I’m sorry I’m posting your license plate online…


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Yes, I know it probably isn’t very cool to take a picture of someone’s license plate and post it on the internet for all to see….however, a plate like this is just begging for attention!  I was so intrigued by who might create such a clever personalized plate.

I mean, it’s D’Shizzit, right?  Maybe it’s Snoop-D-O-double G!

Or perhaps the driver Dishes it?  Like a lunchlady…or like a prosecuting attorney?

Maybe it’s about a thug robbing jewelry?  ‘Dis Heist!

I could’ve interpreted it all wrong….it could simply be a creative way of spelling Diseased.  That’s a shame.

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We name our Christmas trees


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This tradition has been passed down three generations of trees.  A measly three years in human time, yet who knows how long in the land of trees.  It is a tradition I hope survives the test of time, and with proper documentation…in the form of a family ‘tree’ (ha!), I hope that years from now we can look back and giggle a little bit.  In the beginning, it seemed to be a silly little game we played, but now we look forward to it.  The adoption and naming of the tree.

It began three years ago with grandfather tree.  His name: Tree Tree.  Simple, precise, to the point.

His legacy lived on last year through his son: Red Green.  Colorful, upbeat, and festive.

This year, we have a beautiful, majestic, sophisticated tree.  Grand-daughter of Tree Tree, daughter of Red Green…

Treela Pinewood.

 

I finally had another dream about Eddie Vedder


Thank goodness.  I’ve had many sleeps since my last dream with an Eddie appearance. 

It began at a show. Not a Pearl Jam show, but a sort of lip sync/air guitar variety show.  I was chosen to perform a Tom Petty tune and was pretty stoked to show my skills.  I recall having an awfully strange, blonde, Paige boy wig on.  Perhaps it was my actual hair.  I know not. 

As another performer was onstage, I spotted Eddie. I approached him knowing he would respect that I was in the show.  He was Eddie… although his face was young, pink and dewy, with no beard or sexy stubble in sight.  His curly hair was to his ears and it was so greasy and shiny.  Each curl around his face was shorter and more defined.  Maybe it was because of there being no beard on his face, but his teeth looked bigger and a little bit buck-toothed. 

I approached him and said something to the effect of: Hi Eddie, I just wanted to say that I was at the show in Milwaukee.  Great show, thank you.

The look of confusion and disgust on his shiny unfamiliar face sank my warm, adoring heart.  I walked away, head hanging low… onto my Tom Petty performance.

On stage, I strummed the first bars of the song on my imaginary guitar and leaned into the microphone to lip the opening line of the song.  To my dismay, I lipped the wrong words!! And then my guitar strumming became off beat!! The horror!!

I glanced over at Eddie after my on-stage nose dive.  He shook his glistening head in even more disgust at me.  I felt pitiful. 

Although it wasn’t the dream I dream about… where we become best friends and he brings me on tour to entertain him… I am grateful to have his strangely shiny presence grace my brain.

We’re at now now


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Oh, Spaceballs! Rick Moranis… Such joy.

I introduced the children to this gem last week. Lovely #2 thought Pizza the Hut was disgusting…with his drippy cheesy face and tongue.

Ah, sweet nostalgia. I think my brother and I used to watch this movie nearly every weekend at our neighbor’s house. His mom always made us popcorn and cut up some pears, which we barely touched. It never really got old… and now that it’s old, it still hasn’t really gotten old.

Just look at that big ass helmet. Ludicrous!


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This is how you make a home-made band-aid.  Tear off a little piece of paper towel and hold it over the tiny little knife wound on your pinky…the one you got after you accidentally grazed the knife as it laid there, innocently.  The cut that shouldn’t have happened.  The cut that now leaves an annoying little flap of skin too deep to rip off…but perfect to get caught on sweaters once it has crusted over a bit.   Then fumble around for some scotch tape.

Try to hold the paper towel on your finger and also retrieve enough pieces of tape to cover all of the paper towel.  Despite the awkward finger fumbling of the sticky substance, you must succeed.  We have to cover it all because there is still celery to chop and carrots to peel for this fucking delicious pot roast…and the dreaded tear inducing onions….and you sure don’t want any onion juices seeping into that fresh little cut.  You just started!! You can’t back out now!

Of course, this while process could have been avoided had you just bought the damn $3 Frozen movie themed bandages…the ones that aren’t sticky and are too small for an adult sized wound.  They’re more like decorative stickers.  And why doesn’t Target deliver??

Loving these shriveled pumpkins


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This guy isn’t ready to say goodbye quite yet. He’s hanging in there…looking more and more awesome and more and more like an old, one-eyed, grouchy woman every day.

Every day, I come home and look at him and think ‘maybe it’s time to clean up the Halloween decorations and pumpkins,’ but every day he/she gazes up at me and my laziness wins.  It wins a lot. 

It’s only been like 10 days since Halloween.  People leave Christmas decorations up until at least February.  They do, I’ve seen it with my own eyes.  And the stores put out holiday decorations over 60 days in advance!!

I think I’m allowed to keep this wonderful, shrivelly relic a few days longer.  The big fuzzy spiders too.  They’re good friends now. 

Until this forecasted polar vortex whooshes down on us again… then my grumpy pumpkin friend, left out in the cold, is probably going to slash my tires and put a potato in my tailpipe. 

A tripod of gastrointestinal distress!


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I’m not sure why, but the dreaded gas is back.  Without hesitation and like clockwork, it bubbles up and makes its appearance around dinnertime.  It’s impossible to hide.  It’s impossible to mask…or to hold in.  Yikes.

Perhaps it was the oatmeal or the latte or the Thai curry soup…most likely a deadly combination of all three.  A tripod of gastrointestinal distress!

Whatever the cause, it makes me giggle.  Obviously, I grow more concerned the more it ceases to dissipate…yet it makes me giggle like an immature 10-year-old boy making fart noises in his armpit.  It makes me laugh because it is so dang putrid.  Sometimes it resembles cheesy overcooked brussel sprouts while other times it has a distinct peanutty odor.  I realize that this is very open of me to share with you.  I apologize.

At times, I fart with every step I take.  It’s hilarious.

I run-fart up the stairs or do a long fart as I slide on stocking feet across the kitchen floor.  It makes me picture being in this trampoline park and farting at every bounce.  I giggle to myself as I imagine bouncing across the room, away from the green fog, leaving it bouncing in the air for everyone to behold.  I would try to drop a little bomb on each springy surface.  I don’t even think I could hold it in if I tried.  I would bounce up and out the door before they can even sniff me out…I disappear out the door, leaving an invisible gas path behind me.  It’s not a crime to fart.  It’s not.  Even the bloodhounds wouldn’t want to find me!  Poor dogs.

On the bright side, if I had a stalker…I wouldn’t have a stalker anymore.

and the secret word is….


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It’s about time the kids were introduced to the high flying adventures of Big Top Pee Wee, don’t you agree?

I can’t even remember the first time I saw this movie…and I’m not sure how long ago it was.  As I watch, I am realizing that I don’t remember any of this.  I mean, I remember, but I don’t remember.  I don’t remember the talking pig or the angry townsfolk.  I don’t remember Kris Kristofferson playing the ring leader of the circus in his Indiana Jones attire.  Maybe I remember Pee Wee’s Big Adventure more…the tequila song and the platform shoes with the goldfish in them and Large Marge.  People still do that funny back and forth thumb dance when the song Tequila comes on.

I do seem to recall the egg salad sandwich dripping on Pee Wee’s face…mmm…egg salad-y!

I remember watching Pee Wee’s Playhouse on Saturday mornings when I was a kid and I remember loving it.  I loved the clay-mation opening scene and I loved the aluminum foil ball.  Who could forget Chairy?  I might just have to order all the seasons so that I can relive it every Saturday morning.  I think that the new generation is enjoying it too…my little lovely #2 thinks that it’s pretty funny so far.  So far so good!  Everyone loves that good old Pee Wee giggle.

My friend and I like to drive around, drink coffee, and try to laugh like Pee Wee.  We end up geeking out and laughing so fucking hard we have to wee wee a little pee pee.  See how much joy Pee Wee can bring?

 

Distractions!!


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It’s hard to write a good blog post at the roller skating rink…

Don’t get me wrong, there’s plenty of great characters to choose from to describe.  Maybe the chubby girl with the light up ring who stops for a new snack after each lap or the sweet Asian dad with his two little girls?  Maybe the awkward, loud mom that I recognize from the salon?  Ugh, I hope she doesn’t notice me.  I can’t quite describe how excited she was when Eye of the Tiger came on. 

Or perhaps the 14 year old couple?  The girl had a stringy ponytail that reached the top of her butt crack!  Someone should give her the number of a great hairdresser. 

Here I wanted to describe the awesome wooden skate floor or the critter-ridden carpet wall…or the cute old lady who made my hot cocoa in the snack stand…but I keep getting distracted by these amazing 4 year old skaters with light up skates and matching cheetah sweaters. 

You wouldn’t even believe how they skate-danced to some In the Air Tonight by Phil Collins…flipping their hair around and taunting me.