Crappy Joe

I have just recently finished writing a wonderful post about wrapping up the holiday season and it included wonderful sentiments about a Happy New Year to all, and then my ADD kicked in and I got all sidetracked and aggravated. So instead of the original happy-happy post about lovely things… you get a rant. Surprised? Didn’t think so.

For the first time in like an eternity I had a couple hours to myself. I quit my big-girl-job because it made me feel like my world was falling in around me only in a really slow and painful way. I am taking this time to get my house into “home” status and continue to be a stay-at-home mommy for my baby since this fall he will be off to school. He has had whatever stomach bug that was going around and with the snow day and the holiday and a sick kiddo I have not quite gotten back in to the regular routine I have been longing for. Well, today he had preschool. Whoo Hoo!!! This equals two and a half hours that I can do whatever needs to be done with no one in my butt to slow me down. How did I use my time today? Selfishly. I went in search of a quiet place to get back into some writing. Some much needed “me” time.

I chose, for lack of decent choices around, a coffee house that I have been to before but don’t really care for. Again, it’s slim pickin’s in these parts. I used to be an avid coffee house frequenter. We used to have more than one to choose from. I have traveled around our fair city in search of the coolest place or the best barista and have been disappointed fewer times than I have eyeballs. Trust me, I have been around the coffee house scene. I enjoy visiting coffee shops in other cities, I like to catch some live acoustic music and a great latte, I like an early pick me up espresso or a late desert and decaf. I know what I like and like someplace cool with decent joe. Now, don’t get me wrong, the place I picked today looks cool. There is a little couch area near the fireplace, plenty of tables, nice impressive counter with all the appropriate goodies but I should have known walking in that I would have been better off taking my chances with the yuppies at Starbucks.

First off, upon walking in, it smelled like kitchen grease. Not coffee. Hmmm… it was 9:15 so maybe they do a big early breakfast. Proceed to counter. Greeted with frown. Huh? The elderly woman behind the counter did not offer even a “hello” she just stared. I said good morning and smiled and ordered (politely) a bagel with cream cheese. She responded with “plain, wheat, or everything?”. I asked for a plain, still using my manners and a cup of coffee, please. $4. Ok. I noticed the tip jar on the counter and put the $1 change from my five in it.

Maybe I’m jaded having been in the restaurant business for like an entire eon, but I still work very hard for my tips. Today I learned that I also work very hard for someone else’s tips. A certain someone who can not even afford a smile for her customer. She handed me an empty mug “coffee’s over there” point, and a cold bagel “toaster’s over there, too” and then she turned away. Eh?! As I am pouring my own coffee I notice the handwritten sign that said “REFILLS $.80 SEE COUNTER”. Um… riiight. I have seen the "one refill please sign”, I have played the token for a refill game, I have been swapped for paper cups the second go around, but this?! Sheesh. My dollar ninety five cup o’ sludge didn’t come with so much as a top off. If the coffee is good I’ll drink it with nothing but a half packet of sugar. I like coffee. Today’s diesel required three(!) all which was figured out while my bagel was toasted by me. I sat on one of the little couches and had breakfast. I noticed that Suzy Sunshine never left her station of frown behind the register. When it was time for me to leave I grabbed plate and cup and since I had not seen any evidence of service, strolled to the counter. She points “there are tubs over there for that” and sure enough there were bus tubs at the end of the make your own breakfast bar.

So could I have taken my tip back? I earned it. Did I not make my own breakfast and clean up after myself?! I have never seen such a rude display. This utter lack of personality or totally pretentious coffee snob will not be seeing me again. I have no idea how this joint makes the rent. I would assume by the decor that this place would be jammed full if it had decent people working there, oh and good coffee. The only thing my cup had going for it was that it was too hot to drink.

SO there. I wrote something. Grrr…. 

You are not invincible. (Ode to dumbasses everywhere)

My husband, God love him, fails to act his age. I realize this is probably not an isolated case. So enjoy while I sing his praises.

One fine morning, a fresh football season brought “the guys” over to prepare for the proper abusing of the PSLs. My hubby and his “bros” were all geared up (in appropriate team wear), toting coolers and groceries, talking loudly about guy crap. They were loading up the truck to make the haul down to where the chest beating, ball scratching, shit talkin’ takes place. It being one of the first games of the season had this lot in rare form.

I don’t know what happened conversation-wise to require the riding of my husband’s childhood BMX bike, but they were doing it. My kids are out laughing at them. My neighbors were too. My husband takes his turn at being the baddest ass and “I can’t watch”. So two grown men and two little boys are watching as dear husband ramps the curb, hops the sewer and bites it. “Awwww! Wow! Ouch”. Head first over the handlebars. I knew it was bad before I even turned around. I kinda wish I would have seen it. He is laying on the grass and then just pops up like “It’s ok! I’m ok!”(name that movie). He was obviously shaken. I am not sure by what, the fact that he is not 12 anymore or that he has just seriously hurt himself trying to be 12. Oh, and he hit his head, but that couldn’t have anything to do with it, right?

He staggers. He heads to the house. He stands in the bathroom trying to convince me he didn’t hit his head very hard and it’s just a hematoma on his shoulder. *in my best Schwarzenegger* “It’s not a toma”. Crickets?!?! Really? I thought that was hilarious. Fine, I’ll admit, ill placed. I digress…

So my adrenaline junkie goes to his football extravaganza, and proceeds to tail gate. Chest bump. Wait. That hurts.

Then I get the call.

“Huuuuneeee, could you pick me up? I think I’m hurt worse than I thought.” “Of course” *eye-roll* *huff* *grumble*. The kids and I gather up and head downtown (35 minute drive with no other cars on the road) to sit in baseball and football traffic and finally arrive at the corner of “major interstate” and “right in the middle of downtown”. He is standing there with this painful glare and when he slides in the car he instructs me to drive him directly to the ER. These words are not uttered by my husband lightly. Before you get all upset, his dudes were handed the tickets and told to keep him posted, they instructed him to do the same. All is not lost.

Off we go! Two major highways, one bridge closing, giant loop around detour, two antsy kids, one injured husband, an hour and 12 minutes drive time, one Xanex and 51 deep breaths later we are at the hospital closest to our home. We wait in the ER (ya’ll know what that’s like so I’ll spare ya) and they tell him his collar bone is detached and they won’t touch him. He needs an Orthopedic Surgeon!?! Yikes. 

Here, take a look:

BLAMO!

My poor hubbs had to throw all aspirations of swimsuit modeling out the window and come to grips with the fact that until he has surgery he will have a bump on his shoulder. Like Quasimodo. I know, low. But funny.

You will be pleased to know that almost two months of physical therapy and loads of time off work he is fully functioning. For those interested, the bump is barely noticeable. The only thing he can’t do is lay on his left to sleep which leaves me snuggle-less and I hate that. He has also completely forgotten any lesson there were to be had from this. I asked him to buy a skateboard for our dude’s 7th birthday and he comes home saying “man, skateboards have gotten way cheaper! I almost picked one up for myself.” REALLY?!?!? Did you learn nothing?! I would kill him, of course I could just wait and see if he does it for me.

I would like to state for the record that I have been very supportive, non-judgy, and only have half of a tongue left because I have been forced to bite the other half off. Everything happens for a reason. Accidents happen. Blah blah blah.

I am convinced this must be a chromosomal defect. The Y chromosome.  

HELP! I’ve fallen and I can’t get up!

Call Life Alert. I have fallen out of the blog-o-sphere. I am having a hard time finding my way back.

Holy crap, my life has been stupid crazy lately.

We moved. We found out we are not good at moving. I picked up a new career. Hubbs got laid off. Find out new career kinda blows. Hubbs got hurt (for-the-love-of-god-that-is-a-whole-'nother-post). Two new schools start. I can’t remember the last time I read a book for grown-ups. A boy turned seven. Hallo’frickin’ween. Hubbs goes back to work, but at night. And that almost, with very large gaps, brings us up to now.

I really wanted to be a good little blogger and continually bang out witty post after witty post. Unfortunately my new Big Girl Job has me chained to a computer six hours a day and I’ll be honest, I just don’t feel like it anymore.

Then I realize how much I have missed. I have not done any sewing. I have not had any snarky rants. I read up on my faves and realize that I suck. Who do you have to blow to get Pintrest to accept you? What is the big friggin’ deal about Pintrest anyway? Reminds me of Jr. High when we used to clip pictures out of magazines and make our dream house/wedding/family. Don’t lie, you did too, didn’t you? Why can I not do something simple like pick a paint color for the dining room, or wash socks? My last project was lame, my attempt at “mumming” (don’t ask) was weak, and my car has had one headlight for like a year. 

I need to have a good old fashioned “get your big girl panties on and get over it’ lecture handed to me. I’ll try. I will.

So in the spirit of things I vow to post immediately after this one with a story about the Read-Todd-Did man I married, shower, take a yoga class, and suck it up.

I promise.

Poetry

One of my KK Mommy friends posted this today and it touched me so I wanted to share. *sigh* If only they were small and sweet again.

Mother, oh Mother, come shake out your cloth
empty the dustpan, poison the moth,
hang out the washing and butter the bread,
sew on a button and make up a bed.
Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?
...She's up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.
Oh, I've grown shiftless as Little Boy Blue
(lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).
Dishes are waiting and bills are past due
(pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peekaboo).
The shopping's not done and there's nothing for stew
and out in the yard there's a hullabaloo
but I'm playing Kanga and this is my Roo.
Look! Aren't her eyes the most wonderful hue?
(lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).
The cleaning and scrubbing will wait till tomorrow,
for children grow up, as I've learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down, cobwebs. Dust go to sleep.
I'm rocking my baby and babies don't keep.

by Ruth Hulburt Hamilton

 

Have a great weekend.

Thank you JS.

Our poor tree.

I wrote last year about this tree. Take a look HERE. Seems a little silly to put so much emotional importance on a tree but I do. I think this tree is a significant story teller that runs parallel with us.

Let me add a little back story and maybe you can see it. In my and husband’s relationship there have been a few bumps. Nothing catastrophic, but bumps big enough to jostle your brain when ya go over ‘em. Who hasn’t?! It seems whenever we have something major happen everything major happens. So, we built a new house and were moving crap over daily and in the middle of the mess a huge storm hits our town. Tornados nearby, rain coming sideways, and lightening that was scary close. Ya know, summer storm, Midwest style. I thought sure with everything happening we would have lost the tree. She was a bendin’. Nope. It stood. Strong and tall and I looked at my hubbs and thought “just like always we are gonna make it”. Then two days later a second but not nearly as ferocious storm blew through and took our tree with it.

Leveled to the ground. Again! This tree does this about every five years. So do we. I cried. A lot. Then I started over analyzing the symbolism. With all the stress of the five-million-and-two things that we loaded up on our plates, my lover and I had been fighting quite a bit. Is the tree trying to tell us that some storms you can weather but some are just to big to withstand?! Or was it saying here’s a fresh start for you? Just call me neurotic. Some people take advice from tea leaves. At least mine was living.

Well… running true with the tree speak we have moved on, started fresh. We have cleaned up our old mess (well…almost) and have begun to grow a new life from the ground up in a different place.

(insert sad faces)

Let’s just hope this new house’s tree isn’t a sign of anything. It was a straight-up pain in the ass then immediately it died. Puleeze! Really?!?

And of course, before i got a pic (stupid camera. STUPID battery.) the magic tree fairy (aka: project manager) came and replaced it. Maybe that is a sign! Ugh.

So now I have little to no worries a (surface survey) and I just pray the grass here is not the fortune teller. Premium Kentucky Bluegrass my foot! More like poopity-poop-poop. Poop. Although the grass does kinda feel like me right now… crabby and a little “broad”.

Wanna see some pictures?

I am totally not a photographer. At all. That being said… shall we?! Here’s what the last nine months have looked like:

October

Please try to focus on the reason for the season instead of my half-wit facial expressions. Yes. As a matter of fact my tongue is out and I have indeed not bothered to brush my hair. Huh.

 November

Incredible. In November we celebrate my nephew’s birthday.

December

 

 

January

 

“Playing” with our Christmas loot. Um… that is a volcano. You’re welcome.

February

Let the building begin!

This is the one I made for my baby’s 4th birthday.

March

 

April

   

May

We were waiting for the much anticipated port removal.

Almost done!

June

Hello Summer!

July

 

Check out my sexy mutha-*bleep* with his cold blooded jewelry.

And… this is what happens when you hand me one! Ack!

Do you have any idea how hard it is to come up with just one (ok, sometimes two) pictures to sum up an entire month? Why nine months, not six, or twelve? Dunno. Deal.

Been a long time…

It has been since Easter since I posted?!?! It has been since Easter since I posted.

We have had a whole truck load of crap happen, I probably have about 27 funny things to tell you, like 16 not so funny, and at least one that will make you cry tears of joy. None of those things will be posted right now though. I am simply too pooped. Plus that would mean organizing my stack of post-its. Too hard. Especially when I can’t find my stapler, my favorite bra, or about three dozen other things since the move. Never been too organized, now it bites me in the ass.

Piled high on top of the move is summer (aka: boys parked in my face), my '”fun job” that sucks a big one, a lay-off that turned into out of town work for my dear husband, and my car just up and gave me the finger. The friggin’ clutch went out. I want to scream. Instead I decided to pout. We had loads of wonderful family activities that needed attending this weekend and I was stuck. With my sweetie out of town the weekends get crammed full of shit we hate (him working on the old house, me at work) instead of the things we really want to be doing (spending time with friends and family, or hell just enjoying summer for five minutes).

Today I surfed the net for solutions to the car disaster until one of eyeballs actually fell out on to my keyboard. Don’t worry, it was the one that recently survived pink eye not my good one.*

*in a tiny little side note: whenever anyone says “pink eye” do you immediately think “poop on your eyeball”?! I do. I did. Till now. I did not have poop anywhere near my face. I am a compulsive hand-washer. Sort of. (remember the scene from Knocked Up when they all got pink eye from farting on each other's pillows?! I feel better)

My dear sweet sister showed up and informed me that we needed to get out of the house and do something fun with the boys for just once in their poor deprived lives. That was at like 1:00. So by 4:00 we started really thinking about what to do. The public pools around here (well not really around here anymore since “here” has moved) have special cheap-o rates after 4:00 so since it was now only 99° instead of 105° we suited up.

Pay attention… this is where it gets good… in string bikinis!!! BWAaahahaha.

No seriously.

We totally did.

We dug around in my swim suit pile and finally decided on the little ones. Why? ‘Cuz we are obviously of diminished brain capacity. Obviously.

I have two things to tell you about this ridiculous decision:

1. We are not the adorable 20-somethings that these suits were originally purchased for.
2. If you ever want to feel better about your physical appearance you should head over to the public pool.

Knowing these two things led us to the conclusion that we are too old to care what anyone really thinks. That and she has a tropical vaca coming up and she and a thawed out chicken have the same color skin. So my sis, her blissfully happy new b’dunk, our three pasty boys, and my scarred up nasty (think shark bite or mauled by tiger) belly jiggle all got in her car. I made her promise to make a whooper-whill whistle if one of my nipples popped out and then made her practice it with me for insurance. God forbid she mistake it for another bird call. She rolls eyes and comments on my mental handicap.

We arrive. Pay. Throw our crap on the first empty chair. Undress. Suck in… and head for the water. I don’t have the required stomach muscles it takes to hold the kind of blub I carry. Little sis meant what she said about not caring about what people think and is sitting down. You can’t suck in and sit. F*@#. Oh well.

In an hour and 20 minutes my insignificant stomach muscles are sore from trying their hardest. My thighs are rubbed red on the inside from the weird way I was walking trying to minimize the jiggle. We have been splashing and playing the entire time. The boys were having fun. The water feels great and so does the sun. Having a great time.

Until… she swims up to me and giggles “thought you might wanna know your suit is see through”. Really? Really?!?!

Not only did I not hear the whistle we rehearsed but she waited an hour to tell me that everyone could tell within a millimeter exactly how my nipples look?!?! Aaahhhh!!!

Top that shit off with a trip to Wal-Mart in goofy half wet swim covers with three over tired and hungry boys and I was almost in tears looking for a happy pill.

No. There are no pictures to go with this post.

SHEESH!!!