The sun is shining, and the cherry blossoms are in full bloom. I love this time of the year; because everything is so fresh and new. I love walking outdoors and taking it all in, so why am I on my butt procrastinating instead of going for a walk?
Let’s see I have done nothing today, and yet I have managed to do everything to make sure I don’t have to go outside and enjoy this perfect day:
I have talked to several of my friends, so much so my ear is red from hours of phone exposure. I had to tell them all about the excitement I felt when I got my AMEX card in the mail yesterday. (David was pissed off about the interest rate. (24% - and that is the preferred rate…) He wanted to know why I didn’t do more research.) I told him I needed “Airmiles” for a new espresso machine. I need 7000 and currently I only have 2079. I told him to pay it off each and every month so there will be no interest. He still gave me his angry banker/accountant face.
By the way there is no problem getting credit. I am on disability and David was a student, and those guys at AMEX were all too happy to extend us credit. Now I am well stocked with credit. I have Visa, MC, and AMEX, a mortgage, and a line of credit. I am proud to say that I don’t owe money on my line of credit, or credit cards, and I don’t make car payments. But there is the mortgage, and that is a way different story, because my house is worth jack. What I want to know is why the banks think I need over $50,000 in credit? It has been rumoured that my parents first home was around $20,000, so in essence if this was 1974 I could buy their home with no down payment or employment, because I could just use my credit cards. (I think you can buy you some houses on credit if you want to buy real estate in Detroit. In fact I hear that some houses are so cheap that most people can use their pocket change; I saw in the news that there were houses for sale for $100. That is really sad. ) Too much credit- not enough money; no wonder our economy is in the dumps. I am doing it again- procrastinating. I should really be going for a walk…
I did it, I am amazing! I just took a two hour tour around my neighbourhood. I don’t know why I left it so long?
I could really go for some chocolate ice cream. David likes the ice cream that is the 3 flavours for the price of one. You know the strawberry, vanilla, and chocolate one. I think it is a waste, because the chocolate one is always the first one to go. It is a real disappointment to go to the freezer and believe that you are going to get chocolate ice cream only to find out that all that is left is crappy vanilla and strawberry. I just looked we don’t have any ice cream. Bummer.
I started this entry a week ago, and I still am not finished. Why? It is not like I have a billion and a half things to do. I am just really tired. Hey but good news I now have 2162 “Airmiles”!
I keep telling myself I have to post this entry even if it is boring. I want to write about other exciting new developments in my life, but until I finish this entry I can go no further. I am just going to post this damn entry as-is! I am even too lazy to edit! Oooo I hope the next entry will be better.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Shenanigans!
My dad used to spin tall tales when I was a child. He would tell my friends and me outrageous stories. Recently, according to my mother this was one of his latest shenanigans:
My dad and she had gone to an outdoor market last spring. My dad had his golden retriever with him, and a woman walked up; she told my dad how much she had liked his dog. (This was this lady’s first mistake. She should have never stopped to chat with my father.) During the conversation he somehow convinced this gullible lady into believing that his golden retriever could talk. According to my mother who has nothing to gain; my father was so believable, because he was able to get this woman on her knees in the middle of the outdoor market trying to get the dog to say something. My mom had to walk away, because she was mortified. (Now this part is based solely on my dad’s testimony.) After a few more tries of getting the dog to talk the lady asked my dad if the dog really talks; to which my dad replied with a straight face, “No.” Then to make matters worse he started to giggle at his handiwork. The woman (I am only assuming that it was because she was upset.) slapped my father and walked away.
Did I mention he was a lawyer?
I am not a lawyer, but I do fancy myself as a quick study and sponge. Therefore I too have a gift for pathology spinning stories when it suits me. I applauded my dad for his effort, but I give his follow-through so-so marks. I think I could have pulled it off without getting caught. Unlike my father I am careful with my gift, and I don’t use it often. (I might have used it more often but Holly was born with some sort of immunity to both me and my father’s gift. That means she has never believed our bullshit.)
Holly and I carpool to school with my neighbour and her nephew. (Which means my neighbour drives both kids to school and then we get Starbucks afterwards.) The children do not attend the same school, so we have to drop Holly off first, and then we drive across town to deliver Teri’s nephew to his school.
Let me paint you a picture of Teri’s nephew: He is cute. If my neighbour doesn’t catch it he will go to school with a juice stain on his face that resembles a happy face up his cheeks made from the rim of his juice cup.
He is 8; however due to…ummm…having parents that have been extremely busy that has left him to fend for himself socially. His parents are non-existent by choice. It’s not like they have high paying power jobs- one works at a fast food restaurant, and the other sits in his car all day and smokes. These two clowns just…I have to shut up or I am going to have to start a new blog entry about how much I hate how these two parents parent their children.
Ahem… back to Teri’s nephew as I said he is 8 but because of lack of attention he is more like 4 or 5 when it comes to social development. He interrupts conversations, shouts when he talks, and has no social manners.. However all that being said I like the little guy, I like talking to him, praising him, and spending time with him; except at 8 in the morning I don’t have the energy.
There is one thing I forgot to tell you about him and that is: he is a math genius! At the age of 8 you can verbally give him a set of numbers to add up (plus) or subtract (take away).He is able to do it in his head in a matter of seconds. “What is two-million plus sixty-one million plus five million” He will correctly answer “68 million! Give me a harder one!” This game can go on for the entire ride to school. I have become his personal Alex Trebek. One day I just could not do it anymore, so I did what I do best. I spun him a tale; it went something like this:
Amy: Hey Jake did you read the newspaper yesterday?
Jake: No.
Amy: Did you read the news on YAHOO?
Jake: No.
Amy: Oh, okay.
Jake: What is it?
Amy: I can’t tell you. I don’t want to be the one who does.
Jake: Please tell me. Please!
Amy: No. It would ruin your day. I am NOT about to do that. Please don’t put me in that position.
Jake: You won’t ruin my day. Just tell me.
(I was silent for 5 seconds, which in kid world is 5 hours!)
Amy: Okay, but remember you asked me to. I would rather you Googled it when you got home.
(Deep breathe… after all I was about to deliver devastating news to an 8 year old.)
I read in the newspaper that the Easter Bunny broke his hopping leg.
(His eyes got big!)
Jake: Oh no! How?
Amy: I really don’t know. All that the newspaper said was that is was a “hopping accident”. You know how vague those guys can be.
(Jake nodded his head vigorously in agreement as if that those newspaper guys had previously screwed him over with their lack of reporting information.)
Amy: The newspaper said that the doctors were going to perform an emergency operation to see if they could fix his hopping leg, so he might be able to hop by Easter.
Jake: Does that mean if they don’t fix it that he won’t be coming.
Amy: No! The Easter Bunny is coming no matter what. If his leg is good then he will be able to hop again and hide you eggs, but if his leg is still broken he is going to come, but he is just going to throw your candy in the middle of your living room. You know because he can’t hop.
Jake: This is terrible.
Amy: Well at least he is still going to come, because if it was me I would go to bed, and stay there. But he is dedicated enough to come and give your eggs, even if it means that he just throws them in the middle of your living room. Just think how much easier it will be to find your eggs.
Jake: What hospital is he in? (I think was testing me.)
(Without hesitation)
Amy: Cedars-Sinai Hospital in Las Angeles. That is where the best doctors are. That hospital is so good the celebrities go when they are sick.
(Really worried sounding; I almost felt bad..almost.)
Jake: I hope the doctors can fix him. I want to hunt for eggs. Hey Amy, if he has a broken leg how will he get to my house?
Amy: Well he normally hops but if his leg is still broken he will drive a car.
We are finally at his school. There was no screaming, (I mean talking.) there was no math quizzing. I did no harm, because the Easter Bunny is still coming broken leg or not, and I gave him the best doctors. I have faith that Cedars-Sinai could fix the Bunny and save Easter!
He got out of the car, and my neighbour swatted me. “Don’t you think he is messed up enough? He thinks the sun and moon revolves around you. Everything you say is the truth.”
I didn’t know that. After all I didn’t believe my dad when he told me that same exact fib last year.
We contemplated if we should drive back and tell him the truth, but we decided against it, and went to Starbucks instead. The next day I was at my neighbour’s house and Jake’s father told me that because of my Easter Bunny story he had to “suffer” and listen to Jake talk about the Easter Bunny tragedy for two hours. He didn’t even know it was Easter Sunday this weekend until Jake told him about the Easter Bunny. (Where have you been buddy? For the last two weeks that is all Jake has talked about. If he was consumed with Santa Claus, Superman, Peter Pan, or anything else I would have tailored my story matter around one of those guys. You dum-dum!)
The next time I saw Jake I told him that I read in the newspaper that the surgery was successful, and everything was going to be okay. His Kool-Aid smile on his cheeks got even bigger as he jumped up and down.
My dad and she had gone to an outdoor market last spring. My dad had his golden retriever with him, and a woman walked up; she told my dad how much she had liked his dog. (This was this lady’s first mistake. She should have never stopped to chat with my father.) During the conversation he somehow convinced this gullible lady into believing that his golden retriever could talk. According to my mother who has nothing to gain; my father was so believable, because he was able to get this woman on her knees in the middle of the outdoor market trying to get the dog to say something. My mom had to walk away, because she was mortified. (Now this part is based solely on my dad’s testimony.) After a few more tries of getting the dog to talk the lady asked my dad if the dog really talks; to which my dad replied with a straight face, “No.” Then to make matters worse he started to giggle at his handiwork. The woman (I am only assuming that it was because she was upset.) slapped my father and walked away.
Did I mention he was a lawyer?
I am not a lawyer, but I do fancy myself as a quick study and sponge. Therefore I too have a gift for pathology spinning stories when it suits me. I applauded my dad for his effort, but I give his follow-through so-so marks. I think I could have pulled it off without getting caught. Unlike my father I am careful with my gift, and I don’t use it often. (I might have used it more often but Holly was born with some sort of immunity to both me and my father’s gift. That means she has never believed our bullshit.)
Holly and I carpool to school with my neighbour and her nephew. (Which means my neighbour drives both kids to school and then we get Starbucks afterwards.) The children do not attend the same school, so we have to drop Holly off first, and then we drive across town to deliver Teri’s nephew to his school.
Let me paint you a picture of Teri’s nephew: He is cute. If my neighbour doesn’t catch it he will go to school with a juice stain on his face that resembles a happy face up his cheeks made from the rim of his juice cup.
He is 8; however due to…ummm…having parents that have been extremely busy that has left him to fend for himself socially. His parents are non-existent by choice. It’s not like they have high paying power jobs- one works at a fast food restaurant, and the other sits in his car all day and smokes. These two clowns just…I have to shut up or I am going to have to start a new blog entry about how much I hate how these two parents parent their children.
Ahem… back to Teri’s nephew as I said he is 8 but because of lack of attention he is more like 4 or 5 when it comes to social development. He interrupts conversations, shouts when he talks, and has no social manners.. However all that being said I like the little guy, I like talking to him, praising him, and spending time with him; except at 8 in the morning I don’t have the energy.
There is one thing I forgot to tell you about him and that is: he is a math genius! At the age of 8 you can verbally give him a set of numbers to add up (plus) or subtract (take away).He is able to do it in his head in a matter of seconds. “What is two-million plus sixty-one million plus five million” He will correctly answer “68 million! Give me a harder one!” This game can go on for the entire ride to school. I have become his personal Alex Trebek. One day I just could not do it anymore, so I did what I do best. I spun him a tale; it went something like this:
Amy: Hey Jake did you read the newspaper yesterday?
Jake: No.
Amy: Did you read the news on YAHOO?
Jake: No.
Amy: Oh, okay.
Jake: What is it?
Amy: I can’t tell you. I don’t want to be the one who does.
Jake: Please tell me. Please!
Amy: No. It would ruin your day. I am NOT about to do that. Please don’t put me in that position.
Jake: You won’t ruin my day. Just tell me.
(I was silent for 5 seconds, which in kid world is 5 hours!)
Amy: Okay, but remember you asked me to. I would rather you Googled it when you got home.
(Deep breathe… after all I was about to deliver devastating news to an 8 year old.)
I read in the newspaper that the Easter Bunny broke his hopping leg.
(His eyes got big!)
Jake: Oh no! How?
Amy: I really don’t know. All that the newspaper said was that is was a “hopping accident”. You know how vague those guys can be.
(Jake nodded his head vigorously in agreement as if that those newspaper guys had previously screwed him over with their lack of reporting information.)
Amy: The newspaper said that the doctors were going to perform an emergency operation to see if they could fix his hopping leg, so he might be able to hop by Easter.
Jake: Does that mean if they don’t fix it that he won’t be coming.
Amy: No! The Easter Bunny is coming no matter what. If his leg is good then he will be able to hop again and hide you eggs, but if his leg is still broken he is going to come, but he is just going to throw your candy in the middle of your living room. You know because he can’t hop.
Jake: This is terrible.
Amy: Well at least he is still going to come, because if it was me I would go to bed, and stay there. But he is dedicated enough to come and give your eggs, even if it means that he just throws them in the middle of your living room. Just think how much easier it will be to find your eggs.
Jake: What hospital is he in? (I think was testing me.)
(Without hesitation)
Amy: Cedars-Sinai Hospital in Las Angeles. That is where the best doctors are. That hospital is so good the celebrities go when they are sick.
(Really worried sounding; I almost felt bad..almost.)
Jake: I hope the doctors can fix him. I want to hunt for eggs. Hey Amy, if he has a broken leg how will he get to my house?
Amy: Well he normally hops but if his leg is still broken he will drive a car.
We are finally at his school. There was no screaming, (I mean talking.) there was no math quizzing. I did no harm, because the Easter Bunny is still coming broken leg or not, and I gave him the best doctors. I have faith that Cedars-Sinai could fix the Bunny and save Easter!
He got out of the car, and my neighbour swatted me. “Don’t you think he is messed up enough? He thinks the sun and moon revolves around you. Everything you say is the truth.”
I didn’t know that. After all I didn’t believe my dad when he told me that same exact fib last year.
We contemplated if we should drive back and tell him the truth, but we decided against it, and went to Starbucks instead. The next day I was at my neighbour’s house and Jake’s father told me that because of my Easter Bunny story he had to “suffer” and listen to Jake talk about the Easter Bunny tragedy for two hours. He didn’t even know it was Easter Sunday this weekend until Jake told him about the Easter Bunny. (Where have you been buddy? For the last two weeks that is all Jake has talked about. If he was consumed with Santa Claus, Superman, Peter Pan, or anything else I would have tailored my story matter around one of those guys. You dum-dum!)
The next time I saw Jake I told him that I read in the newspaper that the surgery was successful, and everything was going to be okay. His Kool-Aid smile on his cheeks got even bigger as he jumped up and down.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
The Wheels on the Bus go Round and Round as the Lips go Flap, Flap, Flap.
Sometimes it is hard to blog. I sit in front of my blank white electric paper with a blinking cursor and try to think of things to tell you. I have standards you know. I want to make sure that I am honest, yet entertaining, and most importantly not too whiny. Because if you met me in real-life over a cup of a non-fat, half-sweet, no whip mocha at Starbucks I don’t know if I could be this entertaining. Sure I would tell you about how great David and Holly are, and I would tell you how much I love Starbucks coffee. I would also inform you that I am planning on marrying my Starbuck’s barista if anything happens to David. (I hope and pray nothing does, but it never hurts to have a contingency plan.) You might think I am cold hearted, but my barista makes perfect coffees in less than 20 seconds, and it doesn’t hurt that he is a little good looking.
Oh God I hope he doesn’t read my blog. He has a girlfriend that has been happily dating for the last 5 years. I can see why see took him off the market- imagine waking up to perfect coffee everyday (FOR FREE!)
It would be embarrassing if he was reading my blog at this very moment. I am starting to rethink the subject matter. Who wants to hear about my dog? No?
You would think I would learn after the “Bus-Incident-of-1992” I can remember it clear as a sunny day. You never forget a defining moment.
My friend and I were at the front of the bus oblivious to the rest of the world, because we were doing what we do best, which is what I like to call “gossiping”. I was very extra excited that day, because some very interesting “facts” had unfolded. It was my duty to “debrief” my day.
I started the debriefing. I made sure my friend was making her mental notes. My friend did her job very well of nodding at the right spots, and making sure her eyes had the appropriate amount of hugest to them if I had said anything that required dramatics.
“It all started in class today… I mean I knew he was flirting with me since you know- like forever… but today he was you know different…When I came into class today he was all smiles and “Hellos" he wouldn’t stop talking with me...
Jenny finally piped up and said: “Dude, he totally likes you.”
“I know! He totally does.”
He may have liked me very slightly, or maybe he was just in a really great mood. However during this particular conversation I put on my fisherman’s hat, “You should’ve seen this fish it must’ve been 50 pounds! That is a record you know.”
(Actually it is; I Googled it, and as of this date it is. My congratulations to Don Walker, 61 of Gunnison, Colorado.)
I was dating David at this time, and I was totally infatuated with David, but having someone else pine after you never hurt your ego. Am I right? And bragging about it is even better for your ego.
We started to do what teen girls always do under these circumstances: which was to raise our voices, and giggle. We discussed the subject as if we were beating a dead horse. (Kind of like what I am doing now.)
It was a long bus ride; maybe too long. All the sudden I receive a friendly tap on my shoulder; it’s THE guy. He was sitting behind me- OH CRAP!!!! I didn’t know what to say. I was gobsmacked. He smiled, and said, “If you’re going to talk about someone you should look around to make sure they are not sitting behind you.”
Even though I was embarrassed he was gracious. He did not hold it against me. He was still kind to me at school. He soon got himself a very lucky girlfriend.
Lesson learned: I will no longer gush about people who have the "hots" for me while I am on a bus without looking behind me of course.
Oh God I hope he doesn’t read my blog. He has a girlfriend that has been happily dating for the last 5 years. I can see why see took him off the market- imagine waking up to perfect coffee everyday (FOR FREE!)
It would be embarrassing if he was reading my blog at this very moment. I am starting to rethink the subject matter. Who wants to hear about my dog? No?
You would think I would learn after the “Bus-Incident-of-1992” I can remember it clear as a sunny day. You never forget a defining moment.
My friend and I were at the front of the bus oblivious to the rest of the world, because we were doing what we do best, which is what I like to call “gossiping”. I was very extra excited that day, because some very interesting “facts” had unfolded. It was my duty to “debrief” my day.
I started the debriefing. I made sure my friend was making her mental notes. My friend did her job very well of nodding at the right spots, and making sure her eyes had the appropriate amount of hugest to them if I had said anything that required dramatics.
“It all started in class today… I mean I knew he was flirting with me since you know- like forever… but today he was you know different…When I came into class today he was all smiles and “Hellos" he wouldn’t stop talking with me...
Jenny finally piped up and said: “Dude, he totally likes you.”
“I know! He totally does.”
He may have liked me very slightly, or maybe he was just in a really great mood. However during this particular conversation I put on my fisherman’s hat, “You should’ve seen this fish it must’ve been 50 pounds! That is a record you know.”
(Actually it is; I Googled it, and as of this date it is. My congratulations to Don Walker, 61 of Gunnison, Colorado.)
I was dating David at this time, and I was totally infatuated with David, but having someone else pine after you never hurt your ego. Am I right? And bragging about it is even better for your ego.
We started to do what teen girls always do under these circumstances: which was to raise our voices, and giggle. We discussed the subject as if we were beating a dead horse. (Kind of like what I am doing now.)
It was a long bus ride; maybe too long. All the sudden I receive a friendly tap on my shoulder; it’s THE guy. He was sitting behind me- OH CRAP!!!! I didn’t know what to say. I was gobsmacked. He smiled, and said, “If you’re going to talk about someone you should look around to make sure they are not sitting behind you.”
Even though I was embarrassed he was gracious. He did not hold it against me. He was still kind to me at school. He soon got himself a very lucky girlfriend.
Lesson learned: I will no longer gush about people who have the "hots" for me while I am on a bus without looking behind me of course.
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