mail carrier...whah???

I was sitting in my car outside of the local gym waiting for my daughter to finish teaching her yoga class so we could go out to lunch.  What? Yeah, I was sitting on my fat ass in an air conditioned SUV, checking Facebook on my iphone, planning which carb-fest I was in the mood to scarf up while watching hot, sweaty, skinny bitches walk out of the gym with their matching workout wear and their designer water bottles (we all know that Fiji water tastes exactly the same as the stuff that flows outta your faucet) They looked at me with with disdain as they smugly got into their vehicles and drove home to fix a healthy vegan lunch...which they planned to immediately throw up in their newly redecorated bathrooms...but I digress...
My daughter teaches yoga and is very dedicated, which explains why I had been sitting there waiting for her for twenty five minutes while she talked to her students after class. I hate waiting...for anything!  I am one of the most impatient people I know and I am the first to admit it...which makes the fact that my daughter teaches yoga even more ironic.  I have no patience and a short attention span, but fortunately I am easily entertained.  I was pretending to text while I was watching these perfect people exit the gym when I noticed a mail truck idling near the entrance.  All of a sudden, a tall black young woman burst through the doors of  the tanning salon next door and into the hot steamy parking lot.  I immediately thought, what the hell was she doing in that fake and bake palace?  That's not racist it's just good common sense!  She was wearing skin tight (I'm talking, how the hell did you even pull those up?) jean shorts that came to her knees.  She was also into multiple accessories.  You've seen these fashionistas...if one belt is good then two skinny belts with metallic sparkle is even better!  Why wear one tank top when you can wear three?  So what if it's 95 degrees outside?  The designers saw this chick coming!  "We'll convince the ladies that "layering" is the way to go!  They'll buy ten tank tops instead of three! Hey, we convinced them to pay for water, didn't we?"  Anyway, Miss Multiple Accessories was also wearing three earrings in each ear, many gold necklaces, and rings, rings, rings!  She was also wearing a pair of black Chuck Taylors with no socks and a blue plastic glove on her right hand.  Whah? Had she been giving the folks at the tanning salon prostate exams?
 I know you are wondering why I was so captivated by this lover of tight, tight clothing and multiple accessories?  Because she WAS DRIVING THE MAIL TRUCK!!!   WHAH????  My mail carrier wears a pair of ugly postal issue blue walking shorts with a stripe down the side.  I need to tell her that she can wear whatever she wants!  Miss Thing stepped into the mail truck and with her ungloved hand, picked up her Big Gulp and took a long swig...and then drove off...Yes Virginia, there is a postal diva and she delivers to the south end!  I think I need to accessorize my mailbox!

Is it a hoard or pick?

There is a fine line between a good pick and an ungodly hoard. "Pickers" is a show about two guys who drive across America and try to con old guys with huge barns full of crap into selling them the valuable stuff so they can sell it for double the price to other pickers...does that make sense to you or am I the only one who finds that redundant?

 I am obsessed with "Pickers" and "Hoarders" and I can't look away. I am the type of sicko who gets excited every time they find a flat dead cat on Hoarders.  Wouldn't that make an awesome drinking game?  "Dead cat!  Drink!"  I know...awwwwwe..oh stop.  You know you love it when the dudes in the haz-mat suits pull a dead cat out from under a pile of old newspaper, magazines, Burger King wrappers, and a fur covered sofa, oh wait that's the homeowner...!  "Dead cat boys!  Bring me another Hefty bag!"  Holy Christ!  How do these people stand it?  I know, they have a sickness....they are crazy as bedbugs...BECAUSE THEY HAVE A HOUSE FULL OF DEAD CATS!  WTF?  Multiple cats are bad enough, but how can they sit in a house full of stinking, barking dogs?  I only have one dog and even she gets annoying...she's always on the wrong side of the door...she's in...she wants out....she's out....she wants it.  I guess when you have 56 dogs you just get so tired of getting up during "All My Children" that you just finally let them poop up the place?  I saw an episode of Hoarders where the guy was hoarding rabbits...yes, bunnies.  They were all in the walls, under the foundation and everything!  As soon as they cleared the house they kept finding random rabbits running across the hall...which kinda looked like an episode of "Ghost Adventures" my other obsession.  "I have on my electromagnetic voice regulator and...Whoa!  Did you see that rabbit?"  Yes, we all saw that rabbit you idiot, wrong show! The haunted area is down the street in the old abandoned hospital!

What's with the boxes? It always fascinates me that these hoarders have random cardboard boxes laying around as if they thought...well...today I might just box up some...naaahhhhh, I need a nap!

 I think they should just call the guys from "Pickers" and make one big show called "Pick That Hoard!" It would be awesome!  "Hey Gertrude, ya, how much do you want for these moldy antique pizza delivery boxes from 1976?"  "Well I don't know if I wanna let them go.  I have great memories of that pepperoni..."  "Would ya take $5.00?"  SOLD!  They would back up that white van and have a heyday! But then...who would they sell the pizza box to?? HOARDERS! And that my children is the cycle of life....

Carova rental

I have always used a rental agency to take care of my Outer Banks rental home.  This year I decided to save money by renting it out myself.  Our house is accessible by four wheel drive vehicles exclusively because the "roads" are sand.  I have stated that fact along with every other fact about the house and the surrounding area on the rental site I use to advertise our home for seasonal rentals.  The site even provides the owner a template to fill out that includes all of the household items (AKA amenities) that one could possibly want in a rental house. If the prospective renter has any questions they contact me directly.  The reason I am telling you all of this very interesting information is because I want you to understand how amazingly stupid some folks can be when they are asked to read.  I mean, why read when they can e-mail or call the owner to read it for them?  The questions I get about this house would make many folks lose their mind. Instead of going crazy I have chosen to share some of these gems with you.  I swear these are real excerpts from prospective renters...

"Dear Jane, My wife and I would love to rent your house in August.  My wife loves her minivan and wants to drive it to Carova. Will a minivan make it thru the sand?"  No you idiot!  A minivan should never, ever, under any circumstances leave the car lot because once you sit behind the wheel of that family nightmare van you will start tucking your shirts into your waist high belted shorts and start wearing white leather Reeboks. Does your van have the family stick figures in the back window?  No mini vans, dude.  You will need a four wheel drive vehicle and some balls.

"Dear Jane, Gee, I love your house!  I know the rent during July is $2500 a week, but the wife and I have five kids and are on a budget.  Would you consider $800 for the week including taxes and deposit?  Thanks, Bob"  Sure Bob, of course we will because I don't need any more money.   Why would I want to pay my mortgage when I can give you and your brood the family vacation of a lifetime?  Please come get the key in person.  I will have a doctor ready to give you a freakin' vasectomy!

{Big D just asked if this was my blog or were these the answers I actually gave these folks. He knows me so well.  Relax sugar buns, it's the blog.  The real replies were much nicer,,,,wink wink.}

"Dear Jane,  Can I ride my bike in the sand?"  Why the hell are you asking me that question, Lance Armstrong?  Do you have a four wheel drive bike? Sure you can! Can I watch? Be sure to wear you creepy spandex shorts and your helmet!

"Dear Jane,  Is there a place I can go windsurfing?  Thanks, William.
 Dear William, I am going to take this opportunity to tell you that windsurfing is the dorkiest sport you can try besides roller blading with full padding.  If you ever want to get laid please do not go windsurfing. Roller blading is okay if it's 1991 and you're still in middle school. Try fishing.

"Dear Jane, Do you provide blankets and pillows? How about dishes in the kitchen?  Thanks, Barb" Dear Barb, Please bring a Lenox china service for twelve...you can pick the pattern.

"Dear Jane, Since your house is in the 4 wheel drive area, does that mean my car would need to have 4 wheel drive?"  I have no answer for that question....jut imagine crickets chirping as I stare with my mouth open...I swear someone actually asked that question.

"Dear Jane, I have two dogs and the old one likes to get in the hot tub.  Are dogs allowed in the hot tub?"  For the love of god what the hell do you think?  Of course they are!  I love sitting in hot steamy water with an old ass dog!

"Dear Jane, If the water isn't working, can you bring us some?"  Sure, let me rev up the fire truck. Can you please leave a window open?

Damn, I should write an advice column!

Oprah

I saw a dragon fly in my yard who looked just like Oprah Winfrey.  In fact, that bug looked so much like Oprah Winfrey that I googled her to see if she had died...and come back as a dragonfly to deliver a special personal message to me.  Oh sure, you all think that Gayle or Stedman would be the people she visited in her next life as a dragonfly, but maybe Oprah knows how much I admire her and she just flew in to say, "Hi Jane, you are one amazing person, girlfriend!"  I never use the phrase "girlfriend" to another woman as I find that little moniker annoying and overused...especially by middle aged white women who want to relate to black women..."Hey black sister, I am hip and cool....girlfriend...oh no you di'n't!" Unfortunately these black women are way too tolerant and just smile politely and refrain from telling said middle aged white woman to accept the fact that she is white and just talk to black women the same way they talk to every other woman on the planet...in America...

My daughter walked by the garden and said, "Mom, you have to see this dragonfly!"  I walked over and looked at the bug...she had blue-green wings and was the prettiest dragonfly I had ever seen...and then that bug looked me straight in the eyes and nodded her head as if to say, "How are you doin'?" I was shocked! This dragon fly had big beautiful Oprah Winfrey lips that were smiling at us. I know you think I have lost what's left of my mind but I could not stop staring at this bug! She stared right back at me and once again looked at me and nodded her head in greeting and I swear on my sliced lime stash in the pool house 'fridge that she smiled at me with those big beautiful lips!  I whispered, "Oprah?" and the dragonfly winked...okay, now I'm lying but it felt like she winked and  before Ty could get her camera Oprah flew away and we haven't seen her since.  My yard is full of dragonflies doing what dragonflies do...flutter, land and eat mosquitos.  We always look for Oprah Winfrey Dragonfly, but we haven't seen her again. Maybe I should have said, "Hi girlfriend" but I just could not let Oprah think I was a poser.

Beach Etiquette II

If you are visiting a beautiful beach town like mine there are certain rules of beach etiquette one must follow...or the locals will make your stay a living hell....jes sayin'....so here are a few helpful suggestions for all of you tourists who invade...I mean "visit" our beaches every summer...I will have more to come...the summer is young...but right now.............

1. Tents:  My newest pet peeve is tent people at the beach...WTF?  Why do you think that it is necessary to construct a huge tent for a day at the beach?  An umbrella isn't enough shade for you people?  You're at the freakin' beach, the sun is part of the package. If you need that much shade go to the beach at night! And who is that person all bundled up in bed sheets wearing a straw hat and huge sunglasses hovering in the back of that tent?  Does that lady come with the tent in a bag with the extra rope and stakes?  I swear she is in every tent on the beach!  "This is your new beach tent from Sam's Club, and this is Aunt Helen at no extra charge! No, sorry you have to take her she comes with the tent wearing this lovely caftan sitting in this old-ass garden chair."

You cannot set up the tent on Saturday and keep it up until the following Friday.   Not cool....First come first serve, tent freaks!  You cannot mark your territory for the week (with urine or a tent) and show up when you feel like it.  You may walk out there on Sunday and find that the tent has been moved....far, far, away during the night...by...someone...

B. Space: Why do you feel the need to erect that stupid tent or chairs or whatever so close to me and mine that when your grandma  passes out refreshments she offers me a Capri Sun? Seriously!?  When you see people with their chairs, etc sitting on the beach MOVE AWAY FROM THEM!  Drag your crap the hell away from other people on the beach!  Are you the same people who sit right in front of me in an almost empty movie theater?  Yeah, I thought so...This is not New Jersey...we have plenty of beautiful free space on our beaches...use it! I should not be able to hear your cousin Joey whine because you make him wear water shoes ...who the heck invented those things?  If you want to guarantee that your child will never get laid until he marries his second cousin at age 45, put him in water shoes! TWO WORDS>>.FLIP FLOPS!    Move away and keep walking until I can no longer smell your Coppertone SPF110 nuclear resistant sunscreen that never quite rubs into your skin all the way so you end up looking like a Kabuki dancer throwing a frisbee! Learn where your beach bubble is and stay in it!

13. Ocean ignorance:  Lake swimmers...this is not Lake Winokfhehbjhlblic...this is the powerful Atlantic Ocean!  There is a tide that often rips, there are waves that arrive in sets, and once in a while you need to make sure your children are in front of YOU and not ME.  Don't give the little darlings a body board and then turn your back on them.  Bonus info....that is not a shark, it is a bottle nosed dolphin so quit screaming.

AA. Who the hell told the lifeguards last weekend that their uncle went for a swim and never came back and had them call the entire VB rescue team, the Coast guard from Elizabeth City, helicopters, boats, divers and News Channel 10 to look for the moron without following the flare line to the restaurant where he was happily sipping a beer and eating nachos???  He just got sick of his family after an entire 48 hours of togetherness and snuck off to sit in the bar alone, feeling right proud of his ingenuity.  It must have been embarrassing for all involved when that same dude wandered out of the restaurant into the parking lot and asked the EMS workers what all the fuss was about.  The rescue folks told the guy that some idiot tourist from Ohio was missing in the water.  The guy said, "Huh, I'm an idiot tourist from Ohio"...well, you can guess what happened next.  I don't know about the rest of you but I think that family of idiots should have to reimburse the taxpayers of this fair city for just being stupid!  Don't report a drowning until you at least text them first to see if they are doing tequila shots,  ok?

The Duggars

Yep....the Duggars...okay, not the ultra Christian nutbags who are on TV wearing prairie dresses and believing in creationism...I'm talking about the nutbag huge family who spent their vacation down the street from my house.  My friends and family were at the beach on the 4th of July doing what normal people do at the beach...surfing, sunning, reading and talking.  We took what most locals take to the beach; beach chairs, sand toys (in our case shovels, buckets, and dinosaurs...yes, dinosaurs) towels, sunscreen, two surfboards, and a cooler full of "water" and snacks. We hauled it all down in our overpriced but very necessary beach cart with balloon tires.  That is what locals with kids take to the beach.  Locals who are single take a chair OR a surfboard and maybe a towel...oh, and girls take their phone so they can text their BFFs and tell them how lame it is to live here and why do these stupid tourists have to show up and ruin their day...blah, blah, OMG, blah.

The "Duggars" arrived...and arrived...and arrived in pre-determined groups like an ectomorphic Stepford family.  I could picture their 5AM meetings with the Alpha Duggar assigning duties from his ipad..."BIF! you take the teen boys and do your 10 mile run, Muffy! take the womenfolk and assemble a nutritious lunch, Tad! we are going to do our 30 mile bike ride, 100 push-ups and then stake our camp near the beach access. Grandpa! Put that oxygen tank away and breathe on your own, you're weak! Everyone hold hands and promise not to eat anything containing fat, refined sugar, or artificial coloring....or fun....(YES SENSEI!) BREAK!"

First came the Dads carrying beach chairs, footballs, umbrellas and towels.  One of the Dads was wearing a red skin tight rash guard which I assumed designated him as the alpha.  The next brigade was the teenaged boys who brought what most teenaged boys bring...nothing, but they jumped when the elders gave them orders to set up the umbrellas, etc.  Next came the girls in their colorful bikinis on their perfect teenaged bodies with their ipods and their chairs and their attitudes and finally the moms wearing age appropriate tankinis and straw hats with their coolers and the toddlers and their martyred resentment accompanied by their disdain for anyone who wasn't "them." We watched, simultaneously fascinated at the family dynamic, and annoyed that they needed to set up their circus so close to us.  They didn't even notice anyone but "them" was even on the beach!  They proceeded to set up a huge tent (way too close to "us") and all of the males seemed to know their roles in this activity.  In fact,  they all seemed to know their roles in all the family activities and it was so perfect that we could not turn away. We watched as they gathered for family posed pictures of them jumping and racing into the ocean on command and forming circles for "talks." Everything was a competition.

 They didn't walk down the beach, they sprinted...with enthusiasm and the arrogance of winning athletes.  They totally ignored everyone else on the beach as they went about their regimented routine.    The moms wore straw hats and prepared drinks and the lemons.  THE LEMONS!  Every day that week a designated mom would show up in the afternoon with a bucket of (what we discovered after much staring and debating) were lemons.  The bucket was like a clown car for lemons.  They just kept pulling out more lemons!  We saw a mom, who's assigned job that day was to prepare the sacred fruit of the ectomorph, and all she did was cut off the top of the lemon and shove in a short straw.  That's it...a lemon with a straw and they all gathered around like that was the family crack pipe, THE LEMONS ARE HERE!!!!! All fifty of the Duggars would stop what they were doing, and believe me they were all "doing"....tossing footballs, paddle ball, swimming (not just playing in the water, they were swimming and timing it and swimming in designated groups according to age and gender) and frantically building a sandcastle worthy of Will and Kate.  They would all suddenly stop and run to the LEMONS!  It was unbelievable!    I even lost my place in the book I was reading. It was all so rehearsed and perfect...until the non-Stepford woman showed up and ruined their family perfection.  There she was...wearing a black plus sized bathing suit.  She had a hard time making it down the dunes to the beach and I instantly felt for her.  Imagine being a member of that health nut ectomorphic athletic family when you love you some hostess ho-hos?  That poor woman!  She must have married....yep, there he was....the unattractive Duggar.  He wasn't tan, he wasn't perfect, but he was still skinny like the rest of them and he had him a big girl!  No bony woman for that Duggar rebel!  They all gave sideways glances as Big Girl Duggar arrived...late and lemon-less.  I wanted to run to her, give a hug and let her sit with us!  "Come on over here, girlfriend!  We'll give you some chips and a pack o' cookies and a laugh or two! No one is racing or playing nerdy paddle ball!  We won't make you get your picture taken with those skinny bitches and here is a Corona with lime!  It's so much better than a lemon with a straw!

outside

Why is it that I have a beautiful state of the art stainless steel granite covered six burner gas cooktop rockin', double oven havin', warming drawer containing kitchen, complete with butler's pantry with extra full sized fridge, etc, etc....and I prefer cooking in my outdoor cabana kitchen with the one burner on the greasy grill and the beat up outdoor refrigerator full of beer, expired bbq sauce, sandy half used bars of surfboard wax and paper plates...yes, we put paper plates in the fridge because raccoons love our trashcans...I know that makes no sense, but it isn't worth the argument with D so we all just keep putting paper product next to the Budweiser and he stays happy.
  I own my dream house that I designed and Big D built for me, but as soon as the weather breaks I gravitate to the pool area and the outdoor kitchen!  Our house is airy and gorgeous and I love it, but I would spend every waking hour outside if I could.  Winter is over and I missed spring and summer last year and I may never go indoors again!  I love the breeze blowing and the sandy footprints that never get swept up and the smell of limes as I squeeze them into my Corona while I am chopping up tomatoes for guacamole. I love wearing shorts and old t-shirts and cheap flip flops.   I love to see the grandperfects little bathing suits hanging on the nozzle of the outdoor shower, and the wax covered surfboard leaning against the deck.  I love that we painted the ceiling of this cabana blue and covered the walls with kitschy beach art and I totally love the towels hanging on the backs of all the deck chairs.  It makes me smile to see our 14 year old lab, Marley swimming across the pool forgetting that she has arthritis.  The flowers are blooming and the sea breeze is kickin' and I wonder how in the world anyone would live anywhere else.  Spring is turning into summer here at the beach and the tourists are warming up their minivans so we need to enjoy the beauty while it's still ours to enjoy.   Yup, I think I'll stay outside just a little longer tonight and finish reading that book I put away last summer....do I hear waves?  I heard there were waves tonight.

Morning

Tomorrow is Mother's day and I am so relieved that no one will dare wake me up at dawn to eat breakfast in bed.  I HATE breakfast in bed.  Food and hot coffee balancing on a tray ready to spill on my bed and me with cotton mouth and bleary eyes  having to eat before I can even stand the smell of food.  No fun at all.
I am married to a morning person.  Big D is awake before dawn even on days he doesn't have to go to work.  I look forward to days off as days I can turn off that annoying alarm and sleeeeep! It amazes me that this species of humans known as "morning people" have not been pummeled to death by those of us who like wake up at a ...leisurely pace.  No, I do not want breakfast in bed....EVER!   I want to get up, take a nice long shower, shave my legs (yes, I shave my legs and pits (TMI?) every freakin' day!) blow dry my hair, put in my contact lenses and walk to the kitchen feelin' fresh and clean...then I want to drink at least one cup of Duncan Donuts coffee before I even think about eating anything.  I just can't help it (Lady Gaga) I was born this way!
My dad is not a morning person, but unfortunately for Dad, my mom is! She has no idea why anyone would want to sleep past 7am!  My dad spent his life getting up at 5:30 and driving a long commute to work and he is now retired and he is 84 years old and he wants to sleep in, okay?  It's not a crime to sleep in the morning!  My mom has no idea what it feels like to wake up feeling groggy and unable to speak. She is like Big D and is wide awake and cheerful in the morning and is ready to start the day before my dad and I can even read the clock.  My daughter inherited my sleep patterns and of course, she married a morning person.  He jumps out of bed before dawn to go surfing, go to work, or just to cook breakfast for my daughter who is in no shape to eat it before her cup of Duncan Donuts coffee!

After we were married Big D was so shocked that I did not want to wake up with him at 4:30 (AM!!!!!) and make his breakfast and hold an intelligent conversation. He didn't expect me to do it, he just thought that naturally I would want the pleasure of his company before sunrise.  Hell to the nO!  I cannot even function until after my shower!  I can't talk, I can't think, and I definitely can't be trusted around a stove. He tried to ask me  questions before sunrise and I mumbled an answer and it took him a while, but oddly enough he can now interpret my morning speak.  I can mumble that it's trash day and he can decipher the root words, the rhythm of the sentence and figure out the rest.  It's like Lassie barking to get Timmy's parents when he was stuck in the well... only with trash cans.
There is no way I will ever be functioning any time before 6 and that does not make me a bad person, a lazy person, or a bitchy person...okay, I am a bitchy person but that has nothing to do with my sleep patterns. ( In the words of Tina fey, "Yeah, I'm a bitch.  bitches get stuff done!") I just don't like to get out of bed until I am fully awake...and that takes at least 3 snooze hits and the fear of not having time to blow dry!
So, morning people.... You are not intellectually superior...You are not better, and you are definitely not more fun than we are...you are just awake...too f-ing early!

Holy Backlash Batman!

Holy backlash, Batman!  My last blog was intended to make fun of myself and my bad temper, but several people, who had no idea who I was talking about, assumed the blog was about them or someone related to them!  Actually the blog was about my crazy arguing fetish and was loosely based on an e-mail argument I had with a former co-worker who had the tendancy to send out inappropriate politically biased e-mails to the faculty as "jokes" and I, as well as everyone else with a brain and social skills, was sick of receiving them so I sent him a polite, and definitely censored version of my rant and... magic!  The e-mails stopped and Mr. Politically Incorrect started to see the light.  Everyone is not a Christian, everyone does not need to hear every thought that enters your very tiny brain. Never argue politics at work and for the love of all that is holy STOP STARING AT MY BOOBS!!! We came to an understanding...he agreed try to stop staring at my spectacular mammory glands and telling everyone racist jokes and  I agreed not to rip his lungs out.  After a week of improved behavior  he must have noticed that people ceased to run and hide when they saw him coming and Happy Hours once again became happy! 
  We all know this guy, there's one in every office.  They watch Fox news as if it's real and they spend most of their days seething in self- righteous anger. Hell, my own husband was feeling sorry for the guy when he read my blog last week and he doesn't even know him beyond a brief introduction at a holiday party two years ago! "Jane, how can you make fun of the guy's BABY?" Well, I have a confession to make....the guy doesn't even have a baby.  Criticizing his non-existant baby was just to show the extreme of my (mental) insults!  He does, however have a wife who looks like Droopy Dog, but I guess we will all look like Droopy Dog at her age unless we start saving for plastic surgery NOW! I think I have a few years before the landslide but I'm not taking any chances.  College fund be damned! I need to stay fabulous!

You're Ugly And Your Mother Dresses You Funny

It takes a lot to get me riled up but when I do the unlucky person who is at fault had better take cover. When I argue with someone, I tend to....argue with someone.  If I really dislike that person I just don't let anything drop.  My daughter and my husband are so much kinder than I am and I have great admiration for them, but it hasn't rubbed off on me.  They spare feelings, heal wounds, and try to keep peace in the family...not me. I will never give in if I know I'm right no matter who I'm arguing with, and I'm always right because I am the smartest person in the world, just ask me.  If it is a political argument I will take them to the mat...and stomp on their head...twice.  I just can't, scratch that, DON'T give in.  There is nothing that makes my blood boil like a conservative, right wing, fundamentalist, Fox news watching smug"christian" republican.  I have probably alienated some of my readers, but does that stop me?  NO!  I even argue with people on the news...from my house!   I know they can hear me because my opinion is that valid.  It transcends time and space right through the universe into the TV station and they know that I, the liberal, progressive, educated, humanist disagree with them and they are afraid!  Sarah Palin and Glenn Beck get a chill down their spine when I see them on the tube and they have no idea that they cringe  because I'm at home holding them in contempt!

Recently a person offended me in a very personal and condescending manner by sticking his nose into a comment that was none of his business.  Not only that, but he was so stupid his comment had absolutely nothing to do with the conversation at hand.  It also came from an ignorant ass who everyone knows is an ignorant ass.  I mean, this person is known for his stupid comments and self important bullshit, and usually folks just roll their eyes behind his back and consider the source.  But did that fact stop me from figuratively crushing his mis-shapen  skull? NO!  Instead of ignoring the ignorant uninformed moron (I'm starting to get mad all over again) I immediately wanted to strike back!  I wrote several responses, all of which I had to delete because I went straight to his fat covered jugular and I had to pull back.  "You're stupid, you have an ugly baby and your wife looks like Droopy Dog. You're an insecure pussy who has no formal education and your insecurities have caused you to turn into a worthless loser who has no friends and I am doing you a favor even responding to you.  You are lucky your family even talks to you (I'm assuming they do talk to him but who knows, right?) I have never liked you nor has anyone else and you should thank us for acknowledging you at all in the past and that is going to stop as of today...you are dead to me....dead...oh, and I hear you have a tiny penis."  Well, you get the idea.  I even left some things out because I was trying to be nice....baahahahaha. Sometimes I just have to go there first and then I erase the truth and try to phrase it in a more acceptable format that reads like it was written by an evolved human being with an ounce of  sense and the brain and self-control of a mature adult and not an irrational rabid spider monkey with PMS.
 I'm waiting for the day I accidentally press "send" instead of "delete" after one of my rants and all hell will break loose....okay who am I kidding?  I really want to accidentally press "send" and see what happens.  Unfortunately I think it will feel a lot like the morning after what I, in my drunken tequila addled state, assumed was a festive evening. Sure, it was fun getting drunk and dancing on the hood of the car, but the next morning the neighbors won't talk to you and the car hood is all full of dents.   Holy crap!  I had better not press send, huh?
My poor husband just shakes his head and tells the "target"...I mean "person" that they have screwed with the wrong woman.  Secretly I think he admires my gift of thinking on my feet because he smiles when I am in mid insult, but he cringes over the fact that I rarely choose to have a verbal filter. My quick witted insult factory comes in handy when we are buying a car, negotiating a deal, or returning faulty merchandise, but becomes quite a party stopper at a family reunion or a funeral.
 Thank goodness my daughter learned her sense of diplomacy from her amazing yoga practice (breathe mom!) and her father.  He is Mr PR...married to a rabid spider monkey....poor guy.

Serial Killer's Paradise

I was watching the news today and the report was about a bunch of dead hookers found in the dunes of a beach in New Jersey.  The reporter said the murders may not be related because this area is "well known" as a perfect dumping ground for dead bodies....really?  Do the cops know this?  Wouldn't you think that someone would set up a Nanny cam or something?  Just put a Teddy Bear with a camera in its belly in the dunes and wait! They said that the murders may not be related in any way because dead bodies are commonly found in the dunes.  UMMMMM, DUH?  Everyone knows that this is a popular dumping ground for dead bodies??? Maybe they should send a few rookies out there to sit in a tower or something?  Am I missing something? Send a detective, send a patrol car, send a K9 unit!  Send a mall cop out there on a scooter with a tazer, just send someone!

   The report stated that all of the hookers were found tied up in burlap bags and dumped between the sand dunes.  How did the cops know the ladies were hookers?  Did they wear their hooker ID bracelets?  Were they found wearing clear heels with a handful of condoms and their pimp's phone number in a rabbit fur purse?  What about the dead bodies screamed I AM A HOOKER?  Not to mention they were found wrapped in burlap bags...burlap bags?  Where the hell do you find burlap bags in 2011?  Seriously, when is the last time you saw a burlap bag for sale, much less one large enough for a standard sized hooker?  Do they have a murderer's website with links to shopping?  "Yes folks, www.serialkiller.com has the best prices on what every psychopath needs! We have a special first timer's package that includes everything you need to make your first rampage a success!  We will include burlap bags, rope, rags soaked in chloroform (in those pop-top containers like baby wipes), a shovel and extra large cases of bleach! For an extra charge we will include a large bottle of Human Remains Febreeze guaranteed to neutralize even the most persistent odors!" They probably even have PayPal!  Wake up New Jersey!  Send someone out there!  jeeeeez!

Temporary Vegan

Okay, so I have gained close to a hundred pounds this winter.  No, it was really only 35, but it feels like a hundred. My daughter is a yoga instructor.  I am not a yoga instructor. I used to walk 5 miles a day, but I was incapacitated for eight months or so because I had a fight with a propane fireplace and lost.  I spent the past year feeling sorry for myself and comfort food helped me cope.  I have finally decided to get out and live again and I have officially broken up with Ben and Jerry. I also had an affair with Cherry Garcia but that's over now... really...I was drunk...on sugar...and sweet, sweet creamy goodness.

 I decided to try a cleanse to jump start my metabolism, which has apparently retreated into the recesses of my youth. My daughter and her yoga friends were all going to try a vegan cleanse...yes, I said VEGAN.  Now, those of you who know me know that I scoff at such extremes.  I went on a popular 21 day liquid cleanse two years ago that almost killed me.  No, really I would have survived but my family would have been found running down Sandbridge road covered in  kale smoothie if I had continued beyond three days.  I'm sorry, I can't drink green drinks unless they contain tequila or I'm at an Irish bar on St Patrick's Day and that will probably never happen.  My friend Christie lost twenty pounds on the cleanse, so I tried it.  I went down to the local hippie hangout store and bought whatever the hairy armpit lady in the vintage peasant dress told me to buy.  I know her dress was vintage because it smelled like she hadn't washed it since 1972.
Anyway, I drank the "essential greens" in a smoothie that tasted like...essential greens in a smoothie...ew and I began to gag...and after taking a fraction of all of the lovely $150's worth of supplements, I began to notice some growling and churning going on down below.  I spent the better part of two days in the bathroom giving back all that I had bought from the Hippie lady.   Holy mother of Buddha!  I was as pale as I felt and I tried to stick with it but my family held an intervention.  My son in law Mike told me how much he loved me and hated to see me so sad.  My daughter tried to get me off the supplements and on bananas and brown rice.  My husband threatened to take drastic measures if I didn't change my ways.  I agreed to kick the "greens" and leave the bathroom.  I turned organic for six months and lost twenty pounds that year.  But sadly I heard the siren call of white almond cake and chicken and dumplin's and I regressed back into processed food hell.  The incident with the fire turned me into s sedintary blob for a year.  Today is the anniversary of the explosion and I am starting over.  I am doing another cleanse...but this one does involve fresh veggies and brown rice.  I've lost seven pounds...I'll keep you all posted.

Carova continued...

 Carova...the land of beautiful uncrowded beaches, wild horses, and the Atlantic Ocean to the east...bordered by swampy snake filled canals on the west...a minor inconvenience that keeps the wussies of the vacation world back in Corolla where they can shop, dine, and play mini golf.  This is not that kind of vacation spot.  Carova is not a place for the feint of heart.  Carova chicks are not afraid to get sandy, wet, or wind blown. If you have a place in Carova and you live in the Tidewater area of Virginia,  chances are that you have traveled by skiff across the water from Pearl's "Marina" on Knotts Island .  First let me tell you about Pearls Marina.  Pearls is not really a marina in the sense that no one will watch your boat, prevent it from sinking, or save it from vandals.  There is no place to buy souvenirs, there is no place to buy sweatshirts or anything you may need for your boat including gas or oil.  The only thing you can get from this marina is ice and beer, and more beer.    It is a place to dock your boat in a slip or launch it from a concrete launching pad.  You are pretty much just trusting that it will be there when you get there and have faith in your fellow redneck...I mean man.  At Pearls you are most likely to find bikers partying at the bar on premises and various labrador retrievers running around barking and jumping in and out of the sound and you will probably be lucky enough to have at least one dog shake water all over you while you are loading up your boat.  If you are not a Knotts Island resident and you keep your boat at Pearls then you will also find dead snakes and empty beer cans in your boat.  The local boys hate folks who invade their space.  Hide you expensive trailer hitch and lock your car doors...I'm jes sayin'....

Anyone who has traveled to Carova by boat has gotten soaking wet in the process.  We always judge those girly folks who hesitate to climb down into the boat especially if they have "luggage."  You don't take luggage to Carova, you take a huge tote bag containing shorts. tank tops, t-shirts, a bathing suit and flip flops.  You will not need a sundress and a curling iron, trust me.   You also take a laundry basket full of "stuff" and groceries, 'cause you ain't gonna make two trips to get groceries. You take off from the dock and the spray hits you square in the face and not once do you wince or whine 'cause you know that you were headed toward beach paradise and a little brown brackish sound water in the face never hurt anyone. It actually feels good if you get over the fact that your hair is going to look like crap for the week and make-up is for shallow women who can't get the stick outta their hind quarters long enough to breathe the awesome salt air.  Nothing makes my blood pressure settle and my heart sing more than standing on our steps, embedded in sand and sea oats,  and listen to the surf, feel the cool breeze lift my hair and smell the salty perfume that is Carova.  I especially love it when I can feel just the slightest spray of ocean water hit my cheeks...love it...nuttin' like it anywhere else. I live in Virginia Beach at the beach but it just doesn't match the Carolina coast.  I think I need a trip to Carova as soon as the weather cooperates...my body is craving salt and sea spray.  I need to feel that tight warm feeling I get when I've had just a touch too much sun, knowing that I look so much better with a nice 1977 tan...

Art vs Math

My friends understand what I do.  They understand that teaching art is just as challenging as teaching any other subject in school.  The difference between the algebra teacher and me is the fact that I have an amazing talent and the algebra teacher can….count…and use a #2 pencil, and wear sensible shoes.  Oh c’mon!  I'm joking the Algebra Nazi!  She gets it….I think….let me put it into an equation:  nerd+dork to the second power minus x(fun) = Algebra Teacher!  I can’t help myself.  I hate math and I don’t care who knows it!  Yeah, I’m talking to you Mrs. Ruckewitz!  You were soooo sensitive!  Just because I created a really accurate drawing of you and your huge mole did not mean you had to fail me by one freakin’ point on finals. Not only that but you sent me to the office for wearing shorts....really cute shorts! I mean, I enjoyed summer school and all, but you were such an uptight, smug, bitch!  One point could have put me over the algebra mountain and into geometry where equations were concrete and made a bit of sense, but nooooooo, you wanted me to suffer for my art (too dramatic?) so I did suffer.  Okay, I’ll admit that you did help me in one way.  The real gem that you and your mole gave me was the realization that I had skills!  No, not algebra skills, drawing skills!  That drawing was so accurate (at least that’s what all my friends who got to see it before you intercepted my pass to Martha said) that I decided then and there to become an artist….and a real pain in the ass to all the authority figures I would encounter for the rest of my life!  You did have an impact on me!  I think I feel a tear coming on….nope….Hopefully you had that mole removed before it turned into a full blown melanoma (awe…) because I want you to live long enough to see what an impact you had on me.  I absolutely HATE algebra, but I have an exciting, fun, and fruitful life despite your efforts to squelch that little seed of creativity I decided to plant in your classroom that spring day in 1973.  Ahhhhh, I feel better, don’t you? 

Polygamy is Where It's At!

Sister  Wives, Big Love...polygamy is in, in, in!  What a concept!  Have you seen the husband on Sister Wives?  "Cody" has his stable of wives who seem to jump at his every command.  The entire thing just amazes me.  Four women who share one narcissistic man/boy, constantly flipping his head of  David Cassidy hair, making corny jokes as he giggles and plays with his numerous (16) children.  How does he keep it all straight? What does this guy do for a living?  Who is supporting all of those wives and kids?  How do they get health insurance? There is no joke here...I wanna know so I can do it!

 I would love to know the loophole because staying home all day having "sister wives" take care of my kids and clean my house would be awesome!  Think about it ladies!  I feel like getting a pedicure (which is so much better than sex, isn't it? admit it!) so, Wife #2 you get to have Cody tonight and feed my 25 kids their dinner, which would most likely be fish sticks and oatmeal...because I have 25 kids.  In fact y'all can have Cody every night if you do my laundry, clean the shower, and wash the dog!  I will trade Cody for all of that and more! Hell, you can have him full time.  So what if we all had to move to Vegas?  There must be malls there too, right? As long as we can have an adult only pool (the 25 kids have to swim elsewhere 'cause their ain't enough chlorine on the planet to neutralize all that kiddie urine) then I'm fine with Vegas.  I will shop for all of the clothing and go to TJ MAXX for household decor and you guys can clean and satisfy man/boy  physically and mentally on a regular basis!  OMG, that would be the best part!  All me, me, me!!!!

What? What do you mean I have to service David Cassidy Jr too?  No one told me I HAD to do it?  Ummmmmm, Okay, never mind, jeeeez!

I Could Never Be A Hooker

I know, I know, of course you probably have already decided that I could never be a hooker just by reading this blog.   You all know enough about me by now to know that prostitution just isn’t my gig.  Not because I have high moral standards, but because I just couldn’t spend that much time and energy pleasing someone else….even if I was paid….a lot.  I came to this startling conclusion one night last week. It was one of those nights (we all have) where I was tossing and turning and checking the clock doing math...okay, it’s 2:30 and I need to get up at 6:00, so that leaves me (I am now counting on my fingers) one, two, crap, only 4 and a half  hours of sleep if I fall asleep RIGHT NOW! Oh, god!  now it’s only four hours...

 I decided to see if there was a boring movie on TV so it could lull me to sleep.  I was shocked at what I saw.  I have cable with the respectable movie channels…not the borderline porn movie channels. I  had absolutely no idea what kind of filthy trash was on cable at 2 AM!  I was so offended that I almost changed the channel….but not quite. I couldn’t look away!  I had turned on in the middle of a  “special” about a legal brothel in one of our western states. 

Let me re-state my new found decision….I can never be a prostitute.  But it’s not the reason you may think.  It’s not the obviously disgusting job of being obligated to have sex with creepy, pathetic losers….we’ve all done that, don’t lie….think back.  No, it’s the freakin’ body maintenance!  These chicks have waxed, plucked, and shaved every hair from their bodies, but oddly enough kept their country music big Texas (head) hair coifed within an inch of its life. Every one of them had a complicated hair infrastructure that must have taken more Aqua Net than Wally World had in stock!  

I mean seriously, it’s not the sex, it’s the daily waxing!  OUCH!  The orange "all over" spray tans. I like tan lines, it shows me how much tanning progress I’m making.  It’s like you would have a gyno appointment every day!  Fluff, puff, spray, and clean….all day long!  It’s also the itchy body glitter, the blue eye shadow, the eyelashes, the high heels!  I could never fit my foot into those clear heels….I did like the neon light up heels, but not to wear, maybe just to place on the table as a centerpiece...on Easter.

  Would they let me be a hooker in flannel Pj’s and Ugg slippas? Hell no!  Don’t even get me started on the appliances and sex toys that, frankly, turn me off!  I do not want anything that is powered by any artificial means going anywhere that could cause serious shocking injuries.  With my luck I would end up in the ER with a power appliance in places no man should go…evah! Oh, who am I kidding there is no way I could even think about the logistics of the gymnastics involved in using those devices accurately! 

Anyway, this brothel was stereotypical in many ways…huge fake titties connected to bleach blond mindless giggle machines with bright pink lips, leopard print wallpaper, fun fur, and hot pink, pink, pink everywhere…but the personal interviews with the “employees” was what was the discouraging to feminists everywhere.  They actually loved their job!  I have never seen anything like it.  They, for the most part, were average looking girls who discussed their exploits in great detail. 

On this episode, it was “Creepy Bald Fat Guy’s” (the brothel owner) birthday.  I expected someone to jump out of a cake, but I guess that trick is soooo 1976.  No, they all drank nasty sounding shots off of each other (really?  that’s the best  you all can do at your birthday party in a brothel? Spring break body shots?) I was getting bored, I mean I almost changed the channel…almost.  It’s a lot like watching a train wreck….in a brothel….with hookers.  Okay, this blond (duh) chick with absolutely no body hair and badly done fake ta-tas (that looked like upside down plastic Tupperware bowls separated by the Erie Canal….you’ve seen these titties…on a certain deceased Hollywood  mogul’s daughter….Her name rhymes with…..Oh, what the hell it's Tori Spelling!  What is up with her ta-tas?  Tori,  you  are the spoiled extremely homely horse faced, untalented daughter of the richest old fart in Hollywood and you bought yourself some discount boobies? Yikes! Once again I digress….anyway, this denuded pre-pubesant looking bimbo did a handstand and landed with her legs wrapped around Creepy’s neck….with her nekkid body facing the camera!  Full frontal EW! Even Creepy looked unnerved. “What do I do now?  I’m on camera…”  I mean, I do not shock easily, but I almost lost my dinner.  I felt that now was the time to change the channel….but I didn’t….because I had to see how this skank fest ended…and it ended badly, and hilariously.  Creepy’s “girlfriend” Tiffani….with an “i”  who also happened to be a  20 year old (allegedly…wink, wink) who was also a freakin’ hooker at the “ranch” (surprise, surprise) got jealous when the other 20 year old (uh-huh) hooker did her awkward gymnastics move on Creepy with no chance for a delicate dismount.  She packed her feather boa and her clear heels and drove off in her ’87 Camaro  on her way back to Arkansas.  Creepy barely noticed she was gone…another surprise…and the wild rumpus continued as the credits rolled.  The final shot was of Tiffani with an “i” wiping away the tear as the gas light on her '87 Camaro turned on…ding….ding….

Quit Makin' Up Words!

Pretentious “real” words are one thing, but pretentious ”made up” words are another. I could be considered a hypocrite for making that statement, because I make up words all the time.  The difference is that I admit that my fake words are fake.  Words that my friends and I use are definitely not used to impress or sound remotely legitimate.  Everyone knows that doodlybop is not a real word, but when you get to be senile like me, doodlybop is whatever I am pointing to, needing you to hand me, or am picking up at that moment.  The names of real objects sometimes escape me so everything becomes a doodlybop or a thingy and that's the way it has to be so get used to it.  No, I'm talking about words that the latest "journalist" or talk show host throws around to describe a situation.  The fake words I’m talking about are used by idiots who think that they are using real words.  I work with educated folks who actually use these made up words and don’t even know they are fake! The two fake words I hate the most (today) are “functionality” and “disrespecting.”   I’ll use them in a fake sentence:  "This appliance will create functionality in your vintage space, not that I am disrespecting your old ass cabinets."  That is a totally illegitimate bullshit sentence.  Why not use the words in their proper form? I prefer: "This new 'fridge will make your old ass cabinets look better and it actually functions and will keep your tuna casserole from rotting…no disrespect."  Okay maybe the meaning is a tad different in my sentence but you still get a new ‘fridge, so shut up!

What I am saying is that these new words are pretentious and are used by folks who are trying to sound like "they is college graduates."  Since I have totally changed the subject I may as well run with it ...Take the bumper sticker and window decal that gives the name of a university you did not attend off of your car.  Just because you went to a few football games and partied with the fraternity your cousin belonged to does not mean you earned the right to pretend you attended that school. Don't list it in your profile, use it to impress new people or wear the sweatshirt. Take it off your resume and quit telling stories about your college days 'cause you don't have any!  Just because certain events happened when you were between the ages of 18 and 23 does not mean it "happened at college" 'cause you weren't enrolled!  If you want to brag about going to college GO TO ONE! Taking a few semesters does not count.  If you didn't get the sheepskin you don't get to claim the school as yours. Okay, I'm ready to get back on the original subject...pretentious fake words...

   These idiots who parrot the made up words they hear on TV end up sounding like they is disrespecting the English language and that creates absolutely no functionality.........  Disrespectful….disrespect…. function…functional….malfunction…look them up and use them properly or I will not let you ring up my purchase, decorate my house, or teach my five year old…no disrespect. 

Cake?

I am fighting a chest cold and decided to collapse on the sofa with a cup of green tea.  I happened to click on one of those "cake" shows.  You know the ones I am talking about...teams of "bakers" compete to see who can touch and massage the fondant the most.  Okay, that's not the premise but that's how I see it.  Those people rub, pat, roll and fondle the fondant with their bare hands, rubbing their funky skin cells  all over the cake.  I especially gag when they show a close up of their bitten down dirty fingernails as they pat, pat, pat the fondant and press, squeeze and smoosh the "krispie cereal treats." Are we really going to see someone put that nasty epithelial (thank you CSI Miami...and The Who...cue the scream>>>) filled "food" into their mouths? ew!  While I'm on the subject of "cake making"...if it ain't cake, it ain't a cake....lemme clarify: Rice Krispie treats rolled up on a PVC pipe to support a board and more piping and found objects hooked up to a smoke machine covered in "fondant" attached to twelve inches of real cake ain't cake.  Seriously?  It seems that anyone can put together a skyscraper with some tinker toys, cover it with gummy fondant and call it a cake on these shows!

But even with all that fondant molesting I still crave the most wonderful food in the world...white almond buttercream frosting on a white almond cake.  My mouth is watering while I eat....I mean write this.  I swear I only attend weddings to get a piece of that sugary goodness and when the bride gets creative and serves chocolate or some other non-traditional flavor I just want to get up and leave and take my income appropriate gift with me! Why mess with perfection?  I want my turkey with stuffing and cranberries, my steak with a baked potato and my wedding with a white almond cake. Is that too  much to ask?

Okay, maybe I'm jealous.  I can cook, but I swear I cannot bake a two layer cake without some type of leaning tower of WTF mishap!  They are all uneven on the top and sloping east and I cannot figure out why.  I follow all the directions in the recipe and my oven is level so why do they slope?  I try to even them out by matching up the skinny side on one cake with the fat side on the other but they still begin to slide to the counter like the Jamaican bobsled team and it ends up an ugly but tasty mess.  Hey, there ain't nuttin' wrong with eating cake with a spoon, right?  One day I tried to stick some bamboo chopsticks into the cake to prevent the slide but then I ended up with a sloppy sliding cake anyway...and two bamboo skewers.  I called it Chinese Surprise cake...SURPRISE! It's not Chinese!  CSI my ass! The skewers were there to throw you off Horatio! Cue the Scream>>>>>>>>>>

Speaking of Carova...

Big D is one of those guys who just oozes masculinity...wait, that sounded gross, what I mean is that no one would ever mistake him for a woman.  He is big (hence the nickname) and he is all man....except for one thing...he is deathly afraid of snakes and he is not afraid to admit it.  Just like Indiana Jones, minus the hat and the Phd, he hates snakes.  Well, if ya hate snakes you need to stay out of Carova in the springtime.  Spring is when the cotton mouths come out to mate.  You can tell if mating snakes are around by the feint sound of Barry White on their teenie tiny I-Pods because they have trouble keeping the ear buds in...because they don't have ears...but this is not a science lesson it is a safety lesson so back to the subject at hand, people!

Big D was at the dock unloading the skiff.   The shoreline, where we dock our boat, is covered in weeds and the canal is full of water moccasins who become very aggressive during mating season.  Big D was walking to his truck with a load of groceries when he spotted a snake heading toward him from the other side of the truck. Forgetting that he did not possess super powers, Big D threw the bags into the back of the truck and leaped into the air in an attempt to land on the tailgate.  Well, the truck is lifted and D isn't as agile as he used to be so he jumped up, came straight back down, and his size 13 Redwing boot landed on the snake's head.  There he was, standing on a pissed off extremely poisonous snake's head as the rest of the body was writhing around like an out of control fire hose.  You've heard about being between a rock and a hard place?  Having a tiger by the tail?  Big D was trapped.  He attempted to grind his boot into the head of the snake but the ground was made of sand and the snake was still very much alive...and looking for revenge.  D yelled for help, he scanned the area but he was all alone...with an angry snake just hoping D would move his boot. The shovel in the truck was out of reach and D seemed to be out of luck.
After a few minutes of indecision, D decided to make his move.  he lunged off the snake and ran to the driver's side door and scrambled into the truck. He was waiting for the snake to appear but there was no sign of the snake, so D turned the key to start the truck and...no lie I swear this is true...the battery was dead!   The only way to jump it was to get the boat battery charger out of the boat.  D decided that this just wasn't his day.  His cell phone wasn't getting service and the truck battery needed jumping and, oh yeah, there was a pissed off snake under his truck.  I bet that snake was under there disconnecting cables and laughing like snakes do...

Okay, I won't keep you in suspense any longer..after an hour of waiting and a much needed nap in the cab of the F150 (only Big D could nap at a time like that) he eased out of the truck, didn't see the snake, jumped his truck and drove home with a great story to tell. I wonder if that snake had to explain to his woman why he was late and how he got that dent in his head?

Carova

Big D and I built our dream vacation home on the Outer Banks of NC and we rent it out during the summer.  When I say we built it I mean we built it.  Every weekend for months we loaded up the Tahoe and the truck and drove down to the end of the hard road in Corolla, put the trucks into 4WD and drove the last 7 miles in the sand to build the house.  If I never paint a piece of trim it will be too soon.  When we realized it was faster by boat we traveled by boat.   We even took our kitchen cabinets across in the boat as well as various plumbers, electricians, and good friends who wanted in on the fun. I'm talkin' a Carolina Skiff, y'all, not the Queen Mary.  D and I were known to fly across the Knott's Island Sound close to midnight some nights by the light of the moon.  One night the clouds rolled in and D's friend Terrence and I laid on the bow scanning the brackish water for duck blinds and crab buoys with those huge 100 watt flashlights.  Bow spray feels so good hitting you in the face when it's 45 degrees outside. There we were spread across the bow yelling DUCK BLIND ON YOUR LEFT! hoping D would hear us so we wouldn't crash and get knocked into the sound...did I mention it was 45 degrees that night?

All in all it was fun.  We felt like pioneers in that coastal wilderness.  That part of Carolina is still only open to four wheel drive vehicles and that fact keeps it pristine and allows the wild horses to roam the dunes and the back roads.  Those horses are a beautiful site, but there was one thing about that situation that wasn't so beautiful...Raymond Burro the horny little donkey.  Raymond loved him some horses...and I mean he loved him some horses.  Raymond was the baby daddy to several goofy looking mules wandering the dunes.  For some reason I always thought Raymond looked a bit like Sammy Davis jr...I can't help myself my friend Sue got me in the habit of associating people with their animal twin years ago and it just happens when I look at certain people. There is a teacher at school who I swear looks like a lady bug and when I tell people that they agree with me.  It is a gift to have such vision and Sue and I have that gift...lucky us....what was I saying?  Oh yeah, Ray Ray the horn dog.

 Little Raymond was known to mount a mare and "get her done" at a moment's notice.  One day I was watching the herd of horses that hung out near our house as I sat on the deck listening to the waves, drinking my coffee when a group of tourists (y'all know how I feel about tourists) who paid a local (who was laughing all the way to the bank) 50 bucks a head to take them on a "horse watching tour" in Carova. These guys load those poor unsuspecting folks into junked up hoopties with no AC and drive their asses all over my neighborhood to find horses to stare at and take pictures of so that Biff can show the guys at the office how adventurous he is. Well just as Biff, Muffy and the kids were gasping at the beauty of the wild horses,  Raymond arrived.  "Oh look Mommy it's a donkey!  What's that Mommy? He's funny!" Raymond, playing to the crowd, proceeded to grow the longest, biggest, well let's just say that Raymond would win a pissing contest and leave it at that.  Soon after the...emergence... Ray jumped up and mounted a mare.  Biff was so hypnotized by Raymond's...endowments that he froze, but Muffy screamed and attempted to cover the little yuppies eyes as they were dragged back to the truck in wondering why Mommy was so upset.  Biff was still watching the show when Buffy shrieked his name and he snapped back into reality, got back in the hooptie  and was driven back to "civilization."  Hey folks, ya wanted to experience Mother Nature at her finest ya have to expect her at her most...primitive.  I watched them drive away and heard Raymond hee-hawing in delight as I went back inside.  Ya gotta love Carova. Old Raymond died a few years back and everyone misses him.  I bet he died with a big smile on his face.

You will like this...because I said so

I hate forced group participation. Ya ever go to one of those b.o.r.i.n.g. meetings where the speaker wants everyone to"get up and form a circle!" Reeaaly? Form a circle...I'm not five years old and no I do not want to put my right hand on the right shoulder of the freak in front of me. Half the folks there were so confused by this right-left choice that they totally froze and had no idea what to do next.  Put my right where?  Did she say my left hand on her right foot and...whahhh?  hokey pokey? I find this "KAGANITE" manipulation demeaning and condescending. We all know it is the tool that the "socially challenged" use to try and "break the ice and bring the group together! yay!"  These are the same folks who carry neon plastic clapping hands, wear hidious halloween sweatshirts and decorate their door for every season and holiday from the craft sale counter at WalMart. Seriously, the getting up and moving to the other side of the room and playing the "Hi, my name is Betty and I love bird watching and skeet shooting...ironic, huh?" game is played so the webinar organizer can break up any sarcasm circles so she won't be heckled (sp?) during her hour and a half of boring useless information...and useless it was, folks! We were treated to the most boring meeting of all, A WEBINAR! Yes readers, this is when a talking head from the computer drones on and on and the added bonus was that all we saw  was a blank screen and since we couldn't see the speaker or the audience that was answering the woman we were totally disconnected and thus uninterested...yes, I used the word "thus," 'cause I got me one o' them college degrees too.

 I was texting my BFF about the pathetic webinar, the woman across from me was watching a youtube video and the guy next to me was grading papers.  The funny part was that this "webinar" was about keeping your class interested and not teach subjects in a boring manner....REALLY? So, in order to keep teachers from being boring we need to bore them to death...brilliant idea! Oh, and, webinar lady, don't forget to throw in a miriad of three syllable "education-ese" term to make us think that you really do have your graduate degree...whoopie!  I was personally keeping a tally of how many times you used our new buzz words: Rigor, rigorous...35 times in 90 minutes, and who actually uses the word, pedagogy in a sentence?  YOU DO!  Thirty four times in 90 minutes!  This must be some type of record, right?

The pretty young thing in charge of the "webinar" was stomping around the room glaring at us and was not quite "seasoned" enough to turn this snoozefest around and grab our attention.  She was also scared to death of us (hey, not my problem) and she had no idea how to say anything without having one of us rip her face off...figuratively of course.

The point here folks is that if you are going to demand time and attention from overworked and underpaid teachers then the "webinar" had better be interesting and  include useful information instead of the "same old, same old" that we are force fed daily.  In other words...TELL US SOMETHING WE DON"T KNOW!
I don't care if I get to wear jeans for the rest of the year, the bone we were thrown to attend in the amount of an extra $12.00 amounted to sqat after taxes. I do not want to stay after school for an hour...and a have to sit on a tiny germ infested cafeteria stool and hop up on command like a trained monkey and play a circle game to make you feel like you have justified your new job.

Teach me new things, new teaching methods and exciting new ways to present pertinent information.  Make me want to teach, to join in, and to listen to what you have to say. Don't force me to stand in a contrived circle and "relate" to my coworkers in an uncomforable situation.  Entertain me...grab my attention...and help me learn...hey, isn't that what you want me to do in my classroom?
Do I sound bitter?

frozen memories

Okay Folks, once again I must tell you how much I LOVE Judge Judy.  I had a rough day today and when I sat down with my yogurt and my water (yes I am on another diet) to watch Judy I was not disappointed.  A woman with bleached blond hair (with purple tips) was suing an old redneck (who I swear was Jerry Reed from Smokey and the Bandit) for failing to stuff her dead pomeranian to her satisfaction.  I am not making this up.  It seems that Blondie had visions of her beloved deceased dog stuffed by this taxidermist and he failed to stuff "Fluffy," so Blondie wanted her $250.00 back, dammit!  Jerry Reed hemmed and hawed and tried to explain to Judy that this was a complicated procedure because the "client" wanted the dog to have....wait for it....MOVEABLE LIMBS!!!! I almost dropped my water bottle.  WTF?  She explained that she wanted her beloved pomeranian to have moveable limbs (like Woody from Toy Story?) so that she could dress the dog in her own little custom made leather biker outfit...complete with mini helmet....so she could (I swear I can't even type right now) strap her on the back of her Harley and ride her across the country.  Picture that my friends...I do not know how Judy kept a straight face but she did and she also told Blondie that maybe stuffing the beloved pet was not the brightest idea. Judy asked where the dog (aka carcass) was and the woman wiped away a tear and said; "In my freezer."  Holy Mother of GOD!

 Speaking of "Mother" I need to call mine and tell her this story because she once froze my dead pet parakeet (in a zip lock bag) who had died suddenly and not because I insisted on giving "Parry" a bubble bath in the sink and he got pneumonia, that was merely speculation and cannot be proven!  My mom had intended to take that bird back to the pet department at Rose's department store (because it died for no reason) but she forgot all about the yellow bird in our garage freezer until our neighbor, Judy (no relation to the Judge) bought a bunch of frozen chicken on sale and wanted to put some in our freezer.  I assume you can guess what happened.  Mom and Dad were in the family room when they heard a blood curdling scream and a crash from the garage and Judy yelled, "Marilyn what is this thing in your freezer?" My dad still tells that story at parties and Judy is still freaked out by the whole thing.  Did i mention that I have an unusual family?

Helpful Advice For Tourists...

I live in a “resort community”, which means that people who aren’t from here invade my neighborhood all summer long to march their lily white Ohiojerseypennsyltuckybaltimoricquebeccian asses down to MY beach with their massive tents, umbrellas, and coolers, yelling loudly to everyone in earshot that the kids need to wear their SWIMMIES!  You folks from the northern cities just don’t get our quiet way of life down here, so I have appointed myself to be your personal beach etiquette guide. No, no, don’t thank me… it’s my pleasure.  

 When the entire beach is not crowded don’t drop your stuff three feet away from the only other folks on the beach.  It just isn’t done.  Move the hell down until I can no longer see your husband’s back hair.  There ya go….keeep moving…there!  Another important rule:  Sunscreen is essential for you white folks.  I don’t care how easily you think you tan.  No one wants to look at your lobster red face at dinner tonight.  If you are from Pennsylvania I recommend an SPFof 70 or higher and reapply every hour, even at night.  Wear a hat….and maybe a lovely caftan.  Next rule:  If you must wear a lovely caftan stay at your rental house or hotel pool ‘cause I just don’t wanna see it on the beach. Next year go to the mountains where there’s some shade. Remember, your husband will burn because he never listens to you, so when he starts to whine throw some white vinegar on him, spray him down with antiseptic and aloe and thank god that sex will be way too painful for Mr. Little Blue Pill for several days, so buy yourself a mohito on me and enjoy your three nights off. I’m sure you’ve earned them.

If you must bring food and beverages to my beach pick up every bit of trash…and that includes your drunk-ass brother in law, Vinny.  Don’t let me step outside the next morning for my daily walk on the beach and find him laid out in the sand just because you didn’t think your wife would notice he was missing. Vinny wore his skeevy net tank top all day yesterday and now he has tan lines to prove it.  That’s always a good look.  Especially when the hair pokes through the holes in the netting.  Hey sexy, I need to drag in my catch of the day… May I borrow your shirt?  Permanent tank top on a beer gut….nice.  Carry your hung over beer bellied butt home now, Vinnie!  Always remember to clean up your drunks.

Teachers Are No Fun

There are teachers who refuse to call anything at school “fun.”

We all know at least one of these miserable souls.  They don’t have the intellect to incorporate a sense of humor into an educational setting because that would require using both sides of their brains and they haven’t shaken the cobwebs outta the creative side since they co-chaired the spirit committee in their all white school freshman year…1958.  You know them.  They greet their class on day one with a sour smirk and begin the class with a boring lecture on how they are “in charge” and that chewing gum is a mortal sin.  I just don’t understand the gum thing.  I love gum.  Is it the “sticking it to the desk” fear? Do we really love our faux wood laminated desks with the corners chipped off to the point of restricting a food group?  Yes, gum is a food group…in my world…gum, jelly bellies, and fruit chews are a food group.  It’s in the middle of the food pyramid between bread and pork rinds. Who the hell invented pork rinds?  In this age of health awareness we ban ganga but we allow pork rinds and grape soda?  Really?  I guess, now that I think about it that if we “legalized it” we would have a greater need for pork rinds and grape soda….but I digress….Where was I?  Oh yeah, gum… Trust me, gum is the least of your worries.  Those nose pickin’, hair twistin’, crotch itchin’ kids need gum to keep their nervous habits in check, otherwise those desks are petrie dishes! Let ‘em chew gum!  Here, take my gum! Chew away kiddies!  Maybe it will keep you fingers out of every other orifice.  Hand sanitizer anyone? At our school one of my lil’ darlings decided it was called “hanitizer” and that is what we all call it now.  “Ms. S, can I get me some hanitizer?”  Yes sweetie you can get you some.  I teach in the south, can ya tell?  AWE! Oh shut up, you know you were thinkin’ it.

English

Teachers

  I loved Language Arts when I was in school. Back in the seventies we called it “English” class, because here in America we still need to take a class on how to speak and write our native language every year until we die.  I think our “educators” got a clue that calling the class we all had to take every freakin’ year of our lives, “English” was a little embarrassing to the US of A, so they decided to change the title to “Language Arts” implying that we were taking a much more intellectually challenging class about the "art" of the english language instead of just trying to teach Americans where to put a comma and not to use none of them double negatives, y'all. Despite the horrible “English” curriculum offered to us here in VB in the seventies I still absolutely loved literature and creative writing.  Thanks Ms. Haring for being the coolest teacher in 1975.    You still wore your mini skirts from 1968 with Frye boots and a peace sign necklace made of hammered silver back when it really stood for peace.   You also smoked and left the Virginia Slims pack sticking out of your suede fringed bag that sat on your desk, because the beach students wouldn’t DARE touch anything on your desk even if it was sitting right out in the open.  It just wasn't "done" back then.

 I loved how you shared your life with us. You used to tell us how you and your husband had broken up and gotten back together more than Liz and Richard. We had no idea who Liz and Richard were, but they must have been cool if you referenced them, right?  You told us how you rode bikes and smoked even while you were exercising and you laughed at how counter-productive that was. You asked us what we did that previous beautiful Saturday and you really wanted an answer!  I thought you were the absolute coolest adult around.  It wasn’t the smoking, or the styles you wore.  It was the fact that you talked to us like adults, talked about what you did on your weekends and actually cared about what we did on ours. You actually read our silly sentimental attempts at creative writing and gave us suggestions and honest opinions without making us feel intimidated. We felt respected and, in turn, we respected you.  Thanks Ms. Haring.  I hope you still wear your peace sign. I still wear mine.

Speaking of A Day Without Students...

When teachers get to leave the prison….I mean “building” for lunch it is a very special day.   On teacher “work days” when the students are off and we have to be at school we are down right giddy about going out for lunch!  I mean you folks with regular jobs “on the outside” just don’t get it.  We plan for days where we will go for lunch.  No cafeteria food today!  No wilted salads from home, no roaches in the ice tea, no sireee, not today…we are going OUT TO LUNCH!  We are almost “doing lunch” but we are missing the rich husband, the pink and green wardrobe and the tennis racket in the Beeeeemer. Nope, we are going OUT to lunch!!!  Weeeeee!  The discussion and final decision of where we will go and with whom we will go is very detailed and often very stealth.  I mean, it can get ugly. No one wants Mrs. “V” to go with them because she never shuts up and there is no way I’m going with Nancy because she is a vegetarian and I don’t want to watch her cringe as I order meat with a side of meat and cheese fries.  “No, I am not going to a Chinese place! I hate Chinese food!  I can order that from home and it is the only place that will deliver down in Sandbridge besides the pizza joints.  Mexican?  Naw, I will need a margarita and I can’t get fired now I have to pay for my lunch!”  I mean, seriously!  I usually want she-crab soup, because no matter how I try I can’t make it at home as good as I can buy out so I am not budging from that decision EVER!  “Let’s go to Atlantic Avenue and get a seat with a view of the ocean and make fun of the tourists!”  That sounds good to all of us locals, but several Navy wives “from away” don’t get why we find tourists so amusing.  These wives are wearing  skorts and Tevas and they don’t get what’s so funny about that either.  I mean, they actually bought their poor unsuspecting husbands mandals!  You know what mandals are, right?  They are sandals….for men.  Men wear flip-flops, not mandals….at least in my world, and no respectable beach local would be caught dead in a pair of mandals.

  “I just got shot and I have minutes to live…honey, are you there?”  The wife looks lovingly into her dying husband’s eyes:“Yes sweetheart, what can I do?”  The husband turns to his wife and whispers….”Get these f*%^ing  mandles off my feet before I get caught dead in them.”

What was I saying?  Oh, lunch! Okay, well, we debate the location of our lunch for hours! E-mails, texts and walks down the hall take up the entire morning! We finally agree on a place where the vegans can get sprouts and the rest of us can get seafood!  Crabmeat here I come!   When we arrive at the restaurant and sit down we get rowdy and ponder the daily specials like it is part of the menu for the Last Supper and Jesus invited us personally. “Yes my children, I want Jane to sit on my right, move over Doubting Thomas, you can never maketh up your mind and Sue wants to sit by the window.  Enjoy-eth the crab though it is a bottom dweller.” Thanks Jesus, we will.  Remove your ID tags ladies. We don’t want to be identified just in case it gets ugly.

Bad Hair

Don’t you hate it when you get a cut or color you aren’t very happy with and you just mention it to someone and everyone in earshot wants you to try “their person?”  This is a very challenging situation for me because I have a hard time not expressing my opinion...shut up Miriam...

 I was making a rare visit to the teacher’s lounge (AKA Shark Tank) a few weeks ago and was discussing with two friends of mine the slight color issue I was having with my hair.  I love my hair.  I was not blessed with long legs or a fast metabolism, but I have good hair.  It’s thick, full of body, and I put blond streaks where nature put them many years ago. I hate it when it isn’t perfect.  Okay, I admit it.  I was whining about my hair.  As I was whining to my friends, in walked a very….how can I phrase this to spare feelings…ugly as hell substitute teacher.  Hey, she’ll never know who I am talking about and she is also one of the most arrogant and annoying people I have ever met which directly influences how I interpret her “look.”  Anyway, this person was looking at me with my blond(ish) hair telling me how amazing her hair person was and how she loved her color, blah, blah, blah.  Okay, neon blue eyeshadow aside....sharpie marker eyebrows aside... okay, ya just can’t put those two style killers aside...and her hair was hideous. This put me in an awkward position.  I have yet to have anyone with good hair recommend a stylist.  It’s always the hideous ones whose hairstyle is stuck in a decade best left behind.

  This chick had long, dull jet black, frizzy, out of style, no haircut hair.  I could not believe it.  Where did she see a connection? The woman was a goth version of …well, her former self.  There is absolutely nothing wrong with loving the goth look. I’m trying to sound charitable ‘cause no one over the age of 16 should try to rock that look.  It’s over, you are not a vampire, you will never be a vampire.  Edward is not looking for you. Why in hell would I want to use your goth hair person?  I am a bit on the preppie slightly hippie side (I know that makes no sense just go with it okay?) when it comes to fashion.  I have never worn skull earrings.  I do not, nor does any Western European woman, look good with jet black…I’m talking bad shoe polish black, hair.  The lucky few who can pull off that look are blessed with the olive skin to go with it, but their natural black hair color has some shine to it!  They probably don’t dye it with shoe polish or kool-aid!

  Which brings me to my next issue, Kool-Aid hair. If you buy your beauty products on the soft drink aisle a buzzer should go off in your head.  I don’t buy my groceries at the hair salon. That’s all I’m saying about that.

It’s the same thing when I mention I’m looking for a good dentist. The other day I mentioned that I was looking for a good dentist and a bystander with jacked up yellow teeth proceeded to tell me how she loves her dentist!  Christ!  What do they expect a person to say at that point? What the hell was Dr Helen Keller using as anesthesia, LSD?   I mean seriously how do I keep a poker face when I feel my eyes bugging out like a bad cartoon trying not to stare at those nasty choppers?    Maybe I need to recommend a good Optometrist?  Why would I go to that dentist and how does that quack stay in business?  Here are your fillings and I’m just going to ignore the fact that your teeth look like an ear of Indian corn and your incisors stick out sideways like an English bulldog! Yuck! 

I am definitely far from perfect but I know when my hair is bad and when my teeth are jacked up.  I also notice when my pants are too tight, when my feet stick out over the edge of my shoes and when my underwear is up my ass.  How can those people not feel a wedgie?  Thongs aside I simply cannot tolerate anything up my ass...interpret that as you see fit...

 Some folks just don’t see simple daily maintenance such as hair and dental care as top priority but I do...yes mom I am the Princess and The Pea and it’s all your fault for keeping me clean, washed, wiped, brushed and impeccably dressed my entire life...and I thank you!  

Road Trips

I grew up in the late 1960s early 1970s in Virginia Beach, Virginia.  My entire family is originally from the coast of Maine.  Every summer the seven of us would pile into the station wagon and take a meticulously planned trip to Maine.  Let me clarify that for ya….my two younger brothers, my parents, and our two dogs, armed with maps, coolers, and luggage pulling a pop-up camper. We would drive 16 hours in a station wagon to my grandmother’s house in Boothbay Harbor Maine.  Fun, fun, car sickness, fun.  I, being the only girl, had to sit in the middle, my feet on the hump, to separate my brothers so no one was killed.  I lived for the Ho-Jo ice cream stops so I could get out and walk around for a few minutes until we had to hurry back in the car because we needed to make good time!  Good time?  What the heck difference would another five minutes of freedom make?  I only asked that question one time.   The question was followed by a half hour explanation of rush hour time in Connecticut and how we would be stuck in traffic, blah, blah…why did I open my big mouth, blah.

My mom planned that trip all year long.  We had special matching red, white, and blue outfits for the family reunion. We had a snack schedule.  My mom planned snacks the way she cooked….badly.  Dry crackers, canned ginger ale, pretzels, bananas, and wintergreen mints.   I hate wintergreen mints to this day because she gave them to me when I got car sick.  Absolutely no chocolate because it would upset our stomachs!  I don’t know about you but I can’t travel without chocolate, coffee, and Duncan donuts!  Not my mom!  No way were we going to get anything good to eat except for a vanilla Ho-Jo cone.  Yes, I said vanilla!  Chocolate is way too exotic!  It tastes too good and in my mom’s mind that means it must be bad!  It was the trip from hell, but the destination made it worth the agony of the car ride....sorta.

My brothers were like Oscar and Felix.  Jon was tall, quiet (AKA, sneaky) athletically gifted, very neat and organized, and annoyed that he even had a family to cause his constant embarrassment.  My youngest brother Jeff was (and still is) short, stocky, loud, hyperactive, quick witted, opinionated…and he also thinks everything he does is funny.  I love my brothers, just not on a car trip.  

Jon was a very shy child who wore his shirts buttoned up to his neck and did not have much to say….until he reached puberty.  He is now one of the funniest people on the planet, but back then he was very quiet compared to Jeff and I.  He was what one might call “an observer.”  Jon kinda faded into the walls and quietly watched the rest of my crazy family throughout most of his childhood.  My mom always said to watch out for the quiet ones.  She was right. 

Jeff was “that kid.”  If we heard anything crash in the house or even in a store my mom would snap her head around and ask, “Where’s Jeff?”  We all knew he probably had something to do with whatever had broken, turned on, or fallen off of something.  Jeff denies it all now but he was one hyperactive little pain in the ass.  The fact that he was totally adorable and fun was the only thing that save him from strangulation.  He was also amazingly fast and could out run my dad until dad just gave up and said the hell with it.  Jeff’s chunky little legs could fly! By the end of the chase we were all laughing at him….all of us except my dad. 

On these road trips I had to sit in the middle back seat of our station wagon with my feet on the hump with them for sixteen hours. Jon would quietly press on the back of my dad’s seatbelt and dad would blame it on Jeff.  Instead of simply denying it Jeff would start to yell at Jon and I would laugh and then we would all be in trouble.  This happened so frequently that you’d think my dad would have caught on, but he was too busy trying not to miss an exit.  These were the sixties and seventies.  The days when your parents smoked in the car with the windows rolled up.  These were the days before cell phones, hand held video games, DVD players and i-pods.  Hell, we didn’t even have FM radio!  I remember getting all excited when we could hear music as the static faded away as we passed through radio zones.  We could tell how close we were getting to certain cities by the radio stations.  There was no GPS.  There was only a huge messy map with a magic marker tracing the route and my parents fumbling for toll and turnpike money.  My dad knew who had overpriced gas and which turnpike rest stops to avoid.    We played, “Who can spot a red car…etc.”  My mom called it travel bingo. What were my parents thinking?  How in the world could they relax?  This was the way families vacationed back then.  Families didn’t fly anywhere, you took a road trip and you took everyone in the family including the pets.  Board the dogs?  Are you kidding?  We let them ride in the back of the station wagon on beach towels and walked them at rest stops.  It was all or nothing.  

We had one of those station wagons with the “way back” seat that faced backwards.  That was the barf zone.  If you know anyone who could ride in a car facing backwards for more than five minutes without puking I want to meet him.  That fact alone should let that freak of nature into the space program.  “He’s dumb as a post sir, but he rode 16 hours in the “way back” seat and never puked”  “Holy Jesus, why didn’t you say so?  Sign that man up for the next trip to Jupiter!” To this day I refuse to ride in anyone’s back seat even if it faces forward.  Did I mention that I get car sick?