude, so they stayed right next to me for once.  And all the people  looked at me and wondered what the heck was up with that woman, and tried really hard not to be anywhere near me, which turned out to be pretty awesome.

Apr 24, 2011

Things to Know

Today, I was called "an incredible writer".  By a spammer and you know they never lie, which means that, in order to continue being a pertinent member of society, you must continue reading this blog.  Also?  I must begin writing it again, or we're all gonna DIIIIIIIIIE.

Here are some random facts about this weekend, Things You Must Know before work tomorrow or you'll look like an idiot when everyone else is talking about it:

1.  My brother in law did an ENORMOUS hiccup in the middle of mass last night.  It was the funniest thing that ever happened in the history of the world.  I had to turn into a statue to keep from laughing, and apparently squeezed my laugh muscles so tight that they didn't release until about twelve hours later when I spent thirty minutes doing that laugh-cry-snort uncontrollably thing in front of my entire family at Easter brunch.

2.  My youngest sister is about three years pregnant, and it reminds me of the one good thing about not being able to get pregnant which is not BEING pregnant.  Once the baby is born, I'll go back to being jealous of baby-havers and start plotting how the baby can come live at my house.

3.  One of my nieces came down with a fever after we were all together today.  There was a memo about how my kids and I can't get sick until 2012 because if we miss one more day of school, the earth will fly off its axis and splash into the sun, and we'll all DIIIIIIE...or some kind of big deal like that requiring numerous warnings on card stock letterheads about how we can't miss any more school. That being said, I'm glad the family was together for Easter, and I don't really care if anyone gets sick because they're going to school either way....what's 500 more kids getting a cold compared to The Thing That Happens If You Miss School After Getting A Warning On Letterhead?

4.  There isn't a fourth thing, but I just want you all to be fully aware that an "Incredible Writer" has written these words, and you must pay attention, yo.

Happy Easter!

I guess I kind of gave up blogging for Lent.

But guess what?!?!  HAPPY EASTER!

I took the kids to the Easter Vigil this evening, and it was an amazing experience.  It took about twelve hours to get ready, and we were still twenty minutes late.  But the liturgy was absolutely beautiful, punctuated only by an occasional cry from Donovan who "had to poop".  Which apparently required an announcement on his part and extreme shushing on mine.

The service was about three hours long...wow.  That's pretty long. I had the kids all dressed up, which was quite a feat after discovering an hour before we had to leave that half their shoes don't fit anymore, two of the boys lost their suit jackets, and three pairs of pants needed to be hemmed. 

Going to mass as a "single mom" (or a married mom sans husband) is always difficult.  Midnight mass, even if it does start at eight, is actually a pretty stupid thing to do.  I started out wearing a pink T-shirt and the only problem with it was some teeny tiny skulls printed on it, but I didn't think anyone would notice.  After carrying around three very heavy and very tired kids for two hours, the shirt began to have other issues that rendered the skulls even less noticeable than they had been before.

I finally rocked Donovan to sleep, and he only woke up a couple times to scream about needing to go potty again.  Then, Emma wanted to be held, and began to fake a panic attack over being so tired.  She was breathing all heavy and going "tired, tired, tired, soooo tired, tired..."  I told her that being tired typically made people more calm rather than less, but she didn't agree.  At that point, three of the others broke into tears over how incredibly tired they were and could we please just go home. 

These are the same kids who stay up until at least eleven every single night of the year just to piss me off.  They weren't tired, yo.  Or if they were, I'm going to start taking them to church every night around seven and just leaving them there until morning, because they sure don't want to sleep like that at home.

After all of the whining and sleeping and holding and rocking and covering faces with jackets, and really really really needing sleep, they got into the car and wrestled and cracked up all the way home, and are even now -- an hour after leaving church -- talking in their beds wondering what the Easter Bunny is going to bring them.

Yeah, right.  This Easter Bunny is off the clock, yo. 

Apr 19, 2011

potpourri

Yesterday kicked my bootay, which is kind of pathetic, because nothing really went wrong.  It was just an alarmingly long day, and I had to go to the bank, and I hate my bank so much that I don't even want to have to go there to mess with closing my account, so I just avoid going there until my debit card quits working.  I went to put more money in the account, which apparently takes 45 minutes.  You would think people who work in a bank would have a lot of experience taking money and would be a little bit more fast about it, but they're not. 

We are also going on week eight (I think) of the ex being in the hospital, which really sucks because the kids aren't understanding why they can't talk to their dad, and why they can't go see their other grandparents, and in all honesty, there just aren't answers for those questions.  Do you know how exhausting it is to have to answer questions for which there are no answers?  Because if there's one thing kids can do really well and without stopping, it isn't chores or homework but it is definitely asking question.

Also, it seems that I have finished all of my easy courses at school, and now I have to do a bunch of hard stuff.  I am working on corporate accounting, two words that can make someone fall over from tedium by merely being in the same sentence together. 

I don't like corporations, yo.  Not because of the evil empire take over the world thing, but mostly because they require a lot of counting and stuff. 

This is why I can't seem to write more often.  When I sit down, I am suddenly tempted to Google "calculating amortization on 20% of the premium on bonds payable" just to see if it's actually a "thing" or if it's a trick.  Because seriously, does that sound like a thing?  And does it really seem like something I should know how to do?  I say never retire bonds early -- make the world a better place for the people who have to count everything.

Apr 15, 2011

Tree Fairies

Tornadoes in Oklahoma are the embodiment of why we live here.  Science, thrill, entertainment, family bonding...they have it all.  This year has been pretty scant on the fun stuff so far, even though we went from 90 degrees to below freezing since last night.  Whatever, tornadoes, don't make us start getting actual "culture" up in here.

Today, we had serious straight-line winds.  I was going to pick the kids up from school, when some lady coming from the opposite direction flashed her lights and started pointing behind her vehicle.  I thought she was warning me about a police cruiser, but when I got over the hill, there was a tree laying across the road.  Two SUVs were driving up into a field to go around it. 

Ninja Truck isn't quite ready for four wheeling, as he is only 2WD, so we stopped to see if we could move the tree.  There was another guy pulling up who got out to help.  I didn't really look up, but shortly, two more men got out to help and we got the tree and the loose branches cleared out of the road in about five minutes.

When I looked back up, I realized there were about twenty vehicles waiting on each side of the tree.  One guy in a silver Charger, who I swear is the same guy who cuts me off every day on my way home from class, had pulled up to get in front of my truck, and then proceeded to sit in his car and watch the four of us move an entire tree.

None of the other people got out to help, either.  I ran back to my truck thinking that maybe those other people just figured we were the magic tree fairies that clear things out of the road when they happen to fall into it.  Then, I noticed a strange thing that proved my earlier post about what kind of people drive certain sorts of vehicles.  The three guys who got out to help also happened to be driving the only three pickup trucks in that huge line of cars.  Everyone else were either women in SUVs (like me, only my truck wasn't born in the last six months, and also, I stopped believing in tree fairies when I was five), or men in fancy cars.

So, point proven.  And Charger Dude?  Ninja Truck is on alert for you from now on....

Apr 14, 2011

Answer Your Phone, Is My Point

I'm MannyRee, and if you know me personally, you are probably in the hospital or a missing person right now....

Today, we lost my mom.  I mean, she's still alive; we literally lost her.  Truthfully, she lost herself.  I had a million frantic calls on my cell when I left class, all of them siblings and all wondering if I knew where mom was. 

The first coherent sentence I got was "We found her car."  Which, frankly, wasn't reassuring.

One sister had found my mom's car in the parking lot at the hospital (which is where most of the people we know are located today), so everyone was feeling better until they still couldn't get her to answer a cell phone call or a hospital page.

I was sent to my mom's house to raid the neighbors' mailbox to find a last name, because that was the most likely person for my mom to be visiting right then, only we don't actually know her name.  So I did that, found the name, broke into my mom's house to see if her cell was laying around in there, then left.  When I came out the door, I saw a car pulling out of the nighbors' driveway, and turns out, it was my missing mother.

I told her how mad my sisters were, and she told me her cell had been broken.  I'm still not sure exactly what happened, but my mom was lost and now is found.

Then about three minutes later, I got a call from a different sister to go check on the last sister yet to enter this story, because her husband was worried because she hadn't been answering her phone.  So I woke up my VERY PREGNANT sister from a MUCH NEEDED nap to make her re-join the cell phone world.

The moral of the story is, no matter how badly you want to get away from my family, we will find you.

Apr 13, 2011

Laughter is the best medicine, but only if you're the patient

It's been so long since I've blogged that my site doesn't even recognize me anymore.

This week has been insane.  My grandmother had a heart attack Saturday, and has been in the hospital.  My sisters and I went up Monday and Tuesday evening to visit her.  Monday, as we were leaving, there was an elderly woman being carted to another room from the elevator.  As her bed wheeled past me, my two pregnant sisters, and the other sister carrying her newest baby, the woman got a somewhat terrified look on her face, turned around and asked the guy pushing her "Am I on the maternity ward???  Why am I on the maternity ward?"  Poor lady....we frightened her.  Then, we laughed so hard that the family on the elevator didn't want us with them and we had to wait for the next one.  Apparently, it's not polite to giggle insanely in a hospital.

Which turned out to be a bummer the next night when we were visiting my grandmother who had just finished a procedure and was coming off the sedatives.  She was hilarious, emphasis on the HI.  We were trying so hard not to laugh, because every time we did, she would suddenly become extremely aware and ask why we were laughing.

She asked for some "not cold" water, so when April tried to give it to her, my grandmother asked if it was cold.  April said "Well, it's a little chilly".  So my grandmother, forgetting her previous question, said "There's the thermostat right there."  She then proceeded to blow into the straw, at which Ashley suggested that maybe our grandma thought April was the respiratory therapist.  I had to hide behind the bed to laugh and told my sisters they were all grounded from talking.

We asked the nurse if we could perhaps have some of whatever they were giving my grandma (the meds, not the pudding), but she said no.  Which was too bad, because Marcy could have used it when she left her cell phone with my aunt right before her husband started sending naughty text messages.  (Which wasn't actually a true story, but it was really funny while we thought it was.)

My cousin in at the same hospital, so we got to go visit her a little, too.  She wasn't high or anything but she's still kinda funny.  My family is inappropriately hilarious at hospitals, is my point, which is why we like to go visit sick people so much, but maybe also why sick people don't want us to.

Apr 7, 2011

Whipping Boy

One thing I can't stand is being blamed for things.  Even if said things are my fault, I will find a way to wriggle out of the blame.  I hate it.

But, it seems to be my lot in life to be blamed for the most random I-wasn't-even-there-that-day crap, so I wanted to invite you, Interewebz, to BlameFest2011.  (It's so epic, it's all one word.)

Have you recently had a bad day?  Blame it on me!
Was that bad day caused by an over-abundant consumption of alcohol for three days in a row? I made you drink!
Have you ever accidentally swallowed a few extra Ambien?  Totally my fault.
Recent ride in an ambulance?  Yup, that was me.
Coma, anyone?  My bad, yo!
How about high blood pressure?  Oops.
Sudden black-outs?  All over it.
Do you hate an entire group of people totaling over 1 billion???  Sorry, billion peeps....I'm such a bad example.
Did you not get your work done because you were too busy doing nothing?  Not your fault, bro, it's all me!

You see, I am so bored on a day to day basis, what with all the maids and nannies and shit, that I don't have anything better to do than mess with people.  It's just who I am, there's nothing I can do about it.  Sorry, but it's all my fault.  Do not, under any circumstances, blame yourself.

Apr 5, 2011

Choices

Today, I read a book that was second on my list of Things That Have Wasted My Time.  The first was "Children are from Heaven" by John Gray.  I highly recommend his book on relationships...he's not so great with the kids.

Anyway, the book I read today was supposed to be a mindless novel, intended to steer me away from my usual genre and toward something less twisted and scary.  Instead, it was way more twisted than Steven King, poorly written, and centered around a brand of feminism that I just cannot tolerate. 

What I got from it was this:  Burn the book and never read anything by this author, nay - this publisher, again.

I hated it.  But I got two good ideas from it.  One was to make a dream list.  Every week, dream something and later, when things aren't so crazy, make it happen.  I love lists, so this was perfect.  I can list out the crazy things I want to do and make sure I have some time to do them in the next fifty years.  Number one is to ... make a dream list.  Actually, find some time to make a dream list.  Number two would be the list.  Actually, number two would be to not spend the time I find watching everything in which Nathan Fillion has ever had a role.  Number three -- The List.

The other idea I got from the book was how great it would be to be able to chose something.  As free as I have felt over the last year and half, in reality, all of my choices are made for me.  I had to find a place to live, I had to go back to school, I have to wake up to that alarm every single morning, I have to take the kids to school, take myself to school, feed people, clean things, wear the same clothes, find everyone's shoes, put people to bed, go to bed myself, start all over the next day....

It was actually quite depressing. 

I can't wait for summer.

Last summer was spent scrambling to find a place to live and figure out what to do about a job.  This summer is mine.

I'm going to take a road trip with no notice and no plan.
I'm going to have a serious tan because I'm only going in the house when the temps are over 100.
I'm going to walk.
I'm going to turn off all the clocks for a week.
I'm going to get purple feather extensions in my hair.
I'm going to get this divorce finalized if it kills me.
I'm going to spend every Friday babying Ninja Truck.
I'm going to look at Corvettes until my eyeballs fall out and I find The One I will eventually own and drive when my kids are grown.
I'm going to hang out on my front porch by myself and with anyone I can get to come over.
I'm going to jump on the trampoline with the kids every day.
I'm going to clean my house and fix up the yard and give the dog a bath and all the big chores I don't have time for anymore.
I'm going to read 50 pointless novels. Some of them better be good.
I'm going to go see my aunt and uncle and cousins.

It's going to be a glorious eight weeks.  Or seven, because of the snow days. 

Ok, that sounds like a lot of work.  Mostly, I'm going to sit on my porch.  Come over, I've got beer.

Apr 4, 2011

Chats with Emma

In explanation of my huge driving rant yesterday, I had been cut off by a guy in a pickup, and I just think they should have more manners than that...or else drive something more jerky, like a Porsche.  I was disillusioned, and I don't like that.  Dudes in pickups shouldn't act like dudes in jerk-mobiles, is my point.

Today, I had a quiet dinner with Emma, because the other kids failed to come home in time to eat.  It was very interesting, because that girl can talk non-stop for hours with no need for me to make any reply.  I sometimes forget this because Madilynn is usually present to divert Emma's attention.

She told me all about why she had to bring rocks to school in her pockets today.  It seems that her preschool teacher suffers from arithmomania and is always insisting the kids bring things to class to let her count them.  Emma brought rocks because she could fit a lot of them in her pocket, and was hoping that her teacher would be able to finally count to 142, because she never gets to count that high.  I think a mark of a good teacher is that the kids have no idea they're the ones learning something, and this teacher has it down.  Or maybe she became a preschool teacher because she is Count von Count from Sesame Street.  You never know.

Emma and her teacher


Whatever the case may be, rocks were required, as well as a two-hour long discussion over dinner.  

Apr 3, 2011

Truck Rules

Some guys think that the hot car is going to get them the hot girls.  They're probably right.  At least for a time, and there is a certain kind of "hot" that is attracted to expensive cars.  It's the kind that comes with a side of gold-digger and nothing else at all

Because I can't seem to figure girls out most of the time, I honestly can't say what sort of car most girls would like to see their man drive, but I do have very strong opinions myself.  Those opinions are turning into pet peeves the more I have to drive in the city.

I can't stand expensive cars.  You know the people who have to park far away from everyone else?  They take up two parking spots and always sit near a window so they can make sure nobody walks too close to their baby.  Oh, and they call their car "baby".  The car has no quirks, other than it's stupid name.  A real car should have quirks, yo...the things you have to tell people about when they borrow it.  A real car should be able to be borrowed in the first place, without your friends and family feeling like you've given them your last remaining kidney.  If you have to spend ten hours a day thinking about your car, it's too expensive and not worth the worry.

I dated a guy once who had a brand new something-something, bright red, perfect everything, fast as hell.  He picked me up for dinner and we had a pleasant conversation about his car all the way there.  When we got out of the car, he carefully inspected every inch of it before we went inside.  He went out to check on it twice.  I called a friend to pick me up and never talked to him again. 

Also, no man should ever drive a "compensation" car.  Because really, it's jerky and doesn't work.  Buy compensation cars for your wife, not for yourself.  This will prove whatever you are trying to prove while still allowing you to appear like a non-wuss.

If you want to spend a ton of money on your vehicle, put the money into the vehicle, not into a dealer's pocket.  Buy a diesel.  Used.  Then blow the rest of your money on super chips, cat-backs, stacks, intakes and a killer sound system. 

Or buy a gas beater and fix it up.  Spend the extra cash on custom paint or something.  Don't buy something girly, is my point, even if it's expensive. 

And for the love of Pete, buy American.  I know our cars don't always out perform the others, but at least you can take the damn things apart and still get them back together.  It is very manly to fix your own car; it is not manly at all to not be able to find the oil filter because it's shoved up under a Toyota passenger seat or something.  The other countries make their cars like this so they can laugh at people dropping their cars off at a dealer for repair, sinking even more cash into their company because nothing on a foreign car can be fixed in a home garage.

If your car is super-loud, that's fine.  But you don't have to rev the engine to show off, because most girls can't tell the difference between Loud on Purpose and Loud Because this Car SUCKS.  If you find a girl who does know the difference, marry her instantly.

Nothing will ever beat the pickup in the manliness category.  But if you drive a pickup, you must also follow the rules.  Cowboy hats go on the dash, guns go in the back....never the opposite.  Always wave at passers-by on a dirt road.  You must wave at other trucks no matter where you are.  If you happen to drive a diesel and need to fill up, it is necessary to trade specs with the guy on the other side.  If you don't drive a diesel, you don't have to do this unless the guy on the other side has a similar truck of a different make...then you must compare until you WIN, yo.  Also?  Girls get the right of way at a four-way intersection.  Always. 

These are my own redneck girl's rules for manliness in driving.  Take them or leave them, but mostly take them because y'all are starting to drive me crazy.