Debit Card Dementia

Today I was at my bank waiting in line at the ATM, you know, leaving that 20 foot courtesy gap between me and the person at the machine. I mean, you don't want them to think your sneaking sideways glances at their pin, so you can mug them a few minutes later for their card, and then go on a nationwide shopping spree.
The lady in front of me took FOREVER. Of course, it always seems like the people in front of me take a lot longer than I do. I don't know if that's my impatient perception or actual fact. Anyway, she gets her wallet and starts slowly proceeding toward the front door of the bank, gliding along as if in a dream. The machine is making that beeping noise, the one that tells you "We ain't through, bitch!", but she just kept floating away. So I go up to the machine and it reads Another Transaction or Return Card. "Ma'am! Ma'am are you done over here? MA'AM?" In the front door she goes, completely unaware. "Her card's still in the machine!" I exclaim to the person behind me. "I'm just going to pop it out so I can use mine, then I'll bring it inside to her." So I do, and the lady wanders back out before I'm done. "Ma'am, you left your card in the machine!" "Oh no! Oh thank you so much! I just had to get a new card because I lost the last one!"
What if I was a dishonest person? "Do I want another transaction? You bet I do!" Someone else might have cleaned her out! Of course, they probably would've been captured on camera. But then, people who suck that bad are usually too stupid to think of things like that.
Seriously though, it was weird, it was like twilight zone for a minute then back to reality. And why did she go in the bank after she got her money out? A mystery.


So some of you probably saw my picture with the Ewok on Hippie's blog. What you may not know, is that we have a long, sordid history involving oversized stuffed animals.....

I'm not proud of it, but I feel better now that I've told you.

Cotton Balls Dipped in Toe Jam

By the way my mouth tasted Sunday morning, I have to assume that's what I was snackin' on the night before.
Aaron and I had a great anniversary. My sister picked the kids up from our house at 3! Hello! So of course we had an afternooner, which we haven't been able to do since Tatum was born. Prior to children, that was the ideal time of day for it. Lazing around, chowing down, watching a movie marathon, and enjoying a tumble whenever the mood strikes. Sigh. Now it's either right before bed, which Aaron's not too keen on, or first thing in the morning, which I LOATHE. I am not a morning person, don't put that thing anywhere near me unless you're willing to lose it. Rarr hisssss...
So then we went out to eat at Carraba's- is that how you spell it? It doesn't look right- which was delicious. Then we went to see a play called The Lieutenant of Inishmore. It was a very small show, like 30 seats, and it was about an irish assassin that was so psycho the IRA didn't want him, and the only thing he really loved in the whole world was his cat, so they put a hit out on it to lure him back where they want him. It was funny, and also violent with lots of Irish cussing, so it was right up my alley. Some accents were better than others, and some of them would do okay for awhile and then slip up, but it was just part of the charm. They really did a great job, and like Aaron said, just to be so into it that you rehearse for however many weeks, to perform one night to a sold out show of a handful of people, is impressive in and of itself.
THEN we went to a party, and my sister calls while we're there to tell us the girls fell asleep at her house so she'll just bring them home tomorrow. Upon hearing I didn't have to be responsible for anyone but myself, I proceeded to drink excessively. I had a great time, but I also had like 4 too many. And the last two were guiness, which is like fermented pond scum. I think those are what really did me in. Interestingly enough, it's the same toxic sludge on exit as it is going in. At least I didn't barf.

Today at the gym, I'm walking into the bathroom and this lady's walking out, laughing uproariously. She grins at me and caws "I's so sweaty, look! Look at ma pants!" I look and she turns her back to me, displaying the wet splotch extending from the top of her pants down the generous length of her ass crack. It reminded me of those ink blots shrinks use. "Er, I guess that means you got a good work out." She stumbles away, still laughing. I see this lady a lot, and she's strange, possibly even mildly exceptional. She always has on full makeup- although this isn't unusual for the desperate housewives of rincon- and she wears shirts that are way too short, and pants that are way too thin and snug. Her ensemble was the reason her flooded ravine was so obvious. She had on aqua colored stretch pants. She also has a perm she definitely mousses- is that how you spell that? It doesn't look right either. My two favorite treadmills were out of order, and the only spot left was next to the Gulf of Perspiration. "And that wuz only from 30 minutes on tha lyptical! I wunder what'll happen after anuther 30 minutes on hare?!" Thankfully she respected the placement of the Ipod ear buds, but then a friend of hers came in. She carried on a conversation with her while she plodded on, and her friend was on a machine behind her and like four over. So she was hanging onto the bar, looking over her shoulder, squawking in my ear. I could hear her over my music, and believe me, I tried turning it all the way up. Later, I see the friend (pink lipstick AND silver hoop earrings) come into the weight room fresh off of the machine. She shivers, rubs her arms, and puts on her jacket. Yep, that's a sure sign of a great workout! I don't know about you, but I bring my snowsuit to the gym so I can zip myself into it after I slow my circulation with an intense run.
I also saw an old guy with some seriously old school headphones. Like ear muffs without the fuzz they were.


Today, Reese insisted on knowing how babies come out of tummies. She's obsessed with buns in the oven. I was like "Uh, well, there are a couple ways they can come out. If they have any trouble, they can cut a little hole in the mommy's tummy, pull the baby out, and sew her back up again!" She insisted on hearing all means available for arrival, and I was like "Are you sure you want to know?" "Yes." "They come out of the woman's teetee. It's the way all woman have babies all around the world for all time." Pause. "Are you kidding me?" "No." After considering this new info for a moment, she starts talking about the baby she will have in her tummy someday (a LONG LONG LONG LONG time from now, I always tell her), and informs me she is going to look out the window (we're in the car) at the houses and pick which one she's going to live in. She's four.

I bought all of the ladies in the house new underwear today, and Tatum's have Tinkerbell on them. The pair she got out to wear had a big picture of Tinkerbell's head on the rear. She thought this was funny, until I said they'd have to change her name from Tinkerbell to Tinkerbutt. Then she thought it was the most hilarious thing ever. I had fun with it for awhile, told her Tinkerbell was making a sour face from the smell, and wondering why she couldn't have been ANYTHING else. A shirt, a scarf, anything but underwear! Inevitably Tatum did get out of control though, kids don't know what too much of a good thing is. She said Tinkerbutt for like the trizillionth time, and I finally had to be like, "Alright, alright, get your pajamas on." Then of course she had her pants below her cheeks because "Tinkerbell couldn't breathe."

Have you seen the Axe commercial where she says "85% of women agree that dandruff is a turnoff."? I'd like to hear from the other 15%. Do they like the way it builds up between their fingers when they're running them through his hair? Or maybe they like it sprinkled all over the bed like rose petals? Or as a tasty topping on a romantic pasta dinner? Yummm...

The Pitter Patter of Hairy Feet

We love our new floor, but we didn't realize how annoying it may be to have a senile man's best friend pacing around trying to remember what he was doing. "Uh, was I about to lay down? Or is it time for an extremely long, loud drink of water? Or wait, maybe I was going to lick my weiner. It's been at least 5 minutes since the last time."

I trimmed his nails, but it makes no difference, the sound of his hooves clicking constantly fill the air. It bothers me a little, but it drives Aaron nuts. I was in the kitchen a few days ago, and in wanders Grimace...

My husband's right behind him singing, "Listen to the sounds...of silence." Very clever, only Indy has an unquenchable thirst for sock sweat.

Recently, Hippie was here visiting, we had a great time. We swapped disgusting stories (mine in animal medicine, hers human), watched and commented on Rock of Love & Half Ton Dad- oh, and the World's Heaviest Teenager- I love that stuff!, and hit Savannah for a day. Her boys, her sister, and her sister's boyfriend came too, which made it even more fun. It's always relaxed and everyone's always laughing, we effortlessly entertain each other. Someday maybe we can do it for more than a day or two!

Today is my eighth wedding anniversary. Maybe he'll let me trim the out of control beard hairs that shot out like 3 inches longer than the others as my gift. Then he can pluck my chin hair. Then we'll hold hands and gaze into each others eyes as we sing "Me So Horny" to each other, our lips trembling as emotion overwhelms us.

Actually we're going to watch Role Models in a minute, which I've been wanting to see. That Paul Rudd is a card AND a looker. And that Sean William Scott ain't half bad neither.

Cat Pee On A Hot Tin Roof

One time, Hippie bought me a wine with the above name. And that's exactly what it smelled and tasted like.
Today at work, an insano feline went completely apeshit when I was restraining him on the treatment table. It was all I could do to hang onto him so he wouldn't fall, while avoiding being ripped to shreds or eaten. I finally got control of him, and I laid my upper body on top of his so he couldn't move. A minute or two into it, I feel a warm, wet sensation spreading across my abdomen. The little pecker has pissed all over me. I spend the rest of the afternoon apologizing to clients for my offensive odor.
The funny part was my coworker running around the room trying to find something to help me in my plight to tame the beast. She finally picks up the trash can, tosses the bag out of it, and runs over to me, AFTER I've already got the cat pinned under me. All that's poking out is his tiny head, and mine's right above it, so she lifts the giant trash can and covers his tiny head with it. Meanwhile the side of it is smashing into my face. I'm like "Uh, I don't think that's really necessary at this point." She cracks me up.
Another coworker waited in her car several minutes today before coming into work, because Broom Hilda was out letting her dog do its business. He comes running up to everyone he sees, so it would've been hard for her to get in the back gate without some kind of interaction with her. We can only hope that eviction is in her near future, because the fact that she lives next door is really making it inconvenient and uncomfortable for the rest of us.

I'm Too Tired For a Clever Title

This morning Tatum wakes me up by coming into my room. I shoot up in bed like a puppet on a pulley and see daylight shining through the blinds. "Shit & Shinola!" I holler. It's usually pitch black when I get up. Turns out I never turned on my alarm. Tatum informed me later that I really scared her.
So I'm scrambling around in my room getting ready later, Aaron has already taken Tatum to school and Reese is waiting for me to take her to the sitter. I slam out of my bedroom door and feel a cold draft. It gets colder and colder as I approach the kitchen, and I see that the door to the garage has been left open. Reese has apparently left it open to make wandering in and out less of an effort. "Where are the dogs? WHERE ARE THE DOGS?!" I look in the house, the backyard, they are nowhere to be found. I find them two blocks away sniffing around someone's front walk way, so I call them and Indy comes running, Grimace continues with the odor at hand, completely oblivious. "GRIMACE!" He perks his ears briefly, then resumes sniffing. I continue to yell until I'm right in his face, when suddenly that glimmer of recognition returns. He wags his tail and follows me slowly to the car. It made me remember that when we lived in Michigan (until I was 8), there was an old lady that lived behind us that used to get trapped in her back yard. We'd see her out there in her robe and slippers, walking the perimeter of the chain link, unable to locate the exit. We'd get Ma, and she'd maneuver her back in. I'm pretty sure her slippers were pink and her robe was quilted baby blue. I don't know why I remember things like that, but can't really recall birthdays or holidays or vacations much.
So my morning started out swell.
Then I go in and see the new guy (Queen Queef's replacement) walking a dog in the yard. "Good morning." And inside I'm like "YEEESSS!" But then I walk through the kennel and there's Edna Manhands, cleaning out a run. What the hell?! Apparently we were still waiting for our PI guy to fire her. I offered to do it. "You really would, wouldn't you?" "Hell Yeah! No problem!" I guess he really needed the guy to address some things because of the Dept of Labor and Blah blah. I was like "I can threaten her too if that's what you need." He declined, but the guy did come in and fire her this afternoon, so now she is officially OUT. Addy-ose Scary Poppins. There was little to no drama, at least for the time being. But she's the type that will try to retaliate in one way or another, so I'll be keeping my eye out for anything fishy. They'll leave a powerful smell and/or a slimy trail to incriminate themselves.
Only here's the thing, I'm wondering if the cure is going to be worse than the disease. This new guy's in his early 20s, apparently he was in the military. This is the first day I've worked around him, and here are some examples of my cause for concern:
1) I was staring at the surgery board today, mentally organizing, and he stops and says, "Can you put me up there? I need something done about my knees. heh heh." "We don't do those kinds of procedures. We can neuter you if you'd like, are you interested in being castrated?" "That'll work too."
2)He walks in the surgery room and says "What's that smell?" "That's burning flesh. We're using the electrocautery on a surgery." And we all cry "Nothing like the smell of burning flesh in the morning!"(that's what we always say). And he says "Smells a lot different than burning human flesh."
3)There's a very large blue plastic container in the copy room. I'm in there getting my lunch, and he's in there getting the trash. "What is that?" I wonder aloud. "Oh, my M16s came in." He says "Oh yeah?" I ask. "I wish."He replies.
4) And finally, we're masking a cat down for a procedure, and he says, "Alright! Pass that over here when you're done!" Insinuating, even if you are kidding, that you are interested in our gas anesthetic as a means to get high, is not cool. Particularly when it's your first week and no one knows you at all, and CERTAINLY does not trust you.
We'll see how Colonel Creepy works out.

Mind Your Own @*#*$*#@* Business!!!!

I went to Food Lion yesterday to do a big grocery shop, and I had the girls with me. We were in the store like five minutes and Tatum had to use the bathroom. Food Lion is the smallest and least busy grocery store in our area, which is why I go to it (and their produce is good). The bathroom's a few aisles over, Reese wants to go to. I'm like, "hold hands, don't run, go pee, wash hands, come right back, yadda yadda." Not 60 seconds later, I'm perusing the salad dressings, and this middle-aged, pus-gutted, slack-jawed stocker says "Looks like you lost some kids." "They're in the bathroom." "By themselves?" "Yes." "I guess we have no way of knowing if they came out yet or not. pause Find everything you need?" "YES." Instead of telling him off or punching him in the paunch like I should have, I do the mumble while I'm walking away thing. "And I found one thing I didn't need, your opinion......" Then later we see him AGAIN, and he says, "Hey, they're back!" I completely ignore him and continue reading soup labels, blocking him and his cart full of boxes from moving down the aisle for a few minutes. My petty revenge.
I was REALLY pissed. Lately when I get pissed about something I feel like my eyes are going to burst out of my head and my skin's gonna peel off, and it's usually about things that shouldn't piss me off so bad, like Hillbilly Bob's parenting criticism. I don't actually care what he thinks, but like all parents I'm constantly worrying whether I'm doing a good enough job or not, I'm hard enough on myself and don't need strangers' uninformed comments. Not to mention that it is honestly actually the first time I've ever let them go to a rest room that's not directly in my sights before, and listen to me I'm explaining myself!!! @#*@ it! If that loser's ever been married he's probably divorced now, and if he has kids, his wife has custody, and they hate visiting him on the weekends because his trailer smells like corn chips and all they do there is eat bologna and ketchup and watch Nascar. Hopefully they didn't inherit his social skills. I was livid long enough that if I knew what he drove I would've driven back with a pocket knife and slashed his tires. It would've probably been a quick easy job since it's likely a bicycle or a moped.
I told my sister about it and she told me the SAME guy said something to her about her kids climbing on top the cart. "They're gonna fall and get hurt." I wonder just how many mothers Jethro has hacked off? We should start our own group, M.A.M.D.S.A.F.L, Mothers Against Mouthy Douchebag Stockers At Food Lion.
On a cheerier note, we went to go see Full Monty at the college last night, and it was great, it cracked me up. I dare say I may have even liked it better than Footloose. They have another play showing on the weekend of my anniversary, so if my husband's game that's probably what we'll do.
AND we ripped up the carpet in our living room yesterday, and we're putting down wood laminate. Hooray! You should've seen all the DIRT under the carpet and padding, I could've filled one of those turtle sandboxes.

I'm So Glad It Wasn't Me

In response to the 6th picture thing, here is my lovely niece and my beautiful daughter cheering at a football game. Tatum went to that cheer camp last summer, and one of the perks was being able to cheer on the field at one of the games with the real cheerleaders. Woo hoo! She was extremely excited and took her role as pint-sized pom pom shaker very seriously.
Oh yeah, and Reese threw up like 10 more times the other night, so much for indigestion. When I was typing it on here, Aaron started reading over my shoulder and said all disgusted, "Her puke isn't even cold yet and you're already blogging about it." He just doesn't realize how much his own clever comments fuel the blogging fire.