They Should Have Know Better

My Parents are on an "extended" getaway, and so we have been communicating via email and snail mail. It has been interesting communicating this way, and it has been a good reminder to me that long distant jokes have the potential to backfire.

I sent my Mother an update on what has been happening on my side of the globe. I thought it would be interesting to quote, verbatim, the context of a few sympathy cards, and thank yous I had received after the passing of my Grandmother.

I was recounting word for word what each card contained, when something over came me.
I had a sudden urge to write words that were not actually included in the cards. I wanted to spice the condolence cards up a smidgen. I was entertaining myself.

Oh! The joy I got from telling my Mother, her sister in-law had sent out form letter thank yous, that included the passage,
"We have been touched by your thoughtfulness. My husband and I have always enjoyed an active sex life, but have been struggling to get it back. We will always remember your kindness during this time in our lives. In time I am sure we will be back to our fulfilling sex life in it's full glory."

I thought certainly Mother would pick right up on the fact that I was exercising the vivid imagination I was blessed with. Not for one second did I think she would actually believe the "thank you/sex life" cards were mailed to potentially hundreds of people.

And so I waited. And waited. I knew for certain I was going to get a call, telling me how ridiculous I was, and how she and my Dad had laughed at the funny joke.

No call came. I could stand it no longer, and after five days of hearing nothing ,I made contact with my Parents. I played it cool. I beat around the bush. I waited for Mother to bring up the joke. She said nothing! And so I casually asked what she thought about the thank you cards in general.
And that's when I found out.
Not for one second did Mother think something was fishy. She actually believed my Aunt had written the inappropriate card and mailed it to an entire town. My poor Father, was humiliated that his childhood friends and neighbors received such a card. He was grateful to be out of the country and did not want to come back until the "sex card" scandle faded from memory.

All week my Mother had tormented Dad, about his family being overly obsessed with sex. His family clearly had too much testosterone pounding through their veins. Here was the proof!

They decided they needed to talk about this embarrassment with someone. They wanted the comfort of knowing other family members were equally horrified. They must call another member of the sex fiend, family. My Uncle.

And that is when the stars aligned, and I made contact. Just in the nick of time.
I prevented my (hysterical) gag from spreading through the family whom were portrayed as sexually uninhibited freaks.
It was close.
My Mother was relieved.
My Father felt the freedom, of knowing he did not come from a sex fiend family. Thankfully, his sister was not an exhibitionist(in thank you cards).

And then he realized . . . his daughter was the sick one who may need professional help. Maybe his family was perverted after all.

I Would Love a Piece . . . (of Ass)

My new job has changed me. Some may say it is for the better. I am inclined to disagree.

For the past three months I have been forced to see things with a different ticker tape of words running through my head.

I used to have a dirty commentary constantly running in my mind. Everything everyone said, my mind could distort into some completely inappropriate twist of what was actually meant. A slightly dirty distortion. Completely entertaining.
I would happily go through my day, laughing to myself, loving the fact that everyday language could sound so inappropriate. Do people realize what they are saying? I felt free to share whatever popped into my head on occasion. Enjoyable. While most people were gaily carrying on, innocent to the fact that they actually were quite filthy individuals. I knew. You needed my brain to see the truth.
I didn't care so much when things flew from my mouth, that were just not quite family friendly. Not filthy things, just slightly shocking. It was fun. Ahh, the carefree days of saying whatever came to mind.

I amused myself.

Now, I sill privately amuse myself, but I am unable to share any of it. That is just wrong.

I am now on complete "edit" mode. And I would like to say, it is no fun. Well, not nearly as fun.

I have found it is still hard not to laugh, when during a very serious meeting, my male co-worker gets his computer running and then announces to the room, "I have mine up!".
Does anyone understand how hard it is for me not to reply, "I wondered if you could get still it up." Or, "Please stop bragging".

Why can't I make some erection comment? OK, I know why. Because I would be fired. And that just sucks all the fun right out of it.

See I did it again. Dirty.

Hysterically Sad

My Grandma died this week.

Yes, I am terribly sad, but she was very old and she was ready to go. Because of that, I am free to appreciate a few odd situations that have arisen due to her passing.

Small town burials are strange. I was on the phone with my Aunt discussing some funeral odds and ends and she casually mentions that my three elderly uncles finished digging the grave that afternoon. My ears stopped listening to the rest of her sentence as my brain zeroed in on what I had just heard. Hold on a minute! Did you say my 60,65 and 79 year old uncles just dug Grandmas grave? Yep! Sure nuf. Shovels and dirt flying, digging a 6' hole to bury their own mother! In what situation is this acceptable? The Ozarks possibly, or a third world country, but this is modern day America! Just not right. And not worth the potential of killing off the old shovelers with a heart attack. I will hire my mothers hole to be dug, thank you very much.

This will be my 11 year olds first funeral. So in preparation we have been discussing what to expect and how it all goes down. He has been great about it, except one thing disturbed him. He said to Dustin after processing the latest conversation,
"Dad, I would hate to have the funeral mans job. It would be so sick having to gut the dead person."
(Yuck)
Dustin quickly explained that all of the deer hunting, fish cleaning, and bobcat skinning he has witnessed plays no part in human funeral preparation. Kyler was so relieved, and Dustin was freaked out. Until they get to my sisters house and the exact words "gutting the person" came out of my nephew's mouth. Must be a side effect of raising outdoor, hunting boys and not some Jeffery Domer trait surfacing. 10 more years and we will know for sure.

So the funeral is tomorrow and my sister is giving the eulogy and life sketch. Anyone who knows Kim understands that the fun is just beginning. She has a way of mixing up words and saying completely hysterical and inappropriate things, all without knowing what she has done. That is the best part! She happily keeps talking while the listener sits horrified at something she casually said. I absolutely love when it happens! Tomorrow could be great! Is it wrong I am excited for a eulogy? I can't help it. I will do my best to be respectful during her tearful speech, but I will laugh my ass off when I am standing next to the hand dug hole.

It is all just too weird.

Genitals Or GeniTails?

This weekend we went to the zoo. What a great way to spend a nice winter afternoon with the family. It was enjoyable and yet oddly uncomfortable. Please allow me to explain. My brother Bob* was slightly preoccupied with the genitals of the zoo inhabitants. Cage after cage he would point out the penis, the enlarged clitoris or the gaping anus of the various monkeys. He would point, look and get closer; point, look and get closer before practically pressing his nose to the glass, and then saying to me, "You really are fixated on the genitals of the monkeys, aren't you?"
What?
I could not believe what I was hearing. Was it my face looking at the rear of the Gibbons? No. Were my eyes glued to the baboon buttocks? No. Was I the one debating whether the dangling object looked penile or clitoral? (I might have possibly participated in this discussion)
Here he was, actually trying to make it seem as though I were the sick one; the one fascinated by the weird hanging thing! In reality, he spotted the "thing" hanging there in the first place! Again, he would spot the big pink thing. And again, the small shriveled thing. And the muscular ape, possibly "doing" his thing. And on and on and on. Here Bob* was, painting me as the "genitals at the zoo freak", while it was quite clearly obvious that he was the freak!

From this experience I have learned that when you go to the zoo and see something hanging from the buttocks of a monkey, for the comfort of those around you, do not press your nose to the glass and point. Just pretend it is a tail and not a genital. Your sister will thank you.

*This name has been changed to protect the identity of Clyde.

The Bushes Would Be Safer

I have had four injuries in public bathrooms since 2005. Three of which all happened in the same ladies' room at Cottonwood Hospital. The fourth injury was acquired today in the new Intermountain Medical Center lavatory. I thought that all the bad memories were behind me, but I was mistaken.

The first injury took place on a icy winter night. I had a favorite washroom that I felt relaxed and comfortable using, and so I would take the trip through the dimly lit hallways over by Human Resources and use the homestyle ladies' room with the marble stalls. Nice place, other than the old school baseboard heater that was dangerously close to the toilet. So dangerously close, in fact, that someone hovering over the seat to pee with their pants down around their ankles, might drop a key, bend over to get it, press a bare leg against the red, hot, baseboard heater, and sear the skin on that leg to a crisp. Not such an enjoyable bathroom after all, if that were to happen. And yet I continued to use it.

And now picture, if you will, a toilet seat shaped, not in a circle, but in a U-shape. The kind with the wiggly hinges that allow the seat to slide off the bowl and move around. Not too terrible of a thing. Unless . . .

Unless, you have a little extra inner thigh meat that could get pinched between the seat and the bowl as the seat slides off to the side. As the seat slides, it grabs the delicate inner thigh flesh and crushes it between a cold ceramic bowl and a rock hard, plastic seat. Take a moment to think what you would do, if you were pinned to a toilet by the most tender part of your inner thigh. Not much to do. Just get up fast and examine the damage.

Third injury . . . same as the second. Some people learn things the hard way.

And the final injury–

Some people have a wide stance, I have a wide squat. Nothing inappropriate of course, I just need a little extra leg room.
Take a moment and imagine the toilet paper dispenser. There are jagged edges that are used to tear the paper at the perforation. Not razor-sharp edges. Just kind of dull, sharp edges.
As I began to swiftly rise from the seat, my leg, being in the wide stance position, caught on the blunt serrated edges of the dispenser and gouged out a chunk of flesh from my knee cap. Which hurt. A lot.
It is not an injury you think much of at the time, but as the hours go by, thoughts of the necrotic bacteria infecting your wound surface throughout the day. Bathroom infections getting into the gouge were at the forefront of my mind. The injury from today had the potential of progressing into a deadly injury. Something so simple could have ended my existence, just like that.

And that is why, I have decided that it just is not safe to use the public stalls. I am opting for the open air approach to defecating, and I think I have found the perfect location. It is just outside of the Women's Center doors, and then turn North. I'll bring my own roll.

Spectacular Cheese

Can you, for just one minute ,enjoy this beautiful picture of my cheese platter? Is it not the most spectacular cheese platter you have seen? I believe you must say it is or I will question your honesty. Do you see the adorable little wheels of cheese artistically placed next to the tastefully placed citrus garnishes? Please enjoy the grapes in the two tone colors placed to balance and create symmetry. It is a joy to behold. A conversation starter at any party, and yes, it was created by me! I am so proud I want to inspire others to try and reach this cheese perfection. And so I will share the techniques I used in the creation of this delectable dairy delight. I lovingly watched as my dear cousin rolled the cheese and her helpful husband sorted out the perfect pieces of cheese. I encouraged Janay as she decided where to place the grapes and most importantly I took pictures of my glorious cheese platter while it was coming to life. I encouraged, and praised Sara as she washed the grapes and twisted the limes. I am so proud of my work. I stood by every minute of the creation watching my prize take form. As Tim sliced and assisted, as Janay eyeballed and arranged and as Sara and Kaitlin chilled and unpackaged, I was there. In the end, I graciously allowed my helpers to accept the compliments, but we all know it was my food assignment and I believe it was my idea to have a fantastic platter, so I just wouldn't feel right not taking my share of the credit. Thank you! If you would like me to bring something such as this to a party or family dinner, I would be happy to, I just need to make sure The Stanfords and The Prepchucks will be visiting that weekend, then sign me up!

Pink

Something about the color pink is so scrumptious to me. It goes beyond the normal, "What's your favorite color?" feeling. I mean, I love the color pink. I want to look at it, own it, lick it, squeeze it, touch it and eat it. I see a pink something, anything, and I can imaging myself rolling in it or rolling on it.
The little girl clothing section of any store is a problem. I don't necessarily want to buy the pink dresses, but I want to feel them. Just the pink ones.
Pink stationary is almost more exciting to me than Valentine's Day. Truthfully, when I see pink stationary, I want to lick it. I would love to have a room dedicated to all pink paper. Tissue, wrapping, writing and card stock. All kinds, every kind, as long as it is pink. In all shades and patterns. Just pink.
I feel happy when I think of myself in my pretend pink paper room, with pretty pink wallpaper and a comfy pink chair, with pink sheer drapes fluttering in the breeze, sipping pink lemon aid and writing with a pink ink pen! Serious JOY. The butterfly kind of happiness.
There is one thing above all, that drives my love of pink to beyond normalcy. Pink sugar cookies. Oh...My...gosh. Words cannot describe the love I have for the fluffy, pink, frosted bits of heaven. I want plates of them. Tier upon tier, layer upon layer of beautiful pink frosted cookies! I think the smell of pink is a frosted sugar cookie. And the best part is, I get to EAT them! I see the pink, I enjoy the wondrous pink color, I smell the sugary pink scent and then I get to lick it!
yes.. yes.... Yes....Yes.. YES!YES! That is seriously what I am thinking while I eat one.
Oh, how I love the pink sugar cookies. Thank you Valentine's Day.

Man Up!

My husband is a deep sleeper. He is a sleeper of the deepest kind. He is as close to being dead, but still breathing there is. I actually think he goes so far under, you could perform wisdom tooth extraction and he would happily doze.

It doesn't cause too many concerns but I worry some. I worry when I think what would happen in the case of a home invasion robbery. It would be up to me to defend the family, while Sleeping Beauty dreams. The other concern I have is when I leave for work at 0400 and he is the parent in charge.

This is why Kyler and I are exploring some, shall we say, unusual ideas.

We have decided either a shock collar or a Tazer are options on the table. We don't want to be cruel, but we feel in emergent cases, when we need to rouse Dustin quickly, these would be the most effective tools. Dustin doesn't so much hate the idea, as he is afraid of the idea. He thinks it might permanently disable him or cause some lasting neurological affect. He thinks it might hurt. I'm not buying that excuse.

The police use them. We use them on dogs. In most cases, it's not likely you would DIE from it. I say MAN UP! A little jolt; a little tingle around the neck. And really, he would be asleep for the entire first part of it.

Oh No You Didn't

My brother does not enjoy my latest posts. Although he is by no means a conservative, he apparently is quite sensitive to certain topics. I guess he didn't enjoy my choice of analogies and hair pondering.

I appreciate all comments, whether they be lovers or haters of my thoughts. I do not hold grudges against people who share their opinions. Although your birthday gift may seem shabby this year, it is certainly not because you hated on my blog. I still love you.

And so I have decided, I will completely avoid topics involving anal sex or prostitution. Anything to do with masturbation and porn are completely off limits, and I solomly promise, I will not discuss anything related to lesbians.

You have my word.

Afros' Belong On Your Head

Laser hair removal. Some need it, others abuse it.

I believe, overall, humans have a love hate relationship with hair. Men pay for hair plugs to be shoved into their scalp, mourn fallen hair on the pillow and resort to comb overs as camouflage, while women wax, shave and pluck hair from their bodies to be rid of the ugly strays.
This younger generation of men, are also unnaturally concerned with their nether regions and have taken up the task of shaving legs and "man-scaping" their privates. (For the record,I do not approve.)

The "Brazilian" , which balds your privates, is no longer for strippers only. Regular house wifes, college students and business men are all signing up for that "bald as a bowling ball" look. An obvious abuse of the laser invention!

Let's face it, some people should be court ordered to have laser hair removal; others are needlessly burning every last hair follicle they can.

My first case in point is a friend I'll call Amber. Amber has this idea that when she wears her hair in a pony tail, the back of her neck looks manly and hair-ish. Because of this, she is forking out the big bucks to have the back of her neck tidied up. Who actually studies that back of their own neck?? And why would you think wispy hairs at the nape of your neck are manly? A clear abuse of the laser!

Now on the other hand.....
My sister-in law(Neva), her Grandmother and Aunt decided to go swimming at the family recreation center. While Neva and Grandma quickly changed into their suits and got into the pool, dear Auntie lingered behind. Neva and Grandma were frolicking in the pool when Auntie emerged from the locker room, thus giving them a perfect eagle's eye view of Aunties bikini line. To Neva and Grandmas horrification, Auntie had apparently never heard of a razer and had no problem letting her hair whip in the wind. If you still do not have the visual.....it was like an afro of the crotch, with a ball cap shoved on top. Bushy, thick and only a small hat trying to smash that mess down. Clearly, dear Auntie was in desperate need of the laser treatment!

In cases where the public suffers, something must be done. I believe a charity should be started and money donated to help. We must open free laser clinics! "Operation Pubic hair" is needed around the world . (I had to) The slogan should be..."Afros' Belong On Your Head".

And in cases of abuse....a twelve step program ,where Amber could get the help she needs.

Words Cannot Describe...

Holy mac(pause)aroli.....
Need I say more?
I believe that sums it up.

What Have I done?

Have you ever done something and the next day thought, "What have I done"?

Actually, I know most everyone has done that exact thing... but when they were in their teens or twenties. At almost forty, you are supposed to know what you are doing. You should be in control of your actions and most definitely in control of your life. So why, I ask myself, am I sitting here thinking..."Oh no, what have I done"?

I was like the virgin on prom night. My date wanted to 'do it', and I couldn't stand the PRESSURE. The peer pressure. I caved in. I put out. I gave it away. And now I am left thinking..Yikes! What did I just do?

Ok, so here it is.
I applied for a terribly involved job, that has driven the last two people to the brink of insanity.

So back to the virgin analogy. Now I am wondering if I am pregnant. In other words, did I get the job??
Ok, so if I am pregnant, do I keep it? I don't really want it. Is it possible to give the job offer up for adoption? I mean, I did the deed, I was the one who put out, so am I really stuck with the consequences? Can I, at this point, exercise my right to choose and..... abort? (That was a bit graphic, sorry).

I am just saying, at my age, I should have know better. I just got caught up in the moment; the excitement of...A NEW JOB. And now here I sit, wondering, what are my parents going to say, and why was I such a tramp?

Wii Have a Problem

Wii have a problem. Need I say more?
The two male children I live with (Dustin and Kyler) have begun to show signs of addiction. Dustin is experiencing an unnatural need to engage in conversations involving the word
nun- chuck and Kyler is suffering from achy shoulders and stiff elbows (elbows apparently can get stiff).
Although I feel superior to actually hopping, jumping and looking like an idiot while playing an actual game, I have a slight compulsion to create mini Wii people. Mini Wii people whom have resemblances to family and friends. Therein lies my problem. I feel happily guilty analyzing each facial feature and exploiting the imperfections of people I love. I feel exhilaration creating a miniature, bald brother and a slightly pinched and angry looking sister. I have mastered the double chin effect for my own personal Wii and the wrinkled, no- eye look, for my dear old grandmother. (I show no mercy) .
I can artistically portray the bulbous nosed and meager lipped friend,whilst capturing the joyous retardness of a young neighbor child.
I know it sounds mean. That's why it's a problem.