Sunday, September 30, 2007

How I spent my summer...

This summer, I reluctantly accepted a "non-profit" position working the Philly Cheese Steak stand at Red Rocks Amphitheater in Morrison, Colorado. When I say "non-profit" what that technically means, I agreed to work 4-5 hours a night for upwards of 32 nights, over the course of 4 months, with the guarantee of making $50+ dollars a shift. With promises too good to refuse, I agreed to help man the booth selling pseudo Philly Cheese sandwiches to the various concert scene masses. Why would a mom of 4, with a successful career, decide to become a cheese steak chopper? Well, I was lured. Lured with the notion, that I could make fast bucks to offset my son's exorbitant soccer fees. But, now that I've worked in excess of 32 shows. I now feel that I was duped into completing a fools errand! I walked away from this summer, with more than a full soccer account. Much much more...

Working a concession stand is physically intensive work. I didn't expect to sit on my butt all summer long raking in the cash doing nothing. But, someone should have forewarned me when I signed up this year that I will eventually lose all sensation in my feet and lower back. Standing in steak grease on hard concrete for 32 days takes a toll on your poor tootsies. Not to mention, the lower back pain you'd develop from bending over 200 times a night reaching for rolls out of a laundry hamper! Or the numerous steam burns that I would endure tending to the planter grill.

It would have also been most beneficial to learn that I would end up smelling like a 135 pound cheese steak by October 1st. The residual meat, pepper, and onion smells has permeated my skin. No matter how hard I scrub, how hot my shower water is, or what type of soap I use, nothing seems to alleviate the stench of 8000 cheese steak sandwiches made over the course of the summer. Someone, somewhere should have warned me that my hands would forever smell despite the 50 boxes of latex gloves I would eventually go through. I guess I was stupid into thinking that I could handle over 2000 pounds of meat, and not have some lasting effects. Maybe in time that smell will dissipate, but for now, when someone curiously asks me what my "perfume" is called, I will tell them "Holstein."

Duped I say.. I was duped into thinking that working at Red Rocks would be easy money. Besides the on the job burdens, no one ever prepared me for the different types of people I would interact with. Each different concert would bring out different subsets of our culture. So often, we only interact with people who share our values, and interests. Rarely co-mingling with people distinctly different from ourselves. Not ,me.. I've seen all the varieties of people out there. Smart, stupid, rich, poor, clean, dirty, funny, boring, drunk, stoned, normal, happy, sad, flirtatious, abrupt, chatty, you name it. I've met them all. From Rappers to cowboys, they all are unique in their own way. But, none compare to HIPPIES.

I've seen about 50,000 hippies over the course of the summer. So many hippies, that I have now been able to classify them into several different groups. All equally stoned on pot, most are nearly incapable of interacting with "normal" society. Although I'm not sure what normal society is anymore. For the sake of the argument. Let's just say, anyone not on drugs is normal in my book. I worked around 10 hippy events. Each specializing in a unique subset of the hippy culture. Each more unique than the last.

The Broke Hippy: After they somehow paid for their concert ticket, they are left with about $1.66 in change to survive for the entire weekend. As a result, they live in the barter world. "Hey man, I'll trade you my hemp necklace for a sandwich." or "Hey man, can I trade you one of my "special stamps" for a trash bag, so I don't have to sit in the rain and get my joint wet?" or there's the " HEYYY MAAAN, I'll give you guitar lessons for a sandwich". Then there is the "Hey MAAAAN, how about a HUG" Hippy. That one particularly grossed me out.

The Panhandling hippy. "Hey man, can I have a piece of cheese for free?" or the "Instead of throwing it away, can I have that sandwich you just dropped on the ground?" Sorry Pal, I dropped it in wet bird poop, "I'm so hungry man, I'll eat around the poop, just give it to me for free." Or "Hey Dude, I only have $1.66 can I have 1/4 of a sandwich?" or the "Hey man, if I buy a sandwich and then drop it on the ground, will you replace it so my buddy can eat too?" hippy. "Hey Man, why don't you quit the ganja, go get a job, and buy your own friggin' sandwich?"

Stoned Mama Brings Her Baby to the Acid Show Hippy: I can not tell you how many women I saw carrying around her newborn babies in a shoulder slings. Standing next to her husband while he and his buddies are freaking out on acid. NO, the baby isn't gonna get scarred for life.. Nah, little tyke won't get sold for the next baggie of stuff. Stay in denial hippy ma'am. Or my personal favorite. "The tie dyed dressed mini toddler hippy, staring up at a shirtless pastie clad- no pant wearing hippy ma'am. While, she's staring into the black hole of her hemp handbag, in search of $4.00 so her little boy can have a Red Bull. What the heck is that all about? Rock on hippy Mama, rock on!

The Stinky Skudzy Hippy- Afraid of the water, unable to bathe so you can smell them coming hippy 100 yards away. Wanting to give you a high five after you hand them their sandwich. The stench worse than "eau de Holstein". I'll give you a sandwich for free if you promise to just take a bath! Hell, I'll give you every sandwich in the bin, if you just go wash the grime off your hands. Oh, honey.. braided arm pit hair and the glow in the dark pony beads attached to your leg hair. Is that the new look for Fall? Just psychedelic man.

The Organic Hippy- Vegan, authentic greenie type hippy, who is frustrated there is not a vegetarian option in concession stands. But, plagued with the munchies she dares asks if the cheese in the Chicken Cheese Steak is soy. When we tell her NO it's fake cheese , she asks if the chicken is at least free range. "Uh, I don't know. The box just says Costco on it." OK then, she replies, "I'll take it". Way to stick by your morals, you stoned out freak!

My personal favorite, the Mystical Hippies. So caught up in the transendence of what life has bestoed upon them, they are in awe about everything. These are the hippies concerned about auras and past lives. I'm sure the the acid they just took while standing in line has them free associating with anything they come into contact with. "Hey Man, my sandwich has a mystical air around it. I think it's aura is telling me to eat it!" No bud, that's call steam and you are hungry. Why don't you tell your aura to hand over the cash, so we can help the aura in line.

Lastly, there is the authentic, stuck in the 1960's hippy. A routine visitor to our stand. This is the guy that travels around the country in his beat up, tie dyed painted short school bus. Big white beard, tie dyed hippy beanie hat. Confused about why things cost so much these days. Well, Mr. Burnout, most people have JOBS. You know that place you go to and do a service in exchange for money. But,
no, you offer hippy back rubs in exchange for pot and food. Wanting to spend your time talking to me about the olden days. Ignoring the fact that I'm trying to man handle another 200 sandwiches because the rest of your hippy brethren just got the munchies. So, please wander off for your next hit of whatever you are wanting. I don't care what Woodstalk was like. I just want to collect my 50 bucks and go home! Please just get away from me, you freakin'geezer hippy.

I'm sure there are a few functional people out there that only dabble in the hippy world. Work from 9-5, and only play hippy in their free time. But, the desire to be an occasional psychedelic whack-a-do is beyond me. And hey, more power to you, if you want to live the "good" life wandering from hippy festival to hippy festival. But, please do me one favor next year.. when you come to a concert in my town, and want a cheese steak, please have $6.50 on you. I don't want a hug, or a necklace, I don't care if life is all about the "LOVE, MAN," all I want you to do is to hand me $6.50 for your meal and walk away. Tell your Jerry Garcia stories walking, pal. I could give a hoot about your smelly, grimy, dreadlock, tie dye wearing, acid taking, pot smoking lifestyle. I'm here so my kids can play sports and stay off the drugs, something in which you miserably failed at achieving!

Friday, September 28, 2007

Game on Smack Board.

Bring it..

Looks like someone has been pulling these posts and posting over there. Look now MA, I'm syndicated. (eye roll)

My life as a Mouse killer, Dog butt examiner.

It's that time of year here in Colorado. Warm days, cool nights. So that means mice. For some reason, the tail tale (or is it tale tail? ) signs are more prevalent than normal (lots of mice poop). I think we must of had a family reunion under the sink! Little piles everywhere. I also think I saw a few tiny beer cans under there too, a few tire tracks if you look close enough. Maybe they are "Hells Mice"?; anyway I digress.

Now, I'm not a big fan of the little creatures, but I don't run and jump on the table and hold my skirt up when I see one either. And since my hubby is a total wuss when it comes to our four legged friends, I'm the "TRAPPER" of the family. Over the course of this week, I've caught 4 of the little buggers. I have a total of 8 traps set at any one time. So, I mean business!

Confident there are more lingers out there in the crevasses of my kitchen, I decide this time to set a trap under the corner of the fridge. As I was cleaning up after dinner. I heard that faint "Snap" sound. A bit conflicted over that sound, (I feel sad that I have to exterminate them.. but glad they are gone), I immediate look to the fridge to see if that one was the lucky winner. But, guess what, it was GONE! I know.. that's not a good sign.

I get down on all fours to see if maybe the trap got shoved under the fridge further than when I initially set it, and it was flat out missing! This is weird, because no one in my family touches the traps (again.. wussies).
As I'm searching for the trap, guess what I see....

The little mouse trying to drag itself with it's front legs across the floor of the kitchen! Little scratchy noises on the floor. OMG! CREEP-OH-LA!! It had it's little tongue sticking out and everything!

EEK! Now that's nasty! I felt so bad for it! You think they'd tell each other to watch out for the traps. But, no.... free meal, come and get it. Snap!

So, what do you do now? You have to put it out of it's misery! I really had no clue what to do or how to do it. I called my FIL, the hunter. He suggested I whack it with a hammer! UH NO! He said to put it in a baggy, and squeeze the air out of it. Again. Forget it buddy. Nothing seemed humane. I decided to drop the BIG phone book on it. Fast and hopefully painless.

Man I feel bad. When I disposed of the poor thing in the trash, I said a little mouse prayer over it! I know trapping mice is a necessary evil, as
they carry disease and everything. I just wish I didn't have to do it! I really feel terrible.

Then about 12 hours later.. I get the delightful chore to do this..
Keep in mind, what I had to do yesterday, this could be 100 times worse!!)

My 4 year old DD came to me about 1/2 hr ago and said, "Suntins wrong with "Harley" (our dog). There is suntin commin' out of his bbhind."


So, I go find the poor thing, and sure enough, there's something coming out alright. Not entirely sure what to do (Twice in 24 hours I'm clueless as to what I should do!)

I make a phone call. This time I call the vet. Vet says gently pull on it and if you feel any resistance to stop and come right in.

Well, I pull on it, and it's a string. The string from one of my "lady supplies". Which tells me the other part is still inside. This is not good!
At this point, I'm not quite certain who's more embarrassed, me or the dog!

EW EW EW. Where's a half dead mouse when you need one?

I call the vet back, tell her what it is. She says.. oh no problem it'll pass. They eat those all the time! What????

What is it with dogs? They sniff buts, eat their own poop, and now enjoy the taste of a used well.. you know. I'm fairly certain, I will never let a dog lick me ever ever again!!


My life has come down to killing half dead mice with the phone book, and pulling used tampons out of dogs butts. Great! Just Great! Any road kill you need me to scoop up. Looks like I'm your girl!

ew ew ew ew ew ew ew ew. (I need a hug to stop the growdie shivers!)

I quit. Can I have a mulligan on the lat 24 hours. I'm creeped out.

Missing: One Mojo

Where has my Mr. Mojo gone? I sit here, pictures to scrap, supplies at the ready, and yet no desire. No inspiration, no nothing. You would think after spending 3 days in Vegas looking at all the goodies available, seeing example after example of project ideas, I would have come back primed for creating something magical. But, you'd be wrong. I have the worse case of scrappers block ever. Something must be done. I need a scrap muse. Anyone know where I can find one?

Wednesday, September 26, 2007

Vegas or Venice?

I've finally had the opportunity to check out my photographs from Vegas. One would expect that a scrapbooker, on a "scrap related" vacation would have taken hundreds of photographs. But, sadly, I didn't take all that many. I guess I was just living in the moment. To distracted by all the glitz of the strip, to actually snap a ton of pictures. You would also have thought that since the point of my vacation was to meet my good friend Leslie (Luv2talk) in real life for the first time, that she and I would have seized the moment to take some snapshots. But, we didn't. How odd is that! Not one picture of the two of us together! Three cameras between us, and not one side by side shot of us both!

Here's a good one of Luv2talk, doing what she does best.. Talking. Yackin' it up with fellow message boarder ~Kim~ at the Venetian!

The two of us had a blast. I'd go again in a heart beat. Maybe this time, we'd take pictures of us together. On the bright side, I fell in love.. Sorry hubby, the Blue Man has my heart.

Tuesday, September 25, 2007

Cold Nuggets

I don't know if it's the lack of qualified workers out there, or the school system not teaching our kids what fast food looks like in picture form, but the quality of service I seem to be getting at the various drive-thru's is abhorrent. And if you one day hear on the news that some stressed out soccer mom, went all Burger King on someones sorry ass, you can just assume it's me.

Let me tell you why..
Mostly likely, it's because I just spent 20 minutes in the not so fast drive-thru trying to explain to Little Johnny what I need. Continually having to correct my order, as he pushes the buttons on the cash register. Because no matter how clearly I speak into that little box, or how many times I correct the order taker, I always seem to get the wrong thing in my sack. I'm now 98% certain that I will get "boned" on something in my order. Fast food service has become so pathetic that my family has come up with it's own term to express how often we get screwed out of the thing we actually ordered. For those that don't know the term "Boned", it means to have your lovely man get his (ahem) first, and then to roll over and fall asleep. Thus leaving you high and dry (wink wink)!! That's the royal boned.

How hard a task is it to push the picture of a hamburger when someone says hamburger? Where exactly does the translation go wrong? I'm fairly certain, that I'm ordering the precise thing that I want. I know I never say fries when I mean chicken tenders. Or limp salad, when I want a Sprite. So, I'm sure the problem isn't on my end. Seeing how I've had so much time waiting for the guy to screw up my order, I think I've determine the exact point in which the entire order process goes completely awry.

One would think it's me because I speak some whacked out version of English. But, nope you'd be wrong. I have no drawl or twang. Nor do I make those weird Swahili clicky sounds. I speak plan ole boring, non-nasal English. I'm from Colorado. We have no accent whatsoever. That said, I do think I've come up with six possible explanations why my order is constantly screwed up:

1. The fast food guy lacks fingers and has to use his nose to push the buttons.

2. He's incapable of pushing a button that corresponds to the spoken word, because he missed training day that showed him which buttons were which. So, is left to guess which pictures match which word.

3. Order taker is in collusion with government agency, doing a psychological study on how to drive soccer mom's nuts.

4. Burger Joint's drive thru philosophy: "You get what you get, and you don't throw a fit." (Funny, that's my philosophy too!)

5. Window person's 20 face piercings and enormous ear eyelet is causing electromagnetic interference in machine, so order is getting messed up.

6. New "reality" show being secretly filmed. Called, "Cold Nuggets" Premise of show is to see how long it takes stressed out soccer mom to go postal when her order is screw up. Grand prize for patient moms.. You'll get your meal right!

Because, I don't believe in any governmental conspiracy theory, and I don't think a prosthetic hand would guarantee a correct order, I'm going to select answer #5.

You expect that when they correctly repeat your order back to you, you are going to be given all the right food. Yeah, well you'd be wrong. No. Burger and fries really means fish and onion rings. I honestly think it's because the giant ear eyelet has done untold damage to his hearing. And thus he has to guess what you just ordered.

Frustrated, I now check my bag before I pull away from the window. I usually find any errors before I leave. But, thus forced into a dilemma. Make practice on time and accept what ever is in the bag. Like a surprise. OR Wait for "window boy" to come back and get your order fixed correctly. With the added bonus of having to listen to Mr. Impatient behind me honk, because I haven't pulled away yet. No.. that's not pressure.

And people wonder why soccer mom's are stressed out?! Hello, I personally have 4 kids. Two of them have to be at soccer practice at the same time, each in a different part of town. Practice starts at 5:30pm. School ends at 3:30, there is homework and chores to do before we depart for the night. The third kid has to be at hockey practice at 4:15. Yeah, I have just enough time to swing through Burger King, on my way to the ice rink and shove some mediocre food down my kids throats. That is if I can actually get what I ordered. Sure, I have 20 minutes to spend arguing with Crappy Attitude guy and his eye tattoo over the fact that I wanted a Sprite and NOT triple bacon avocado cheese fries.. Just get my order right, so I can spend my time driving between stops trying to use my teeth to pry the double knots out of a pair of muddy cleats.

Oh, and why you are at it, can you complete my experience by making sure you ignore my request for a girl toy, because my toddler is totally not going to whine because she got the eye booger ball instead of the pink pony that she had her heart set on.

I think I'll just take my cold nuggets and cut my losses thank you very much. We can try again tomorrow.

I'm offensive and I don't care!

I have one real question. Is there a new class out there called: "I’m Offended and I'm Gonna Tell You All about It 101!"?

Lately, I've come across so many people who have received an A+ in that class. I think some have taken the Masters course! This mostly applies to those that read online content posted on some message board somewhere.

So many of my friends have been receiving negative feedback on something they have either done or said that has caused someone, somewhere to be offended. The thing that is most surprising is the complainers are all STRANGERS! People out there in the world, so put-off at something you did, that they perceived it as a personal attack on their character. So, much so they felt the urge to complain! Not a friend who knows you, but some random person who's made assumptions about how you converse that they take offense to your tone and word choice. Even though they have no idea what your tone may be because they've never met you.

Ms. Tight Ass' sole mission in life is to make it known that she doesn’t find you funny. She’s not even interested in why you find it humorous, or the back information behind your story, and why it could be considered funny. All that she cares about is making darn sure you understand she finds you obscene! She's not even defending the opposing viewpoint behind the subject matter in which you felt the need to comment about. She's some goody goody lady living 1500 miles away, stashed in a hole somewhere, making judgments on the things you say and do. She also is hell bent on making you alter your behavior to her standards. And if you don't do what they want, they are going to continue to be disgruntled until you either give in, or flat out tell them to go F themselves.

(OMG, she's offending all people who live in holes!! NO, pal. Just the one lady who lives in a hole and wants to bash me for some good natured bantering about some benign subject.) Uh, Boy.. Go ahead and laugh-you know it's true! People behave this way all the time. OK, maybe you shouldn’t laugh. I make take offense to it.

Good example. A friend had a recent request to change her avatar. Someone wanted it gone. Banished from her sight. Did she know the requester? NOPE –just a random busy body lady. Did the stranger give her an adequate reason why it should be removed? Nope. The lady couldn't explain the meaning behind the picture of the avatar to her young daughter. So, instead of saying, "Sorry honey, I don't know what it means", this person figured it best to get it removed from all consciousness!! Then had the nerve to complain even more reverently, when she was told "No". Besides, we’re not talking porn here. It’s an innocent picture of a famous singer. How is that offensive?

Oh, hey Kim, while you are at it "I don't like the squiggly lines next to your message board name. Will you change that for me too? Oh, and would you mind moving because, I don't like your house, I find the color offensive" How's that for brass balls?

I guess my point is... Why start out looking to be insulted?. I'm quite certain not everyone shares my sense of humor. But, just because you don’t get the joke, it’s not an insult on your intelligence (or lack thereof), or a blatant attack on your sensibilities. It means you don’t find me funny. Just because you don't like what I do, doesn't give you the right to ask me to alter something to suit your tastes. Just because you don’t giggle, it doesn't mean that it's not humorous to someone else . Oh, and by they way, it’s called freedom of the legs. If you don't don’t like what I say, walk away, and go read something you do find more to your satisfaction. I’m not evil, or inappropriate. It just means you and I have different opinions. That's OK. But, you can damn well be certain, I’m not going to complain to you about it! I have no desire to make you conform to my standards! Geez, people. Accept that people like different things and move on. Oh, and while you are moving on, how about stopping by the sense of humor store, and pickin' you up one!

Life is so much more enjoyable if you can laugh at it!

Sunday, September 23, 2007

The Smack Attack.

I recently found out that I was a current subject of a scrap smack board. For those of you who are clueless about what a SMACK message board consists of, It's a group of sad, pathetic, lonely, bitter, undersexed, pathetic.. (oh, I know I said that one already, but it's worth repeating),lame people, who have nothing better to do, but to try and verbally abuse the things in which they do not understand. So, given their limited brain power, they basically try and harass everything. Bitch about what I do, call me names, yeah, I'll run and hide, forced into giving up posting on the message board. Good plan. I think it may be working!

Because, ALL of the smack ladies, neither have the talent, ambition, or motivation to participate in something positive, they choose to bash those that do. I pray for their children! They must be some serious parental role models! Just bitch bitch bitch. I'm sure a few of the older kids have already jabbed a hot poker in their ears just to keep from having to hear their mother's voices!! Crying.. please make it stop!

Ironically, the websites "motto" if you will, discusses the right to free speech and how it honors every opinion. But, what I find most amusing ,is they will turn on one another within this little whacked out group if they dare express an opposing opinion to what ever they are currently bashing. Oh, speak freely only if you think the way we think! Oh, and only if you want to bash that in which you do not have the ambition to participate. It is a smack website, that's what we do!

Well, being the particular bait for this little feeding frenzy this week, I have come under the "attack" of their little shark group. It has been their attempt to insult me by calling me names, scrutinizing all grammar and vocabulary choices I have posted on my personal website, as well as the message board in which I frequent. How sad, they have the time and energy to spend time harassing someone who could give a crap. They even resorted to calling me a lesbian! Ouch! No.. don't call me a girl lover, that would ruin my credibility with my friends and family. No, don't try and use real humor to denigrate me. That would be too difficult a task.

My biggest mistake this entire weekend, was to respond. Why did I do that? Well, I just wanted them to know that all the comments they post I find hysterical!! Oh.. "Daisydog has rabies". Good one! "Daisydon't come around no more we think you are stupid." My particular favorite insult.. was calling me "Dumber" from the infamous duo "Dumb and Dumber!" Ooh, no.. I may cry to my Mommy for that one. Stop!Please be nice to me! Sniff Sniff.. (tear) Oh, Brother..

To give them credit. They do come back with some good one liners in response to anyone that has an altering view point."FU!" Oh.. that took a comedic genius to come up with that response. Or.. "Did you just drop off the turnip truck lady?" Now, I bet all 10 of them had to conference on that response.

What someone really needs to explain to me, if a hobby is so painful, why participate in it? Why visit a message board where everyone drives you crazy? Why Why bitch for the sake of bitching? Isn't there something more productive they could be doing with their time? Oh... wait, this is their hobby! To be miserable. But, more than likely, they are just to damn lazy to get up out of their chairs and walk away from their fingerprint stained computer monitors and actual develop real memories or friendships. To actually invest in something that may have an actual impact on improving their lives. No, all they have time to do is drink Diet Coke and chain smoke. Bark orders from the sweat stained office chairs at their offspring. "Now Bobbysue, I said, open the box of Hamburger Helper right this minute! Don't forget to use tap water instead of toilet water on the noodles or I'll tan yer hide. And when you are done, bring Mamma's her hemorrhoid cream!"

Well, post on girls. I'm loving the unintentional humor you produce every time you post! To stupid to understand that you are the brunt of your own joke!

Friday, September 14, 2007

It was V day today!

Hubby had the big V done today. You know. The make no babies kind of V. While feeling somewhat sympathetic to his entire situation, I must honestly say that all in all I found a wee bit of pleasure in seeing the discomfort he experienced. Not the physical pain, because that looked like it hurt, but more the pride side of the procedure. After 4 kids, I've tolerated a ton of embarrassment in the lady region. Lots of lookie loos. Lots of discussions whether or not I'm doing "OK" down there, lots of pushing, poking, and prodding. Similar to how one dresses a turkey on Thanksgiving. It was time he ponies up to the humiliation bar, and take a good swig of mortification!

Today, it was his turn to feel a bit exposed. Most notably the point in which the nurse put his man giblets in the cut out square of the sterile dressing, then shines a 200 watt spot light on them, as if preparing for a Broadway monologue. She then promptly left the room, I'm sure the hub thinks it's to go fetch the Dr., I want to think it's to laugh in private! How could someone not think that isn't just funny? Man laying on table with bobbles hanging out? That's comical! I know I couldn't control my laughter, just because of the visual. While waiting for the doctor to appear, I did ask if he was ready to give me a little giggly show. Such question was met with a bit of a dull dead-pan stare. I proceeded to a little rendition of I've got blue balls.
"I've got blue balls, I've got testis, I've got stitches, who could ask for anything more? Old Doc Muller, has my vaaaaaaaassss.." Same dead pan stare. OK, maybe not so funny then, but the fact that we can laugh about it is worth it's weight in sutures. I know he made little off color jokes when I was arse up in stirrups. Revenge is mine now buddy! I'll make all the dumb little jokes I can think of!

The thing that I found most amusing was the way the medical staff handled his privates, as if they were handling a ziplock of franks and beans. Very much mechanical in their approach. No regard for the patients sense of embarrassment his parts are just hanging out for all to see. In contrast, when you visit the lady doctor, they are careful to tell you about every movement they make. "OK Mrs Sterner, we are about to insert this probey thing into your bajingo and see if we can make your eyes bulge out of your head. Oh, and by the way, it may be a bit cold." Nope, not the Man doctor. Flip Flop, out goes the dong. No warning, no preparation that you are gonna be showing your wears. Not much different than flopping out the picture of your kids from your trifold wallet.

On the outside looking in, the fact that they can carry on a normal conversation while holding your privates in your hand is a real talent! "Well, Mr. Sterner, wasn't it Jaque Plante the first NHL hockey goalie to wear a full size mask?" "Why Yes Dr. Muller, I do believe you are right." Fondle Fondle Fondle. Ignore Ignore Ignore. How is it men can ignore the obvious by talking bout sports? What is it about the save percentage of a goalie, or the batting average of the lead off hitter of the 1959 Yankees that puts them at ease? HELLO, you have a strange man's johnson in your hands? What does statistics have to do with anything? As a woman, I'll never understand that. So I guess in my book, I'll take that as humor.

Being a scrapbooker by nature, I fought the urge to take numerous photographs. Some of course are just not appropriate. The shaving procedure by nurse Sharon, probably not an 8x10 glossy for the fridge. Dr. Muller kneeding your testes as if he was making sheepherders bread, not one for the scrapbook, or the image of Mr Happy making his debut. OK, maybe that could be one for my wallet. That said. I did take a few to commemorate the moment. Hubs curled toes as he's being injected with anesthetic. That's a sight all men need to see when they think birthing a child is a snap! Oh, and I will be taking pictures of the specimen bottle he gets to deposit the results of his next date night into! Have to make sure the little swimmers went on permanent vacation. Such memories will be documented for all future Sterner generations to see on one of my scrapbook pages. I'm actually inspired to work on this page. Nothing like a little medical procedure to help Mr. Mojo come back home
where he belongs!

All in all a good day. Future encounters without worry that another mini-me is in production, makes all Hubs discomfort worth it. Easy for me to say so right? To Hub's credit, he amazes me every day, with his sense of humor. He's always ready to use his wit to make things easier to tolerate, both for himself, and for me too. Today was no exception. I could see the trepidation on his face. Thoughts of what he could expect, fear that it would be painful. I'm sure a bit fearful that his man parts were about to be fondled by a couple of strangers. Amazingly, he still managed to find a way to laugh. That's a person with real brave character.

Well, I'm happy to report that Hub is at home as I type this. A fresh bag of baby peas on his "area", hyped up on Vicodin. Me, sitting in a cold ice arena reminiscing about the day. Good times I tell you.. good times. A day forever memorialized in my next scrapbook page.

Peace out you scrap dorks. May you find humor in your next procedure..

Monday, September 10, 2007

My normal Monday night...

I purchased my laptop for the sole purpose of digitally scrapbooking while waiting for my kids to do what they do. Sports. Either games or practices. Lots of waiting around. Not useless time spent, but these activities puts my passion on hold. In today's digital age of wireless Internet and high speed access, I figured, why not. I can scrap and watch the kids practice. Hockey is great because the rink has free wi-fi!! Not in the scrappy mood, I figured I'd jump on the blogging bandwagon. Who says a mom of 4 can't be trendy. So Here I sit.

Some things to ponder... Why do they make bleachers so uncomfortable? You'd think with the extra butt padding I'm carying around, I could tollerate the hard plastic. Well, think again. I now have little no skid grippy outlines pressed into my tookus. Thanks Bleacher Boys, that sight will be a great turn on for my hubby later. Last thing.. hey Mr. Figgity Dad, STOP WIGGLING AROUND-typing when you are in a cold ice arena is hard enough. I don't need your squirm-in legs making matters worse.

Well enough Daisydo ramblings.. more to come later.

How I spend an hour out of my day....

After last week and all stress that surrounded my daily life, I decided to hit Archivers for a little retail therapy yesterday!! Yeah, I could go for a walk, but.. there's no goodies at the end of that rainbow.. Hey, I walked up and down the store, that's exercise right? There is something so soothing about going into a scrapbook store, wandering the aisles with a girlfriend. Caressing all the goodies, Oohing and Ahhing all the new papers, stamps, chipboard, what ever. Quietly discussing the potential contained in each and every element we look at. (OK, nothing screams quiet about me. But, I can be contained.. I don't make a scene everywhere I go... it's just a minor commotion.) As always, I head straight for the HOT SPOT upon entering the store. Much to my surprise, what do they have? INQUE Boutique stamps! A small assortment of Christmas and misc. stamps for $1.99. Also in the HS, Stampendous has a selection of clear acrylic stamps. Smaller than the Mike's stamps, but equally cute. All in all a really good bargain. Of course I stocked up on "dollar" stamps, to the grand tune of about $45! How is it that bargains cost so much? Then where do I head? You have to ask? The Acrylic section! Because the dollar stamps just don't completely satisfy my insatiable hunger for stamps these days! Hero Arts has new flourishes! A D O R A B L E !!! (I did that hokey pokey dance with those. In my basket out of my basket in my basket.) I wondered around with them, until I stumbled upon the full sized INQUE Boutique stamps! All I can say is CUTE!!! And actually reasonable in price! So, out with the flourishes, in went the IB- Note It stamp. And only $3.99. Cheap Cheap Cheap!! I wont even go into the paper selections I made. Let's say, that flourishy office/ledger/ cute scalloped-funky cut border paper is still all the rage! And Crate Paper designs are sooo yummy! The texture is so divine it's just fine! Next, I like to head back to the work room. I like to "SPY" on the girls back there. I'm not an out of the house cropper. I tend to scrap alone. I have NEVER lugged my stuff out. Another words, I have house supplies.. no feral paper here! Watching the croppers work is a bit of a case study for me. Curious girls back there. I'm sure a nice collection of standard scrapbookers. Some sit, some stand. Some Like the CM look, with the die cut shapes and little doll people. Others a bit more CKish in style. A few bring in their entire stash, while the bulk of them only a small tote. Not to bash those ladies.. but none of them can hold a tombow to the talent you girls display here on a daily basis! I'm rather curious though... how do they show so much self constraint? To only crop at the store? To only buy the stuff they need at the time they need it? That's so foreign to me. Yes.. I understand WHY they do it. I'm just impressed that they CAN do that. To have the entire store open to their disposal, and to only walk back to their table with one piece of paper. WOW that's a feat! I do have one confession though, no it's rather a statement to those ladies that crop in the Archivers work room. Here goes... "Ladies in the backroom..... I love watching you so diligently work. But, a word from the bit more creative....There is more out in the store other than those oval templates you are all so scrapbent on using. Perhaps use photos larger than 4x6! Look at the examples on the wall! Break out.. use a square photo! Layer some paper. It's ok. Your page wont explode!! I know patterned paper is a bit tricky to use. But, there are more patterns than polka dots and checks. Try them. Or hey... how about a little rub-on here and there? Put it on TOP of a photo! It's ok, you can still jog your memory with the picture!" I promise, the skills you used in geometry class can be used other places than on your layout! Try a curve. Oh, and most importantly.... set down the deco scissors. Those are for accents, not to cut every piece of paper you have on your page!" Now, I'm not saying I'm an expert on scrapbooking.... I'm no Erin Lincoln . But, someone needs to be in that work room, offering loving advice when a layout is about to go horribly wrong. You know those layouts. Heck I've done a layout like that once or twice or a million times before. I just hate watching some of those gals spend good money on paper only to have it under utilized. Spend the big bucks on the paper, but then use it right! Alright.. enough said about that. So... that said. I'm done. Scrap therapy. If you can't make layouts, buy supplies it does wonders for your nerves and stress! Oh, and one last question. Why are supplies purchased at the store more enjoyable than the supplies you buy on line? Is it the immediate satisfaction or is it the hands on sensation? Or perhaps some of you like it the other way. The anticipation... the sounds of the UPS truck? What gets you going?