dead birds and hungry snakes

tonight, we were visiting my parents. we were having a good time, about to serve dinner, when my dad noticed a dead bird on the ground below the big window out back.

knowing my child like i do, i immediately called brooke to come outside and check the bird out. she ran out, checked for blood or goo and then picked it up and thoroughly investigated it. she spread out the wings, opened and closed the beak, rubbed its belly.

then she headed further out into the yard to find a place to set it. a place where it wouldn't get stepped on or picked up by the dog. we were heading for a hole where a stump was ripped out recently when i spotted a snake on the edge of the hole.  brooke climbed a tree with branches overlooking the snake so she could get a good look. i ran in for the rest of the family so they could enjoy our slithering discovery.

turns out, it was a copperhead, so it had to be.... um... separated from its head. with a shovel.

when i asked brooke later where she'd decided to leave her dead bird, she told me that when she climbed the tree, she took the bird carcass up with her. she inspected the snake and determined that there were no obvious lumps, so it probably hadn't eaten recently. she then threw the bird at the snake in hopes that she'd get to watch it swallow it whole. too bad snakey lost his head before he got his easy meal.

it smells faintly of raspberries

there are times when life feels unfair. there are no good reasons and yet, things happen anyway. we can't control them, they're just a part of life that we have to learn to deal with. like periods. especially for children. and by children, i mean girl-children. and by girl-children, i do not mean brooke. thankfully that's a bridge we haven't had to cross yet.

but many girls start when they're way too young to be having to deal with such things. take myself, for instance. i started at the ripe old age of eleven. i was one of those kids who looked on the event with joyous anticipation. i couldn't get that thing kick started fast enough and once i did start, i told pretty much everyone. it was like it was my birthday and i thought everyone should know and maybe there would be presents and cake.

i thought it made me the most mature and fabulous girl in my group of friends. i offered unsolicited advice to other girls about how it felt and how it should be dealt with and what the drawbacks were. though, in my mind at that time, there were hardly any. long list of pros, not so many cons.

one time, a few months after aunt flo made her maiden voyage into my underwear, i had a friend at my house for a sleepover. she asked about my mysterious period and i proudly boasted that i was having it right then. i was lying. it hadn't been back for a second showing, but i didn't want anyone to know. i felt like my period was a sham, mocking me and my imagined womanliness.

i decided that i would need to prove to her that i really was advanced in the underpants, so i slapped a pad into my undies and would occasionally yank at my rear gear to show her how uncomfortable my new lot in life was. such a martyr. then i decided that it wasn't enough just to wear it, because what would happen if my friend somehow discovered that it was unsullied? i scouted around the house in search of something i could use to mimic blood that wouldn't be dangerous to my girl-parts.

i settled on a bottle of purpley roll-on bath soap that belonged to my little sisters. it came in a bottle like roll-on deodorant, but it was bright colored and fun for kids in the bathtub. i figured it would meet my fake period requirements quite nicely, so i rolled out a storm of soap into my pad and pulled my pants up.

shortly after, i coerced my friend into going to the bathroom with me. i'm sure it didn't take much since we regularly shared bathroom time back then and didn't think a thing about peeing in front of each other. i made sure she caught a glimpse of my "used" pad while i was yanking it out and wrapping it up into a ball with half a roll of toilet paper.

i felt rather pleased with myself for my clever manipulation of her senses. it was like i was a stager, changing reality for another person. only looking back now, i realize that while i thought i was smart, i probably scared her. she probably went home thinking about how she really didn't want to get her own period because that menstrual blood isn't like regular blood. it's purple and foamy, like toxic waste. but on the up-side, it smells faintly of raspberries.

colons gone wild x2

tonight we went out for mexican food at our favorite little place in town. this gives me mixed feelings because i love the food there and i like the unpretentious environment, but usually, it doesn't take long for that bean burrito and queso dip to work their magic on my colon. my honey likes to go walking after we eat so that the food doesn't just settle straight down into our butts and thighs. however, this prospect fills me with fear and trepidation all because of that one time.

that one fateful night... at walmart.

knowing that after a big meal, i often need to make a rapid run to the ladies room, i usually prefer for our post-dinner walks to be in places with convenient facilities and on this particular night, we were at walmart. it wasn't so much a shopping trip as an exercise in loitering. since chris and i don't care to loiter in the same regions of walmart, i was in the hosiery area and he was off looking at electronics or movies or something more manly than knee highs and toe socks.

suddenly, i felt the gurgle of doom. i had a spike of adrenaline, knowing what was coming. i speedily dialed chris' cell number and in a panicked voice, asked where he was because i needed to get brooke to him as quickly as possible. i hate it when i have to take her with me into a public bathroom stall, especially when it's not going to be just a quick pee. and this - good lord, i could HEAR the rumbles - was not going to be a quick pee. i was starting to run in chris' direction. i was pushing brooke in the shopping cart at breakneck speed, dodging racks and unsuspecting citizens and hoping that i could avoid any collisions because i was pretty sure that if i ran into anyone, i would then have the dubious honor of dying from a butt explosion amongst the cheap outer wear and rain ponchos.

i caught sight of him heading my way and with hardly a thought, i shoved the cart containing my child -who was holding onto the rungs in a white knuckled grip- in daddy's direction, did a rapid course correction and made a bee line for the bathroom. i'm not much of a runner, so it wasn't smooth or fluid, certainly not like anything you'd see in a nikes commercial.  i was holding a boob in each hand to keep them from flapping willy nilly between my neck and my navel as i gallumped between racks of flip flops and magazines. i had a look of sheer terror on my face and i knew that i looked insane, but i figured that was a preferable alternative to crapping my underpants as i ran between customers in the self check out aisles.

i thought i was going to make it. i was on the home stretch, racing past customer service, shimmying through tiny cracks between meandering rednecks all the while, my eyes were glued to the door of the ladies room. there was no cleaning cart parked out front. good sign. there wasn't a long line hanging out the door. great. but then, i felt it. that hot, horrifying liquid on my backside telling me that i was too slow. that my thigh churning, heart pounding rampage through the store wasn't enough to save my dignity. or my underwear.

i skidded through the doorway and nearly crashed straight into a woman who was the second in a line of two women. oh shit. i couldn't wait. i was about ready to belly flop to the floor and slither under a stall to join the unsuspecting piddler on the other side of the wall in hopes that i could wrestle the funky toilet from her butt's grasp. but then i saw that the woman directly in front of me was doing a pee pee dance. and she was very obviously pregnant. i understood that a full-bladdered pregnant woman always trumps others in line in a bathroom, so i couldn't just bash past her for the next available commode. i had to wait my turn.

thankfully, the first lady in line saw the distress of lil miss preggers and she let her go first. then she was standing beside me while i struggled unsuccessfully to contain the need to twitch like a junkie in need of a fix while clenching my anus like it's only ever been clenched that one time at bible study.

i'm sure my aroma was filling the small space all too well and since i probably looked and was acting completely nuts, the woman at the front of the line was gracious enough to also give up her space to me. most likely she thought from the stink of me that i was a homeless wackjob and she didn't want to witness me losing my head and flinging dung like a monkey in the wally world bathroom. whatever the case, i didn't look the gift toilet in the mouth so i raced into the middle stall, dropped my dirty pants and planted my ass firmly on the seat without even checking it visually or covering it in paper first. i figured that what i was bringing to the table was probably worse that whatever had been there before i arrived.

if i had tried to cover the seat in paper, i'd have realized that there was no paper. of course there wasn't. because on the day of my most shame-filled pooping experience, what would serve to make the event more memorable than to poop out 12 lbs of sludge only to have no paper with which to wipe my rump. i knocked politely on the stall beside me and asked if she might have a square or two of paper that could be spared for a poor, needy neighbor. no response. maybe she was trying to ignore me in hopes that what probably sounded and smelled like dysentery wouldn't travel into her corner of the bathroom. i tried the other side and was told that she was fresh out too.

i dug through my purse and found a lonesome, linty tissue hiding under a tampon and a cracked lollipop in the bottom of my purse. i used it to the best of my ability, but it was sorely lacking. after some thought, i pulled off my pants that were blessedly cleanish, peeled off my undies and then redressed myself. i was never more thankful than at that moment that i'd made the switch from team thong to team granny panty. at least that gave me a buffer in my moment of leaking distress and they also provided me with more surface area to use as toilet paper.

then the problem of what to do with the soiled skivvies. there was no pad disposal box. i debated flushing them, but if they plugged the toilet and caused an overflow, i would feel guilty as well as mortified. there was no toilet paper in which to wrap them, so i settled for grasping them tightly in my fist with the cleanest bits i could find turned toward the outside. i steeled myself for the walk past the ladies in waiting and straight to the trash can. i knew i smelled like a walking dirty diaper, but there was nothing to be done but get through it as quickly as possible. into the trash they went and then i covered them with a layer of paper towels before i went and scoured my hands and arms with the hottest water on tap, as well as large quantities of soap.

i didn't make eye contact with any of the women who were unfortunate enough to be in there at the same time as me. i just kept my face aimed at the ground and marched out of the bathroom. i coated myself in anti-bacterial gel while i wound my way back to the company of my loved ones. we left the store right after that and it wasn't spoken of again. because things like this should really be kept to yourself and never ever shared with anyone.

the poopy tent

for the first nine years of our marriage, chris and i had only one bathroom. we lived in several different houses, but always with just one bathroom. when we were newlyweds, it initially seemed like no big deal. i'd never lived with any man to whom i wasn't related and they certainly weren't going to invade my privacy in the bathroom. in my growing up house, doors were kept closed and knocking was strictly enforced.

this was not the case once i was married. suddenly there was an open door policy for the most part unless pooping was underway. but there came a time when eventually, even the poops had to be interrupted by the other partner. if i was down to the wire on time before i had to leave for work and the man was in the bathroom dropping a man-sized load, i had no choice but to brave the stench-o-rama that was my bathroom in order to get myself ready to go.

it was very difficult to stand in front of the sink slapping my makeup onto my face as fast as i could (there was no other acceptable mirror/lighting place in the house) while fanning the door with one foot to keep the air circulating and the stink to a minimum. meanwhile my new husband was sitting 17 inches to my left with his pants around his ankles and a magazine on his lap as he pooped just as care-freely as if he were completely alone. he'd sometimes turn and smile serenely at me and tell me he loved me.

even worse than chris pooping next to me, was when i needed to go, but he was in the bathroom shaving or brushing his hairs or whatever men do in the bathroom. i was mortified. i couldn't bear the thought of my beloved seeing my delicate self taking a dump, particularly while he was close enough to reach out and pat me while i did so. i would turn my face and scowl toward the shower so that he couldn't see me. i'd close my eyes and imagine i was alone or stare at the shower curtain, blushing at the shame of my predicament.

one day while staring at the curtain and trying unsuccessfully to rush the man out, i was contemplating how to go about wiping in a sneaky fashion. and let me tell you, it can't be done. you just can't hide the necessary motions from a person who is that close to your body, especially when they're amused by your discomfort. then the thought popped into my head that i could pull the shower curtain around my body and form a sort of shelter to block myself from the nearby viewer's prying eyes.

surely, it looked very silly to see a toilet with a big flowery shower curtain-covered lump perched on it, but it provided the much needed illusion of privacy. from that moment on, the poopy tent became the standard for any time one of us needed to go while the other was occupying that space. and the cat loved to join us in there for our stinky camping adventures.

sometimes i miss our early days of being married, with fewer responsibilities and the freedom to sleep in, but i never, ever miss having only one bathroom. 

backroom deals

sometimes people make fun of southerners. as a matter of fact, i've been one of those people on numerous occasions. it's kind of like making blonde jokes. they're just fun to tell even though they clearly don't represent every person who falls into the broad category.

but there are reasons for those jokes. there's a legitimate justification for some of them. let me just tell you a little story.

when i was 20, i was living in north carolina, and i'd been driving for 3 years. i'd gotten my first ticket a few months before and i'd gone to stupid traffic court in georgia because i'd been traveling when i got tagged for speeding.

i was trying to find a back way to work in an effort to avoid the jammed up highway, but i got lost and ended up far away from my target destination, somewhere out in the sticks in south carolina. once i crossed the state line, i realized that i was going to be late for work. this was before cell phones were in every pocket so i had no way to call, and being the responsible person that i was, i got sweaty and anxious at the thought.

my natural reaction was to find a spot to turn around and then floor it. i was going to find my way back to civilization as fast as possible. i bet you can guess what happened next. . .

oh yes, i got nabbed for speeding. again. i didn't cry, but i may possibly have used some bad language under my breath.

the cop was polite and gave me a little lecture about the dangers of a lead foot. my push up bra and batted eyelashes were definitely not getting me out of this one. i was given a court date a month later in some dinky town in south carolina of which i'd never heard.

i showed up for my court appearance, dressed nicely and ready to speak articulately in hopes that i could get some leniency from the judge. i knew what to expect because i'd just been to court in georgia and sat through hours of watching and listening just a few months before.

when i got to the address shown on the ticket, i felt sure i was in the wrong place. i drove up and down the road looking for a court house, but there was no building that looked like what i was expecting. so i pulled up to a ratty looking little building with a small state seal on the front door and a hand-written sign that said to go around to the back. there were no other cars in the parking lot except one broken down pickup in the back of the lot.

i walked solemnly around the building, feeling a little nervous about what i might find. there was a door in the back, hanging slightly ajar. i tapped on it hesitantly and slowly pushed it open. i heard a male voice holler out, "cmon ee-in."

in front of me was a small metal desk with a large man sitting on a folding metal chair. he looked at me expectantly so i held out my ticket by way of an explanation for my presence.

the man picked up a mtn dew bottle that had the top half cut off. he was moving his jaws around oddly like a cow chewing cud, then he brought the converted bottle/cup to within a few inches of his mouth and spit out a stream of brown slime, most of which made it into the container. he wiped his hands on his pants and reached out for my ticket.

my eyes were bugging out and i was experiencing a rare moment of speechlessness.

the man looked over my ticket and announced the fee i would be required to pay in order to make it go away. i wrote a check and set it on the desk. he took it in his meaty, brown-stained hand, scribbled my name and the check amount onto a post-it note and stuck the post-it to a grubby clipboard that was lying haphazardly on the desk.

he smiled, showing his rotten brown teeth and said, "thankeevermush." with a nod, i was dismissed. he looked back down at the magazine on his desk and i was free to go.

for months afterwards i was sure that i'd get a nastygram in the mail rebuking me for not tending to my traffic ticket. but apparently, the little backroom exchange with man with questionable hygiene was the real deal.

either that, or there's an outstanding warrant for my arrest in south carolina.

nail clipper medical plan

do you ever notice something about yourself that you don't especially like and wish you could do something about it? like maybe you want to slice off a blob of belly fat, but you're afraid of bleeding to death in your bathroom, so you don't. or maybe you wish your toes weren't webbed and sometimes you imagine yourself using a scalpel and just slicing the pesky webbing away so your feet look like all the other kids.

i suspect that we all have those moments. or maybe it's just me. and my people.

i know a man who had a toothache and instead of going to the dentist like a normal person, he got out his pliers and ripped that sore tooth straight out of his head.

ouch!

i have a family member who would periodically cut off a mole on his neck with nail clippers. just snip, then blood pouring out, then bye bye neck mole. until it grew back. then it was time for another round of snip. bleed. bye bye neck mole.

i've tied string around moles til they got shrivelly and then cut them off with nail clippers. but it doesn't work on all types of moles. i learned this the hard way. if it throbs for several days and starts to swell rather than shrink, it's probably the wrong kind. and then it's hard to cut the string back off. let this be a warning to you adventurous types out there. don't try this technique unless you have a backup plan for how to remove the string should it start throbbing, making you feel like that part of your body is going to explode.

i cut a plantar's wart out of the sole of my foot with nail clippers. i tell ya, those nail clippers are a surgeon's best friend! never sterile, but always handy and maneuverable.  and easy to rinse off when they get bloody.

one day, i decided that i didn't like it that one of my two front teeth was a little bit longer than the other one. it had been bothering me since those front teeth grew in during second grade. i decided it was time to do something about it, so i got out a metal nail file and started filing away. a little at a time because it was hard to stand the way it was radiating through my whole body for very long. but over the course of a couple hours, i got that one longish tooth evened up perfectly with the other and i even rounded off the edges a little so they'd match perfectly.

the moral of the story is, if you have string, pliers and a good manicure kit, you can take care of most of what ails you.

please share any of your home solutions because you never know when i might have a need for a new treatment plan.

napoleon the funky

my husband is gone for the night. it's work related and only for a day, but i woke up this morning and thought, "i'm going to be a slob and not take a shower today because my man isn't here to notice."

i've felt like i was being rather slovenly, but then i remembered something i read a while ago. supposedly, when napoleon was off at war, he sent his lady josephine a message telling her not to bathe for two weeks prior to his return. thinking about that today led me to do a little internet research and there's speculation if he actually said two weeks or three days, but most sources i found said two weeks.

this troubles me. i had to talk myself into NOT showering for one day and i will certainly be clean and pristine before i see my fella tomorrow, even if there's no hanky panky on our agenda.

i'm assuming that napoleon was coming home from his warring, feeling powerful and frisky. and maybe powerfully frisky, depending on how long he'd been gone and how many whores he'd visited while he was away. i can't imagine wanting to get up close and personal to anyone when i was dirty and.... ripe. because i don't care who you are, you will be smelling all kinds of funky by the time 2 weeks of non-bathing has gone past.

we recently read in a book on american history that people used to think that bathing was dangerous and avoided it most of the time. they typically took only a couple baths a year. did you catch that? two a YEAR, people! can you imagine how bad they smelled? they didn't have air conditioning or sanitary toileting facilities either, so their rears had to have been smellable from across the room. or the field for that matter!

and these people often slept several to a room. they didn't have the space or money to have large, spread out houses, so oftentimes, kids slept in their parents' bedroom. and it wasn't unusual for a family to have ten kids.

it makes my eyes bug out a little bit to think about going for 6 months without a bath and sleeping in a bed with a man who's been working the fields day in and day out and who's also been many months without getting intimate with a bar of soap.

now imagine that you are part of that couple, that dirty, odoriferous couple. it's summer and you're lying in bed after a long day of sewing garments by hand for your 9 kids. you've cooked several meals over a big open pot on a fire and you've killed and plucked a couple chickens. you've been inside a house with no electricity or water or even a door or screens to keep the bugs out all day.

you've been nursing infants for nearly 12 years straight. your boobs no longer resemble the breasts that we currently think of in america, but more closely mimic the ones we see in national geographic where they hang straight down with the long, uninspiring nipple distended and pointing at your feet when you stand up. when you lie down, your teets slide off into your sticky, hairy armpits. there's a pungent scent of old yeast and sour milk wafting up from the breasty region.

you're lying in your bed of grass. it's been covered with a sheet that you air out every week or so, but it's filled none-the-less with old hay. if you lay your ear directly on the mattress, you can hear the bugs crawling around under your bodies inside the hay. you can hear your children breathing in various locations around the room. one's in your dresser drawer bedded down on your grandma's old shawl. two are on a blanket on the floor beside you within arm's reach.

neither of you owns a tooth brush. you pick and scrape at your teeth from time to time with a stick that you've widdled to a point, but toothpaste isn't something you even know about.

can you picture the scene? are you with me?

okay, now close your eyes and tell me how you feel..... is the answer HORNY? i know that scientifically there would be a large build up of pheromones that are supposedly a turn on, but i suspect the other factors would counter the alleged attraction. i'm positive that the very last thing in the world that i can think of when i'm putting myself mentally in that situation is wanting to bump uglies when both myself and my husband are both big sweating stench bags. there would have to be a line of demarcation down the center of that buggy grass bed until such time as a bath could be procured for the both of us.

it's amazing to me that families were so large at that time. clearly, current american standards for cleanliness have affected my mindset on this matter, but it seems that even if that weren't present, surely my nose would protest close contact on a hot summer's night.

much like my appreciation of toilet paper from a couple posts ago, i am now voicing my appreciation of soap. and running water. and razors to scrape off all that armpit and leg hair. thank you, Jesus that i live in the year 2012 in the current conditions and standards for bathing.

recycled food

you know what i hate? i hate it when i eat something and realize that it's slimy or too crunchy or in some fashion unacceptable to my mouth, so i discreetly spit it out and put it over onto the edge of my plate or bowl because i forgot a napkin. then a few minutes go by and i accidently eat it again. then, not only is it still too slimy/crunchy/unacceptable it's also now wet and cold and has that major yuck factor guaranteed to poof out my cheeks, tighten my stomach, and hunch my shoulders forward into that pre-puking position. that's when i get off my lazy rump and go get a napkin. and maybe an airline sick bag. because it's only considered good form to vomit in an upright position in the presense of others if you do it into an airline barf bag.

i'm the one on the left.

you guys really want to invite me over for thanksgiving now, don't you?

tipsy chickens x2

15 years ago, when chris and i were dating, i was living at my parents' house and i was working in a little office. one weekend, my parents and little sisters were out of town and chris was driving a limo, so he was out pretty much all night, which meant that i was left to my own devices that friday night.

after work was over for the day, a couple co-workers and i decided that we were going to go to tgifridays, across the parking lot for dinner and perhaps a drink or two. the tables were all full, so we sat at the bar. somehow i think i forgot to eat dinner that night and accidentally had about 5 drinks instead. i was drinking royal flushes, which i'd never had before (or after, for that matter) and they were just so fruity and delicious that i kept guzzling them and ordering more. eventually, my co-workers needed to go back to their lives, so they left me there because of course i assured them that i was absolutely fine and didn't need anyone to babysit me.

when i was finally ready to go, i tipped the bartender excessively, stumbled out of the bar, and back across the parking lot toward my office where my car was parked. on the way there, two men who were sitting in a parked car stopped me and asked if i had any tattoos. i did and showed them my body art. then they asked if i wanted a cigar, which i did, so i climbed into the back seat of that car with those two strange men and smoked a fat stogie. when i was finished, i got back out and kept heading toward my car. once i got there i realized that i really shouldn't be driving, so i managed to unlock my office door and bumble my way inside. i wasn't sure what i was going to do while i was in there, probably drunk page chris a few times or take a lil nap till i thought i was sober enough to drive my stupid ass home. i had only just tripped through the door when my boss returned to the office to check on me. i guess it had occurred to him that i probably wasn't in any state to be taking myself anywhere and he was kind enough to come back in order to taxi me home in his crappy chevette.

i got back to my parents' house; i went inside and collapsed into bed. it wasn't even dark yet, but i just couldn't stay awake. i took the phone to bed with me because i was hoping chris would eventually have time to call me back since i'd paged him repeatedly for no good reason.

around midnight i woke up sick and ran outside (it was closer than the bathroom) and puked by the back door, all over the ground and then crawled straight back into bed, still in my work clothes. around 3am i woke up again and by then i was approaching sober and noticed that the back door was wide open. i got a little bit nervous that i'd been sleeping with the house open and there was no one else home to protect my foolish self, so i snatched the phone out of my bed to try calling chris, but the phone had no dial tone. i ran upstairs and checked the kitchen phone. that one was dead too! i was suddenly positive that someone had cut the phone lines, snuck into the house, and i was in imminent danger of being raped and killed.

i ran straight out of the house to my parents' next door neighbor where i proceeded to bang and ring until the kind, little man came down in his pajamas to see what the heck was going on. (maybe i wasn't quite as sober as i thought) he came back to my house and went room by room with me, poking through every nook and cranny looking for the boogieman. we made it to my room last and that's when he discovered that my cordless phone had been left turned on in my bed, so the lines weren't cut, it was just off the hook. hence the lack of a dial tone. i felt rather stupid after that and walked him politely to the door and thanked him for saving me from my imagination.

i was able to reach chris after that, which was good because he'd been concerned that i'd paged him multiple times but when he called me back, he could only get a busy signal on the house phone.

the next morning i was feeling pretty stupid about my escapades of the previous night and i went out back to find a hose so i could clean off the patio where i'd hurled my royal flushes so indelicately, but the patio was practically spotless. where had the barf gone? that's when one of my sisters chickens came waddling over, pecking around the edges of the patio. finishing off the last scraps of my stupid evening till there was nothing left to show for it... but tipsy chickens.

would you rather...

we were cruising down the road in vanny, ancient road princess of squealing and chugging. chris is deaf in one ear, so being in vanny is almost guaranteed to cause a relay of  "what"-yelling, interpreting, clarifying swarm of irritation for all of us. whining commenced, frustration flared up, brakes were applied enthusiastically as we swerved over the side of the road and threatened to go back home and skip the movie.

i was sitting there, feeling my blood pressure rise, trying to maintain my tentative hold on my composure when i suddenly snarled, "i would rather STICK MY HEAD IN A TOILET than listen to any more of this CRAP!" of course my fellow vanny riders immediately said, "what? what did you say?" because no one can hear each other in our shrieking mystery machine.

that led to a round of "would you rather" which is always sure to lighten the mood.

would you rather.... eat a booger OR drive the wrong way in traffic?
i think i'm going to have to go with the booger on this one. because hospitals and pain are even worse than the shuddering yucks caused by boogers on my tongue.

would you rather... get a tongue kiss on the lips from a dog OR walk around publicly with a big wedgie where the back half of your pants have been eaten by your crack?
i think i'd prefer the dog kiss. i can't stand to feel or see a giant wedgie when i'm out. when someone in front of me has one, i just want to go ask them how they can possibly not feel it & please to dig it out so i can look away from their rump region.

would you rather... step on a big juicy slug with your bare foot OR step in dog poop?
i've actually done both and the slug was much worse. it exploded between my toes and filled my toes with the kind of jam that cannot be washed off for far too long. and i kept having flashbacks of the exploding slug for days afterwards, always causing me to convulse violently. poop can be washed off & leave your foot as good as new once the stench dissipates.

would you rather... go for a swim in a pool filled with worms OR have dinner at the food court of the mall topless?
this one is a bit troublesome for me. i would not AT ALL like to swim with worms, but i don't know if i could stand the staring of dining sans shirt at the mall. maybe if i wore a sign taped on my back skin explaining my predicament about the worms...

would you rather... eat a live hissing cockroach OR get arrested?
can i pick what the arrest would be for? because i think i'd prefer a few hours in jail for jaywalking to consuming a hissing roach. or more likely it would be for the indecent exposure at the mall. maybe i should just suck it up & chow down on that giant beetle. *shivers* ugh.

would you rather... step in a nest of fire ants OR go on a date with an unwashed hobo?
i would have to pick the hobo this time because i could choose an outdoor eating place for our date to improve the smell situation & i'll bet that hobo would have some interesting stories to tell.

what about you guys? got any good "would you rathers"?

bible study gas x2

several years ago we moved to chattanooga because we felt like God was leading us there to start a post modern church. it seemed a bit odd since there are already so many churches in that town, but we clearly believed that we were following God's leading by going there. very shortly after we arrived, we found a few other people who shared our vision & they were already meeting at some one's house on a regular basis for a bible study & some worship time.

we were finally able to work out the details for us to be able to attend one of the meetings (we needed child care because brooke was only 1 at the time & it wasn't convenient for her to be there) where we met the group, mostly for the first time. it was pretty exciting for us to be meeting these people since we really felt like this was the beginning of a big new life change for us & these people were likely to be a part of it. we wanted to make a good impression so that they'd want us to be a part of their group.

we arrived at this big, fancy house & found about 10 or so people there already hanging out & eating. there was a big spread of food & they were kind enough to have some veggie dishes since they knew i was a vegetarian. i was touched that they'd do that since most of the time when i go to a dinner like that i end up eating chips & dip as my meal because it's the only thing without meat. i happily piled 2 spicy black bean burgers onto my plate & proceeded to chow down.

after the meal, the lights were turned down & we all sat in chairs in a circle in their fancy living room. we had some nice music & a short bible study about foot washing. then someone busted out a big bowl & some soap & water & we were instructed that we'd each be washing the feet of the person to the right of us. chris & i were not sitting next to each other. i was between 2 other men, both close to my dad's age & virtual strangers to me. i started to feel really nervous. this was WAY outside my comfort zone! the only feet i'd ever washed besides my own were my sweet little baby's feet & i imagined they were a far cry from the feet of the man beside me!

now, to increase my discomfort, my stomach started churning, a little at first & then more & more until i could audibly hear it rumbling. i swear, i felt like it was echoing off the dimly lit walls & surely everyone could tell it was coming from me. the washing started a couple people away from me & went in the opposite direction, so i had a little bit of free time while everyone sat quietly & respectfully & waited their turn to have clean feet. i whispered to someone next to me for directions to the bathroom & was pointed to a door directly behind us. i went in there & realized that there was no way in the world i could release the massive build up of gas that was smashing around in my guts without everyone in the next room hearing me. i nearly cried! i couldn't figure out how to fart silently (as i'd learned once before when i tried to plug it with my finger & only managed to fart a very loud, high pitched whistle. but that's another story) and i dared not to even drop my pants out of fear of the coming explosion. so i waited a moment, did the obligatory hand washing & walked back to my chair, doing my own personal rendition of "dead woman walking."

slowly, timed dragged past. i think these people must have been enjoying the process because they certainly took their time about it! inside my head i was screaming, "come on folks, this isn't the time for a full on pedicure & massage, let's move it along!" but outwardly i sat silently with everyone else & prayed that they couldn't hear my painfully gut wrenching gurgles.

finally, the man next to me kneeled down & started washing my feet. in the best of circumstances i wouldn't have liked this. the symbolism of it went completely over my head and all i could think about was how desperately i didn't want to blow a blast of gas at this strange man as he rubbed between my toes. don't think about the tickle! don't think about the awkwardness! focus solely on anal clenching!

ok, i got through my washing, but i still had to manage to wash the dude on the other side of me! so in a rush, i got down on the floor & plunked his feet into the bowl. i wanted to go at turbo speed, but i quickly realized that being in a squatting position, putting pressure onto my stomach & leaning forward required a whole new level of sphincter control. oh my gosh! i felt sure that a noxious cloud of greenish-black smoke & foul stench was going to torpedo out of my backside at any second if i didn't hurry up & get this job done! it had to have been the least thorough washing to have ever occurred. i didn't care. let them think i wasn't a thorough bather or had a phobia of feet. whatever they wanted to think, so long as they didn't know that more than anything in the world i wanted to fart out the 96 million pounds of pressure that had built up in my guts.

when the washing was finished, i attempted to say my goodbyes as quickly as i possibly could without being totally rude. i still wanted these people to like me. i used the "baby at home w/ a sitter" excuse & ran for the door w/ chris right behind me. i did the clench & waddle out the door at the fastest speed i could manage till i got to the car. chris pulled away from the curb & we both started rolling down our windows simultaneously. we looked at each other & started laughing hysterically as we farted ourselves silly in the car, because all the while i was suffering in there, i didn't realize that he was suffering from the same affliction! he'd had the bean burgers too!

ever since then, we've dubbed that feeling "bible study gas" & we both know it's time to clear the room or roll down the windows when one of us catches a case of it.

dead man whacking

this story has been percolating for a long time & i've finally decided that i'm going to write it, because it's just too bizarre and it wants to be told. and even though it sounds like i've made parts up, i assure you, i do not daydream up stories about such things.

when i was 21 (a lot of my stories seem to have happened around that time. they were sort of my glory days. i did lots of stupid stuff that makes for great story fodder, but i would never want to live it again.) i went to a movie theatre with a girlfriend to see "Dead Man Walking."  if you haven't seen it, there's a link to the trailer, but essentially, it's the story of a convicted murderer on death row & a nun who is his spiritual advisor. it is a sad drama.

the movie had been playing for at least half an hour. there weren't many people in the theatre because it had been out for quite a while and it was a weekday. then a man came in & sat down 3 seats away from me. it seemed odd to me that with all the empty seats in the theatre, he'd chosen to sit with just 2 empty chairs between us. it was also odd that he'd come into the movie so long after it had started. other than thinking those two things, i didn't pay any attention to the man.

a few minutes later, i got the feeling that i was being watched. i glanced over & saw that he was staring at my legs. both myself and my friend were wearing shorts & we had our feet up on the empty seats in front of us and that man was very clearly & openly looking at our legs. i nudged my friend and pointed at him. at that time in our lives, we were used to getting checked out by men, so it didn't strike us as surprising, just tacky to be so obvious about it.

shortly after that, i noticed movement out of the corner of my eye and peeked toward him again. there was movement in the region of his lap. i was elbowing my friend & whispering frantically that i thought the dude was handling himself. she wasn't shy at all about turning to stare straight at him to determine if i was right. and sure enough, he wasn't just handling his business, he had pulled it all the way out.

we were pretty shocked to be sitting in a sad movie in a public theatre and to have a man sitting beside us, spanking his monkey. we didn't know what we should do. we would have had to climb over him to get to the aisle or else climb over a seat to get into a different row and neither of those options seemed good, so we just sat there, unable to even notice what was happening on the big screen because we had our own drama unfolding right in our row.

we started saying "gross!" and "dirty old man" in loud whispers, hoping that would make him leave. it didn't. we put our legs down and tucked them under us so he wouldn't be looking at them anymore, but still he kept up his obviously pleasurable activities. we started hissing out phrases more loudly, like "that's disgusting!" or "put your nasty thing away, no one wants to see that!" it seemed as though our complaining was adding to his enjoyment and before too long, his head was thrown back and his pace increased until it was finally over. then he looked straight at us and grinned, adjusted his pants and left.

we were very relieved when he left. the movie had climaxed along with the man and we were just waiting for it to be finished so we could go out & shriek about what we'd just seen. unfortunately, that's when a different man came in & sat in the same seat that had just been vacated by the first perv. we could hardly believe our eyes when he sat right down, and whipped out his meat wrench with no hesitation or warning and started petting it.

this guy looked nothing like the first guy. they were at least 30 years apart in age, different races and dressed in such a way that they appeared to be from very different socio-economic groups. we couldn't figure out how it could happen once during our movie watching experience, but twice was just too much to comprehend.

we'd had more than enough by then & we started talking loudly & guesturing toward him to try to draw the attention of the others in the theatre. it worked and he didn't stay long before he buttoned up & skeedaddled out of there.

once the movie was over, we carefully stepped over the puddle on the floor in front of the dirty dude's seat & raced out to our car, terrified that we'd be followed. we made it home safely, but were left with a story we can never forget.

hoots ahoy

we're living back in the city where we lived when brooke was born, nearly 9 years ago now & we've been wandering around, seeing the sites & reacquainting ourselves with the lay of the land. today as we drove up to a huge outlet mall, i had a flashback to a trip we made there when brooke was only a couple weeks old and we were taking her to the mall for the first time.

it was a weekend and the mall was crowded, like it always is. i was on a mission to find a couple more nursing bras because i only had two & neither of them fit well.

*note to my male readers: i realize you are of the wiener persuasion, so i ran this story past my husband first to see if it was too gross or TMI (who am i kidding, i still would have posted it, but i just wanted to see if the mens would likely be distressed by it.) and he told me it was okay & not too icky or sexy for my manly readers. let's carry on now, shall we?

i tried to wake my sleepy little dumpling head baby up so that she'd chow down on my feed bags before i went bra shopping. for any of you who haven't nursed kids, you might not realize that nursing boobs are similar to water balloons and when the baby eats, they deflate somewhat & get softer. when some time has passed since a feeding, they get very full & hard and often painful because they're containing a few ounces of milk that's just waiting for a hungry baby to gobble it up.

i knew that brooke should eat before we went into the mall so that i'd be able to shrink the breasticles down a bit before i started trying on bras. alas, brooke had other ideas. she was a hardcore fan of napping back then & there wasn't much i could do to wake her up when she was in one of her serious comas of slumber. i stripped her down to her diaper and held her in front of the A/C vents, but still no luck. no amount of jiggling, tickling or noise could rouse her, not even when i aimed my teat & shot her in the face with a stream of milk like a dairy bazooka.

i didn't have all day to mess with the babe, so i tucked my milk balloon back into my crappy nursing bra & headed into the mall. i hunted around for a while before locating the little boutique where they sold a decent selection of bras, including those of the nursing flap variety. i selected a couple different styles in a couple different sizes, left brooke in the stroller with her daddy & headed into the dressing room in hopes of finding something that would fit.

it wasn't until i got into the fitting room and stripped off my shirt that i realized just how full my jugs were. this did not bode well for trying on bras since the lady lumps were already in pain. but i had a task to be completed & not being one to shirk my responsibilities, i proceeded as planned.

i quickly peeled off my uncomfortable bra, but no sooner did i get it off than my cans exploded like a double headed sprinkler. liquid was shooting in all directions, coating the mirror, walls and carpet with hot milk. nips are tricky little buggers because they don't have just one exit hole for all that dairy delight, they have lots of holes coming from the various milk ducts within the breast, so it was completely out of control for a couple seconds before i figured out what i could use to clamp them down and absorb that excess milk.

i was still an inexperienced first time mommy, so i didn't have enough supplies with me in my purse and i'd left the diaper bag with chris & brooke who had left the store. once i'd filled up the little breast pads i was wearing & the couple stray tissues i dredged up from the depths of my purse, i was at a loss for what to do next. i stood there with my hands clamped over my boobs, milk running down my stomach almost in a panic trying to figure out what my next move should be.

i'm embarrassed to admit that i decided the best course of action at that juncture was for me to just lean forward and let them spray until the pressure decreased enough that they weren't free flowing any more. so there they hung, like 2 punching bags with multiple little jets leaving warm milky puddles in the carpet. i was sick with the shame of my act and at the same time tremendously relieved to get some of that irritating liquid out of there. i was bent at the waste, hair hanging down, my cheeks flushed red, but a little smile on my face at the relief i felt to have the pressure in my chest relieved.

i didn't know how to apologize to the sales staff or explain what had happened in that dressing room. i also didn't know how to get out of the store without potential leakage all over my shirt even after i thought my nips were mostly done leaking. so i stuffed my old, wet bra into my purse & then put on 2 of the bras that i'd brought in to try on. i ripped off the tags and took them to the counter to pay for them and didn't provide the woman with any information as to why i was at the register with 2 tags, but no bras in sight.

after that, i hightailed it out of the store, collected my little family & went home. i never told that whole story to anybody before today, but sometimes it's good to come clean. and if you were one of the employees of that store, i'm very, very sorry for my actions that day. and i hope you were able to get the smell out of that rug eventually.

catch up and poo

for those of you who may be wondering, i did get pablo back whole & pointy. i had to demand proof of life before i paid the ransom & since i was pretty sure that the picnapper wasn't much of a newspaper reader, i requested that i get a photo of pablo with a fresh vegetable. this is what i got on my phone. doesn't that file look deadly?

after that, of course i had to rush in to rescue the little guy, but i was barely in the nick of time as you can see here.

i think some of us were just glad to have something other than funeral arrangements to think about & laugh over that day. and pablo was returned to my purse pocket with a smile on his face.

our trip up north was actually really great. i got a chance to see & visit with so many of my relatives who i rarely get to see or enjoy and if you were a neighbor who didn't know better, you might have thought we were all gathered for a party rather than a funeral because of how much laughing and story telling we did out in front of grandma's house. there were certainly plenty of sad moments, but we all seemed to agree that we should focus on the good rather than the sad.

brooke came down with strep while we were up there & spent the last 3 days feeling really bad most of the time. she slept a lot & barely ate anything. i'm not sure if you know this or not, but strep often comes with stomach problems as well as throat pain & fever.

having stomach problems while traveling in a car for 14 hrs really isn't a great way to spend the day. yesterday morning started out rough with some distressing belly behavior on brooke's part while we were still at the house. then we got everything loaded into the car, including our cranky selves at 8am and went straight to a grocery store to buy some special hot dogs for my sister back home. i'm not sure what's special about them, but it was important enough that we carried a cooler with us just to be able to cart them home again.

mom & i ran in the front door of the store ready to grab up the dogs & hit the road. we asked the employee at the front door to direct us to the biggest packs of hot dogs the store carried. we bought up 10 lbs of them & scooted back out the door again, feeling good that we hadn't wasted much time. when my dad drove around to pick us up he told me that brooke had unfortunately had a little accident while we were in the store. ooookaaay. so much for making this a quick stop.

i dug through the trunk in an effort to locate some clean shorts & undies for my poor sick girl & then ran back into the store, pulling her by the hand. i asked the same employee for directions to the bathroom and then we marched our smelly parade over to the ladies room.

i was in the process of cleaning and bagging things up in the stall when i talked to my mom on her phone & decided that things would be easier if we had some moist, flushable butt wipes. i didn't want to leave brooke alone, so mom came back into the store & asked that same friendly employee for directions to the booty wipe aisle. she went through the line with her second purchase in 5 minutes, told the cashier she wouldn't need a bag & then walked straight past her & into the bathroom.

while we were hanging around the ladies room, we discussed what we were going to do to prevent the whole trip from becoming a day-long car pooping bonanza. she's too big for diapers or pull-ups. too small for depends. oh wait, there's a type of pull-ups now available in bigger kid sizes for those who still have bed wetting issues. that sounded like the perfect plan that would give us all peace of mind & butt and hopefully enable our trip to be less stressful for all involved.

so mom ran back out to the lady by the door & asked for directions to the diaper aisle. of course she then toted her $15 pack of giant pull-ups into the bathroom right away, no doubt leaving the helper & the cashier wondering and concerned about what the heck was happening in their bathroom. in the span of 10 minutes we went through that front door 4 times, each time needing something very specific and progressively alarming.

in the end the pull ups weren't needed, but at least we had that peace of mind knowing we were covered just in case. and we all had a really good laugh in the car, telling our sharting stories and imagining what the grocery store employees were telling their friends later that day.

he knows me, he really knows me

my husband & i are only about 2 weeks from our 13th anniversary and i was thinking i'd save this post til then, but we're moving next week & my brain is all befuddled, so there's no telling when i'll have time or inspiration again.


last weekend while we were out of town in the mountains for a few days, we had a really great, relaxing time. that first night, arriving in that little town & sitting down on the couch beside my honey after brooke was tucked into bed in our cabin, i felt my soul take a deep, cleansing breath such as it hadn't taken in a very long time. it was just the thing we needed, even in spite of all the things that needed to be done at home.

i took tons of pictures as we wandered through the woods, meandered through the strip of tourist crap and wound our way through a nice zoo.

it was our last night, just a few more hours and we'd be headed back into reality. we had eaten in a nice restaurant & were driving through the back of a parking lot when something caught my eye. i was craning my neck to figure out what it was. "there's a dead duck lying on that curb over there!" i said. he looks at me, looks at the duck & says, "want me to drive closer so you can take a picture of it?"

i blinked a couple times before i burst out laughing, because of COURSE i wanted to take a picture of it! and even though i know that's kind of dark & creepy and not particularly lady-like, i totally wanted to get all up close to that dead thing so i could check it out & take a picture of it. but i wouldn't have asked because i didn't want to gross out my love. there have been so many dead creatures that we've seen & generally i don't have my camera handy when i stumble across their permanently ended paths, but here i was, camera in reach & there was a duck carcass just begging for its photo to be taken.

so chris drove up all close & positioned me just right for a good look at that dead duck. and i got my one shot of it that of course i now need to share with you guys. because who doesn't want to look at a duck dangling over the edge of a curb? who knows, it may be the only picture ever taken of him and now he will be remembered forever as the last picture i took on vacation & a sign of how well my honey knows me.

bras

i've been thinking about bras. not about colors and styling options, but rather about why we wear them. and why we don't wear them sometimes and how it somehow seems to have way more significance than it should. like, no one really thinks about if the people around them are wearing underpants. on occasion we catch a glimpse of someone's drawers, but otherwise, i think most of us give little thought to the panties of the people in our midst.

but bras - bras are something we're way too aware of to ignore. if you see a woman with her bra straps showing out the edges of her tank top, you're now aware of the color she's wearing & that she doesn't care if you see it.







some women like to wear strapless or backless tops & yet still wear a normal bra. everyone who sees her stares & makes a stink face at her tacky, tawdry lack of common sense or general trashiness.

i will admit that i get a little judgey when i see a woman strolling through a public place with her boobs clearly long & swingy with no bra in evidence.



though, if i'm being honest, i must admit that i never wear one when i'm home. they are misery and discomfort. the only problem is that when i walk in the door, rip if off & yell "Boobies Free!" i then tend to toss or hang it any old place. this isn't so much a problem for me, but my husband isn't crazy about my bras lying on the kitchen floor. i can't imagine why, but whatever. so i try to remember to at least hang it from the computer desk drawer handle so it's off the floor, but then i usually forget that i've put it there.

today my landlord came over for something & of course, since i wasn't expecting company, i was in the "free zone." i've kind of gotten over the awkwardness of that since it's happened so many times in the past few years that we've lived here. but tonight he came into the kitchen to get some paper work taken care of in preparation for us moving & was leaning over the end of the computer desk writing something when i noticed that he was right up next to my bra. actually, it was brushing his knee. i willed my face not to turn red. i hoped he hadn't noticed it. or maybe he'd seen it, but didn't recognize it in that size & from that angle. a girl can dream, can't she?

the same thing happened last month, but it was with the cable guy. he was squatting down, waiting for the modem under the desk to kick back in & i saw that his face was actually only about a foot away from the bra that i'd discarded there the day before. i couldn't bear to just stand there, having a conversation with this nice, young guy while his face & arm were so close to my hooter holder, so i slowly inched closer & closer to him, then reached out & slowly pulled it off the handle and then backed away, whipped it behind my back and scampered over to brooke's toy box where i promptly stuffed it down in. i'm sure that wasn't obvious or anything.

and now i'll leave you with a lil joke - what did one saggy boob say to the other saggy boob?   "if we don't get some support soon, people will think we're nuts!"

it's not a balloon - friday confessional

this is one of those stories that i've thought of writing for a while because it's a good one, if by good i mean horrible, but i've debated with myself because i try to only embarrass myself here. but today i'm inspired by reading this post by helene & it was a long time ago & no one remembers it but me, so here goes. oh, and i'm going to apply the kitty rule now.

when my daughter was 3, we became friends with a single mom & her little daughter who was close to brooke's age. the girls had lots of fun together & we moms got to talk and laugh & compare mothering tales. we spent tons of time together since chris was at work almost every night & our girls were too young for school so there was no schedule to worry about.

one night, it was getting late, so we decided to give the girls a bath in order to prolong our visit a bit and give the kids something to keep them busy. their house was very small & when i was sitting in the living room, i could clearly see straight into the bathtub, not more than ten or fifteen feet away.

so once the girls were washed up, we left them in the tub, splashing around & having a good time. my friend and i were chatting in the living room. then i noticed that brooke was holding something i didn't recognize. it didn't look like any bath toy i'd ever seen before. she put it up to her sweet, clean, little mouth & started to blow it up like a balloon.



i walked into the bathroom & took it away from her & went back into the living room to ask my friend what it was. she kind of giggled and told me that it was her d0uchebag & why was i asking. i told her that brooke had been blowing into it. she turned red and i turned green.

i pulled brooke out of that tub, got her dried and dressed in record time & then zoomed home to wash & scrub out her mouth in an effort to purify the nastiness. she wasn't pleased at having her teeth brushed repeatedly, but i didn't know what else to do. if i'd thought she could manage some listerine, i would have pried her lips open & poured it in with a funnel.

and that is my friday confessional

flatulence

about a month ago i participated in a battle of the blogs at tracy's place, it's an average life, where i was given the topic of flatulence & the postion of pro. tracy is over the blogging business and has resigned. since this post never made it on my own site, i decided to post it here today. i've got a post in my head that i'm working on, but it may still not be ready for a couple more days, so if you haven't already read this one, and you're not grossed out by tooting, here you go.

i've been assigned the task of being a fart advocate. creating fervor for flatulence. giving props to the poots. and sadly, this is not much of a stretch for me.

i decided to take this business seriously, so i did some research: ie, i asked on my facebook status if anyone had any gassy wisdom they'd like to share with me. thankfully most of my friends are low class, so i got some positive feedback.

as it turns out, according to nurses nationwide, farting is something that is beneficial for your health. when i had surgery to remove a human from my body (aka c-section) i was told that i couldn't go home until i farted. clearly, there must be something very valuable about the removal of gas from the ass if holding it means you're held hostage in the hospital. the nurses cheered & clapped when i blasted a big one 2 days after birth. never had i been so proud of my ability to cut the cheese.

this brings me to a suggestion for all of us, when it comes to selecting a mate. in other species, the male and female choose the suitor who is most desirable, physically. they want the largest or strongest or in the case of the lion, the ladies pick the dude with the darkest mane. they want to know that their mate is healthy and will likely produce offspring with alpha potential.

forget sexy legs or piercing bedroom eyes, i think we should start evaluating each possible mate based on health & vitality. one sure sign of heartiness and a diet high in fiber is the quality & quantity of toots.

imagine, if you will, a bar filled with speed daters. there are 40 people in the room, all looking for a love to last through the ages. they've all suffered from heartache and squandered dreams in the past, but this time, they're determined not to make the same mistakes. this time, they all came prepared. they've filled up on garbanzo beans and broccoli, brussel sprouts and asparagus & they're ready to find their mates. each person spends 2 minutes with the other mating candidates. their goal is to impress and be impressed. they skip past the small talk, who cares about jobs or astrological signs? she coyly raises her eyebrow as she raises her butt cheek, allowing for the optimal amount of noise and smell enhancement. she waves her hand seductively to waft the smell his way & then smiles and lowers her chin to gaze at him through her lashes while he takes it all in. he smiles and nods approvingly, then turns his back to her and arches his back. he lets forth with a bellow from below, turning his head to look over his shoulder, not wanting to miss her reaction to his power. he winks at her, then leans across the table toward her to whisper something in her ear. one word was all it took. "cabbage."

a love connection was made that night and one couple left together, awash in gastrointestinal bliss.

this, my friends, is a fairy tale with a happy ending. and one that can be yours if only you'll put your best toot forward.

do it yourself pedi

i'm feeling compelled to admit to a stupid foot issue. i'm afflicted with scaly old man feet, much like al penwasser's. they are the bane of my existence, but i can't usually afford to get pedicures to keep them properly maintained. i haven't found any balms or creams that make much of a difference, so sometimes i resort to using one of those razor scraper things that are illegal in some states. the first time someone used one on me while i was paying for a pedicure, i was giddy to see all those slices of skin falling off my feet. i knew they'd be so soft by the time i was done & i was pleased with the results. so i bought one on those nifty razor, cheese grater thingies for myself a couple years ago so that i could keep the softness going for free. the first time i used it, i perched on the edge of the tub for a good soak before starting up with my deadly weapon against dry crackliness and then when i deemed my tootsies to be sufficiently soggy, i started scraping. it was mesmerizing to see those snowy layers peel away like the garbage they were, leaving my feet pink & fresh. i kept it up for so long that i'm pretty sure i had about a pound of dead skin removed. i was delighted with the results. for about half an hour. then i realized my heels were starting to hurt. my skin wasn't just a rosy pink anymore, it was rapidly approaching a blood red, mainly due to the fact that i had removed almost all of the pesky skin that's generally used to hold my blood inside my feet. i was about 2 layers away from a free flowing bloody foot situation. i had to walk around on my toes for days to avoid my heels having any contact with the floor. or shoes.

you'd think i would have learned my lesson, but alas, i wasn't that smart. by the time the pain subsided i was so happy to have soft, childlike feet for the first time in my adult life, that i managed to block out the previous pain & shortly thereafter, i did the very same thing again. i'd vowed after the first incident that i wouldn't make the same mistake again, but like a woman who suffers through childbirth, once the pain is gone, all she remembers is the happiness and joy that her new child brings. i thought i could do the job without getting carried away, but clearly, i have no restraint when it comes to grating the skin from my feet. i get so happy about the storm of skin showering down around me that i can't reign in the urge to just keep scraping.

after the second round of near-death by foot shaving, i wised up & put the razor away. until today. i broke it out again tonight, determined to do the job without overdoing it. all was going well till i sliced a hunk of meat out of my heel & started bleeding. and not just a wee bit of a bloody dribble, it was practically a gusher. i tried to put some peroxide in it, but that just turned into a disgusting, foaming red sludge plopping into the water. i was glad there were no sharks nearby because i was definitely calling to them with my blood. then i shaved off a strip of ankle skin on the other leg when my hand slipped & that created a second bleeding situation.

i guess it's time to put the cheesy foot grater away again until another year, when the pain is gone and i only have memories of soft, delicate girlie feet. until then, i'll hobble around on my toes and keep a tube of antibacterial gel handy. maybe next time, i'll try the fish.

the van potty x2

here's my re-offering of the day. for any of you who've read it, i hope you'll come back for the next post. i'll try to make it fresh & exciting. because this one is definitely not fresh.

we still carry a potty in our van. actually, we took the backseat out of the van so that we could fit some big stuff in there at christmas time & it's never gone back in, so it functions as a mobile storage unit. but brooke likes to think of that space as her own personal room, including toileting facilities. there have been many, many times when it has saved us, like when we're at a park where the bathrooms are locked or non-existent. or when we go to the grocery store in july, get everything loaded into the van to go home & then suddenly she has a desperate need to pee that didn't arrive until just that second. or when we're in a traffic jam on the highway, she needs to go & we can't get off an exit. this potty has saved us from many, many moments of peepee panic. (i wish i could use it since i'm often just as guilty as brooke about needing to go when there are no facilities available, due to my own self diagnosed SBS. i haven't tried it yet, but one day i may be desperate enough. i'll let you know if it happens & how it turns out.)

one time, i was loading some stuff into the van at toys-r-us & while i was doing so, brooke crept around to her potty & made use of the facilities. i think she secretly holds it sometimes just because she likes using the van pot more than public bathrooms. maybe it feels scandalous or exotic to pee in the car. i don't know.

anyway, she calls out, "mom, i used my potty!"

me, "okay, fine. let me come around to the back so i can dump it in the back of the parking lot. you didn't throw the tissue into the pee again did you?"

brooke, "weeeelllll.... noo.... i didn't put the tissue in."

me, "so what's the problem? what did you do?"

brooke, "uummm... i.... pooped."

i closed the door & mentally had a mini tantrum. we were just inside a store where there was a flushing toilet. and plenty of toilet paper. but did she use it? NO! she'd rather take a dump in the hot van in august & then put the soiled tissues into the little van trash can.

ok, too late to be mad. at least she didn't crap herself. now, what to do with it... normally with a pee pot i'd find a grassy spot at the edge of the parking lot or at least the far back of a parking lot where people generally don't go & pour it there. this was a different situation. i couldn't very well toss the log into the toys-r-us parking lot and i didn't relish the idea of carrying it up to the building to where there were trash cans & disposing of it in view of other customers.okay, so i can't get rid of it here. what other options do i have? we're not heading home yet where i could dispose of it properly & since it's august, i don't want to cart it around with us where it will get extra ripe while marinating in the car during our next few errands.

maybe i could smear mud over my license plate & put on dark glasses and a hat and sling it out the window while driving to our next stop. but with my luck, i'd throw it into the open window of a car next to us & then be hunted by an angry, poop smeared ex-con. or it would just slide down the outside of my van & i wouldn't know & i'd go through the drive-through at taco bell & the person working would be like, "ma'am, i think there's.... a turd stuck to your door." or i'd chicken out at the last second & hesitate in mid-throw causing it to mostly stay inside the van, sliding down the inside of the driver's door and getting caught in the little pocket, but splattering me in the process. or it would splash while sitting on the passenger seat before i found the perfect moment & then i'd have to clean the seat. or before i had the chance to pitch it, someone in a taller vehicle than mine would drive up alongside of me & look over & spot the hot pink poop filled pot & then look at me in horror & realize that they know me & actually they're one of my customers & then i lose my job. or i'd be holding the pot in my hand, waiting for the perfect moment to roll down & toss & i'd get rear ended & it would all go up in my face & i'd have some explaining to do when an officer showed up on the scene. "yes officer, that is feces on my forehead.... yes, it is pee soaking my shirt. no, i haven't been drinking. i was just planning to throw a bucket of shit out the window of my moving vehicle when there was a gap in traffic. no, it's not my own shit. no, i don't do pranks like that... it was in the back of my van... no, i already told you, i haven't been drinking!"

eventually i found what seemed like an acceptable solution to me & i pulled into the back of the target parking lot to one of those places where there's a bit of grass & a tree between parking spots and i crouched low, walking stealthily & poured out the mess into the wood chip area at the base of the tree. i know, it's gross & horrible, but i thought at least there was a possibility that whoever found it would think that it must have been a dog who left that deposit. i mean, who would have ever guessed the truth?