Thanks. You made it better.

Putting down an animal who has been a member of the family is difficult for anyone.

Support from this online community has been wonderful. It was therapeutic to write Barkley's story and I wanted to send out a big thank you to those of you who left such sweet comments for me on the post or on Facebook, or who emailed me directly.

I'd also like to mention how awesome my Handsome Hubby is.
He was the one who took the dog in, since I was emotionally incapable of doing so.
He was the one who took care of dinner that night and who knew exactly what to feed me:

Yes, that is a bowl of ice cream (Peanut Butter Tracks Overload) and a glass of wine (Petite Syrah). (And please ignore the clutter on the counter - I was having a bad day.)

He was the one who got me out of the house the next day and took me to 2 Goodwills, a vintage thrift shop, a delicious dinner at La Creperie and a stroll on 2nd Street in Belmont Shore. Just being with him helped so much.

So thank you to my friends I've never met and thank you to the friend I wake up with every morning.

I am blessed.

A simple thing.

I have been more and more crafty lately. (In a good way...) With Doctor's orders to slow down, and dump some of the perfectionism/responsibility that I heap onto my own plate, taking the time to be creative has been therapeutic for me. And for our budget.

I needed a little something to go over the slider in our dining room. Here's what $1.50 can get you.

3 white plates from the thrift shop (.50 cents each)


A favorite scripture (well, sort of a scripture) and the image of a couple birds, printed off of the internet, cut out with and X-acto knife and Mod Podged onto the plates. (Free. A great price.)

And yes, I know that pictures at night are bad... oh well. (If you strain your eyes, you can see the plates up there...) Pictures during the day were so back-lit that all you could see was the backyard.

$1.50 works for me.

Click here or here for other Mod Podge projects I have done.

Please go on over to This Is The Year and get inspired.

I'm linking up with This Is The Year's Mod Podge Mania Party today.

Ooooh. Ahhhhh. Fourth of July musings.

Providing a wonderful opportunity to make new bloggy friends, Kasey at All That Is Good usually hosts what she calls Friend Makin' Mondays... however, she is on vacation. My very first friend in Blog-Land, the fabulous, funny, Shawn from SERIOUSLY is the guest host today. She has come up with some Fourth Of July questions for us to answer.

What are you doing this July 4th?
We are still scrambling to come up with a plan. Handsome Hubby is taking the boys to an Angels' game the evening of July 3rd. (Baseball and Fireworks? How American is that?!)

HH really wants to see a big fireworks show and be as close to it as possible. I am not a big fan of crowds (not that he is either) but we will have to find a happy medium. I am also not a fan of traffic, so I hope it is close by. We've received a few invitations to BBQs, but have not decided what to do.

Whatever happens, it will definitely be including Sparklers and Ground Flowers.

What is your favorite dish to pass when attending a 4th of July party or summer barbecue?
I don't have any one dish that is a favorite or that I typically will bring. I have a Spinach & Strawberry Salad I like to make in the summer, and I am a good desserts person.

Do you have any July 4th traditions?
When I was a kid, July 4th tradition was solid. My dad would make a fruit salad and cut a watermelon into the shape of a basket in order to serve it. While he did that, my sister and I would watch the Twilight Zone Marathon, because nothing says "God Bless America" like Rod Serling and weirdness. Then we would pack up the car and drive to my Uncle Mike's house near the beach.

Uncle Mike had a pool, so the kids would be in the water the whole day and the parents would hang out and enjoy cocktail hour from noon on.... :) I remember not wanting to even get out of the pool to eat.

Now, I don't think this had anything to do with a day-long cocktail hour, but at some point during the day my Uncle Mike would climb out onto a second floor balcony and jump into the pool from there. Sometimes he would have a towel tied around his neck like a cape. Somewhere my mom has pictures of him standing up there. It was so funny. My cousin was 16 or 17 and he was allowed to go up there and jump off as well. I desperately wanted to do it too and my mean parents wouldn't let me.

And let me take a moment to complain about another childhood trauma my mean mom caused me (since she reads my blog.) Mom? Those beach towels that you cut a hole in the middle and made into a terry cloth "poncho"....? Lame! Monica and I both would have rather dripped dry.

I digress. After dinner we would take beach and camp chairs and line them up on the sidewalk. The kids got to play with sparklers and then we got to light the fireworks purchased from local fireworks stands. As I've mentioned, the Ground Flowers were my favorites. My least favorite? Whistling Petes. I think they should have been named Sparkle For A Minute-Deaf For A Lifetime. We would all say "ooh" and "ahh" but tongue in cheek, as there is nothing awe inspiring in a Ground Flower.

When I lived up in Vancouver, Washington my house was a mile or so from the Columbia River. Every Fourth Of July they had what they claimed to be The Largest Fireworks Display West Of The Mississippi and would float a barge on the river and light the fireworks from the barge. The deck in my backyard was a perfect viewing spot. Friends would come over and we would have BBQ and Margaritas and watch the fireworks from the deck. I miss that house.

Those traditions are no longer. We are trying to create a new tradition, but have not yet been able to do so.

Share your favorite July 4th picture.
I have a couple of favorites that are on our computer. We went to a neighborhood block party for a couple of years. These first few photos are from 2005. This was Grant's first Fourth of July where he was aware of what was going on. He was about 15 months here. (In 2004 he was about 3 months old...)

He met a big doggy..... and decided the hula hoops needed to go home with him....

In 2007, Conner, Mitch and Grant participated in the neighborhood bike parade.

All the boys but Grant took part in the watermelon eating contest. It was girls vs. boys and it was divided by age group.

Here are Conner and Mitch taking part. Please note Devin, standing over his brothers with a critical eye, laughing at their technique.


Now please note Devin, digging in to his watermelon while a Neighborhood Mom passes out the pieces.


Now please notice the look on the Neighborhood Mom's face when she realizes that Devin is choking on his watermelon.

Yep. That's my boy about 5 seconds before a Neighborhood Dad started the Heimlich Maneuver.

Where was Handsome Hubby? He was taking these pictures.

Where was I? I ran in the house to quickly refill my Margarita.

(Again, just helping to secure my nomination for Mom Of The Year.)

The watermelon eating contest was removed from the following year's festivities. Too dangerous.... However, the water balloon toss, bike parade, cake walk, etc still carry on

Happy Fourth of July, however you celebrate it.

The more I see protests in Iran, murder trials in Italy, custody battles in Brazil.... the more I am reminded that despite our flaws, the USA is the best country in the world. Thank you to those who fought for and created our freedoms, thank you to those who protect those freedoms.

Barkley Bad Dog

In March of 1996, my former husband decided we needed a dog. A puppy, specifically.

Actually, he said Devin needed a dog..... "A boy needs a dog. A boy needs a dog."

Devin was 3 and a half and I was pregnant with Conner.
I love puppy breath and I love those sharp little puppy teeth, but nobody was fooling me...
A boy may need a dog, but you know who would get the dog? The pregnant mommy. That's who would be cleaning up dog poop and that's who would have to train the dog and that's who would have to feed the dog, etc...

By April I'd had enough of the whining and begging to get a dog. (And Devin had asked about it a couple of times too.) I relented. Were we going to get a puppy from an animal shelter? Nope. Devin and his father wanted a Dalmatian. (And yes, of course this was around the time 101 Dalmatians came out.)

We went and picked the puppy out of a litter and paid for him, something I had never done in my life. Of course all puppies are adorable, but I did think this one was especially cute.

In deciding on what to name the puppy, I consulted the baby name book I was thumbing through while choosing Conner's name. Berkley? Devin's Father laughed and sarcastically said, "How about Barkley?" Done! Barkley it was.

Devin's Father had not remembered that puppies are a pain in arse. They piddle where they shouldn't. They chew on things. Sometimes they cry at night. Devin's Father did not enjoy these puppy behaviors and quickly backed away from puppy care.

Anyone want to take a guess as to who Barkley's caretaker was? I'll take Pregnant Mommy for $100, Alex.

Now I'm not saying it was Barkley's fault, but shortly after the puppy came to live with us.... Devin's Father left for greener pastures. (And someone named Anna.)
So here I was, pregnant, had a 3 and a half year old, and was now caretaker for a puppy I did not want in the first place.

You know what happened? I became Barkley's person. That dog loooooooooved me.

The feeling was not always mutual. This dog chewed everything. Not just typical puppy chewing, this was chewing of Biblical Proportions.
This dog chewed the kitchen cabinets.
He chewed on the downspouts for my rain gutters and when it rained they looked like sprinklers near the bottom.
He chewed my flower pots.
He chewed up a light bulb and I actually cut my fingers getting the glass out of that stupid dog's mouth.
He chewed the carpet.
He chewed toys, furniture, shoes and newspapers.
Once he got a bottle of black acrylic paint. I did not notice until I saw the paint on other things. You go ahead and try to point out the Dalmatian that got into black paint. I dare ya.
He chewed everything.

I even got some of that Bitter Apple spray that is supposed to deter them from chewing on things that have been sprayed with it. I do believe he viewed it as a little seasoning to make objects extra tasty when chewed. I may as well have given him $15 in cash to eat for all the good that stuff did.

He got his front paws up onto the kitchen counter and was able to pull down an open tub of margarine that was up there. I came in to discover that he had eaten all of the margarine and most of the tub, too. About an hour later, he came into the living room (where I was visiting with friends) and began to make an awful noise: herk! herk! herk! .... oh no. He yarked up all of that margarine and the tub in front of my guests. I was mortified, of course, but quickly was grateful it was margarine that he threw up. The margarine served as a nice lubricant when he then hacked up most of a sandal into the mess. Including the buckle.

One morning as I was about to run out the door for my check-up with my OB, I noticed my that white carpet was brown. He had gotten out of the kitchen enclosure and into my living room where he dug up a potted palm. The palm was in pieces all over the room and potting soil was spread all over the place. Already running late, I tossed the dog back into the kitchen (none too gently, I might add) and left for my appointment.

I was near tears the whole way there and once confronted with the "...and how are you feeling?" question from the OB, the floodgates opened up. I bawled out my story of woe: my husband left, I'm 1,000 miles away from my family, I'm 6 months pregnant and alone, with a 3 year old son and the spotted devil dog at home. I cried those big, ugly, racking sobs that shake your whole body, where you have so much hurt that you probably have a big runner of snot coming out your nose but you. don't. care.

All cried out, when I got home and began cleaning up potting soil, Barkley was thrilled to see me. He didn't know he was in trouble, didn't know I was mad at him. He just knew he was happy to see me. It was at that moment when I realized that with all the emotional upheaval, and even though he was proving to be a four legged disaster area.... this dog was going to be a good thing for me. He loved me.

Barkley and I may have had an emotional connection, but he had something else going on that made him want to hump everything in sight.

I looked out into the backyard once and saw him humping Devin's tricycle. (Fortunately, Devin was not on it at the time.) He humped everyone he met. Little kids would see him and have just enough time to get "Oh Look! A Dalma..." out of their mouth before the dog had them on the ground. I would haul Barkley off of the kids, brush them off and say "Don't cry! He likes you. He was just giving you his special hug."

I took him to the vet to ask about this problem. As the vet was trying to shake my dog off of his leg, he said that for whatever reason, my dog basically was hyper-humping and if I was not planning to breed him, I should get him snipped.
I got him snipped.
Barkley ate the cone collar they put around his head to keep him from chewing and licking at the stitches.
He only humped half as many things from then on out.

Speaking of the vet, I got to know him really well. Barkley was a huge pain in the wallet his first year. He was allergic to grass and had to have a series of cortisone shots. (What kind of freaky dog is allergic to freakin' grass!?) He had kidney stones. He had skin allergies. Ugh. The upside was that he had to have a low-protein diet because of the kidney stones. That meant that I needed to feed him Safeway Generic Crunchy Nuggets instead of Iams or something similarly expensive.

After about a year, his allergies seemed to go away, the kidney stones were not a problem and he only had to see the vet for shots. He still knocked down little kids and humped them though.

As Barkley matured, he was a good natured dog (who still humped a lot of things). We lived on a corner in a historic neighborhood in downtown Vancouver, WA. We were about 3 blocks away from downtown businesses, so during lunch hours it was not uncommon to see women in business suits and tennis shoes, power walking through the neighborhood. You get to know the regulars.

One day I was in the backyard working in the garden and I saw three regulars come to the fence and call for Barkley: "Here Puddles! Come here puppy! Here Puddles!" And Barkley came running. I went over to say hello because that seemed neighborly, but mostly I wanted to know why they were calling him Puddles. "Oh that's because when we walk by the fence he runs over and flips on his back and then piddles all over himself." Awesome.

I tell ya, if you want to meet the people in your neighborhood, get a Dalmatian and take him for a walk around the block. People come out of the woodwork to ask you about your dog.

With many people walking by the backyard (since it was on a corner) I would watch Barkley rest in the grass and watch 9 people go by and then the 10th he would suddenly jump up and bark at them the whole length of the yard. I couldn't see any rhyme or reason why he barked at only a few people. I tried to figure out the commonality. I figure my dog either had a spiritual gift of discernment or he had a very keen fashion sense, as the only thing the "barkees" had in common was that they put together a bad outfit.

I began to feel more and more comfortable with Barkley as a watch dog. It got to the point that if he was barking, I got up to see what it was because he did not bark unless there was a reason. Once I needed to call a plumber. I had Barkley on his leash with it tied to the table, simply to keep him out of the plumber's way. I could just see him trying to climb under the sink along with them while they were trying to work.

Two of them showed up. The first plumber came in, "Oh a Dalmatian! Cool. Does he bite?" I say no, he's very friendly, yadda yadda yadda. (I do not mention his propensity for humping things.) The first plumber offers his hand in that universal, Hello dog, please smell me and realize I am not a threat gesture. Barkley accepts a pat on the head and a scratch behind the ears. As the second plumber comes up to try to pet him, Barkley suddenly growls and lunges at the man. The leash caught on the table and Barkley's jaws snapped shut just millimeters from the man's hand. So close that his teeth still hit the plumber's hand.

I apologized profusely and said a lot of "Oh my gosh, he's never done that before..." The rest of the time those men were in my house I was completely on edge because of Barkley's reaction to a seemingly nice man.

I did a 60 day internship with the Washington State House of Representatives in Olympia, which was 100 miles away from my house and kids. My wonderful mother came up from Southern California and stayed with the boys for me. She said she felt really comfortable in that big ole house because Barkley was there with them.

Before Handsome Hubby and I got married, I flew down at least once a month to visit. For those visits, Barkley had to stay outside. I had a covered mud porch and I would drag his big dog bed out there. After the first weekend trip, Barkley knew the drill. Before the second trip I pulled his bed onto the mud porch. Barkley got it in his teeth and in between his front paws and humped it right back into the house. It became a regular tug of war between us. I'd put the bed onto the porch and he'd try to hump it away from me.

When Handsome Hubby came up to get me, he packed everything up in a U-Haul and drove 1,000 miles with a Dalmatian practically sitting in his lap. I'd like to think they bonded on that trip, but I don't think that happened until later. We did have a funny instance where we had to sneak him into a hotel when we couldn't drive any further. A Chihuahua? Those can easily be smuggled into places. A 70 pound dog? Not so much.

In his new home, the only thing Barkley really remembered from his old home was his hump-a-hump-a-lot doggie bed. He took great comfort in it while getting used to his new digs. One night we were sitting at dinner and saw something moving on the patio. It was Barkley, humping his bed backwards past the door. A moment or two later, he came back past the door again, still humping his bed. It was like trying to have family dinner while Monty Python or Benny Hill type skits are going on out on the patio. That dog went back and forth past that door through most of our laughter filled meal.

As he got older, he mellowed out a lot. More inclined to sleep on his bed than hump it. Barkley was a good sport. Great with the kids. (He had stopped trying to hump kids a long time before.)

He was very tolerant of Grant, who enjoyed pretending to be a doggie, even sometimes kicking Barkley out of his own bed.



When Barkley was 11 we got a new puppy, Corsa. She injected some new life into them ole' bones. He was playing more and seemed to have a renewed energy. But every month that passed, Barkley seemed to get a little bit slower... a little bit more cranky. He started looking quite lumpy.

The vet said his skin was becoming super sensitive again and would get easily inflamed. He started getting cysts that the vet said did not hurt him and that they weren't serious. The vet put him on Prednisone and that helped for a while. He began to look like a pillow that went through the washer... but he did not seem to be in pain. Just old and stiff. (To be honest, something that I certainly could relate to.) We began to pussyfoot around that "when is it time?" conversation.

Barkley seemed to have a more difficult time getting up and down, but still did not seem to be in pain. He even found his new position of choice, which we referred to as Turkey Dog, since he looked like he should be on a platter with stuffing and mashed potatoes.


Around February, things started to unravel pretty fast. I've hung on... not wanting to make any decision. I'd often have to check to make sure he was breathing because he was so still. I began to pray I would walk out and find him peacefully gone in his sleep.

One morning in April he was falling over. We decided to have him put down the next morning. By mid day he was walking around just fine. That night I bawled my eyes out and told Handsome Hubby I couldn't do it. He agreed to wait.

The next afternoon I watched Barkley totter to the lawn, carefully get down and roll over onto his back. He couldn't quite make it all the way, but close enough. As I watched my old dog rolling in the grass I burst into tears again. Thank you God, for letting my dog be here enjoying the sun right now. Thank you that I didn't put him down too early, that he had at least one more day of this simple pleasure. Please help me to know when the right time is.

The right time was today.

This week we could tell that Barkley could no longer get comfortable anywhere. Watching him walk was like watching a woman in high heels try to walk town a steep hill. His legs were giving out when he was eating. It was time.

Corsa knew he wasn't feeling good and stayed with him.

I couldn't go. I felt like I should be there with him, but I just would not have been able to deal with it emotionally. I feel guilty, but I think I actually may have made the situation worse, had Barkley picked up on my stress. Handsome Hubby and Conner took him and stayed with him.

I am heartbroken. Barkley was with me for 13 years and 2 months. He helped get me through a divorce. He helped me feel safe in my home. He made me laugh and gave me unconditional love the way only a good dog can.

I will miss you, Barkley Bad Dog, and I will love you forever.

The stars at night...

Handsome Hubby was on the computer visiting one of his favorite sites, Google Earth.

HH: "Hey, did you know there is a Grant, California?"
Me: "No."
Grant: "I wish there was a Grant, Texas...." (big sigh)

What the?

Tempting.

After this, and this.... More craigslist hilarity....

call me i am interesting in your bed 555 946 1673

~~~~ Updated~~~~
Even more funny? I called this gentleman back. I gave him directions from his place (an hour away), confirmed the price we are selling the bed for... everything seemed like a go. Then? Right before we hung up, he said, "And you do have a truck or something and you can follow me back to my house, yes?"

No.

sigh.

Nothing fun about this post. Move along.

If you'd like to maintain a light hearted, fun association with my blog, please skip this post. Really.

This is political.

Actually, it's not just political. It's about morality.

You still here? OK - you've been fairly warned.

Handsome Hubby gets 99% of his news from the internet. In so doing, he sees things the more mainstream media may not report, or may not report until later. Last night as we were discussing some of the things going on in Iran, he gave me horrible news.

Busloads of protesters and/or citizens who simply wanted to pay tribute to Neda, the young woman who was shot last week, were stopped by the government regime. They were forced off of the buses and herded into a square in the center of town.

When enough of them were packed in there, (and by enough of them, I mean thousands) hundreds of black clad secret police types came flooding out of buildings surrounding the square. The came out armed with axes, machetes, clubs and guns. They massacred these innocent civilians. They were stabbed, shot, thrown off of pedestrian bridges.

Click here to listen to an eyewitness describing what happened to CNN.

The news reports this morning refer to "clashes" between protesters and police.

I lean left and HH leans right. I often turn a deaf ear when I hear him blather on about bias in the mainstream media and things that aren't being reported. This is the first time I completely agree with him on this.

Herding civilians like cows to slaughter and then opening fire or hacking them to death is not a clash, it is a massacre. Where is the real story? Why aren't we hearing about this?

If atrocities like these were happening here. If my friends and family were being executed... I would hope for more than world leaders watching to see what develops or simply saying that they are "appalled" by the incidents.

I'm not saying that the US should go blazing in and jump in the fray. I don't know what we should do to help, but I do know that downplaying atrocity or pretending it isn't happening at all is unconscionable.

Martin Luther King said that an injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.

When will we step in? You know what? I'd settle right now for when will we acknowledge that Iran's current regime is evil and you cannot negotiate with evil. You cannot get rid of it through diplomacy.

Where is the bright line between not wanting to interfere and turning a blind eye? Dear God in heaven.

We now return to our regularly scheduled programming.
You can come back in now, kids.

What would you do for a Klondike Bar?

Devin, my oldest son, is 16 years old. He'll be 17 in August. He's handsome, he's smart, he's funny, he's sweet...

...he's a dork.

He acts first and then asks questions later.

He forgets his stuff all the time.

He doesn't use his head in social situations.

He just plain 'ole doesn't use his head sometimes....

Yesterday we went to the beach. It's the first week of summer vacation. We are still experiencing the Southern California morning cloud cover known as June Gloom, so we didn't get to the beach until about 3:30. (And it was still freezing because of the gale-force winds whipping in off the water...)

Scott, a good childhood friend of ours, is visiting from Colorado with his two kids. We were to meet them at the beach and then they would come back to our place and we'd BBQ some burgers and hang out. We live about 15 minutes from Bolsa Chica, so the plan was to be back home by 6:00 or so. That's a good 2 or 3 hours of beach time.

Devin brought his best buddy, Michael, and all the kids hit the waves for a little while. (Except for Grant, who was content to pretend to hit the waves....)


After about half an hour, Devin and Michael came out of the water.
"Mom, Michael has $10 and we want to go over and get some ice cream."

I chuckle and make a reference to money burning holes in pockets. I grant them permission to go get ice cream. I automatically assume that they will be going to get it at the snack bar that is 50 yards from where we are sitting.

The time is about 4:15.

Scott and I watch the rest of the kids play at the water's edge, build sand castles, etc. We visit for a while and start discussing the "pack up and leave" time. We realize that Devin and Michael have been gone about 45 minutes. I look back towards the snack bar. I can't see them. hmm. Strange.

At about 5:15 I try calling Michael's cell phone. Voicemail. I assume they are just hanging out, and are probably sitting on the far side of the snack bar so that they are out of the wind.

By 5:30 I am a bit irritated because it's time to pack up. I gather up some things and head for the car. Grant is wet, sandy and shivering. The foolish child's lips are practically blue and although he says he doesn't want to leave, I know he'll appreciate being in the warm car, out of the wind.

I get him squared away and I walk over to the snack bar, to find my wayward Banana Splits and to send them back for the rest of our stuff. They are not there, and being as it is after 5:00, the snack bar is closing. I stand on the walking path and look up and down, trying to spot them.

Perhaps they had gone to one of the other snack bars?
Perhaps they didn't pay attention to which lifeguard tower we were sitting by? (I mean, why would they start paying attention to their surroundings now...?)
Are they lost?

It's almost 6:00.... the time we should be back at our house, firing up the BBQ.
I call Handsome Hubby and let him know what's happening. He snorts and says, "Those dorks. They're lost." Since more friends are going to be joining us for dinner, he heads home so that someone will be there when our guests arrive. ("Come have dinner with us! Psych! Not really!")

Everything is off the beach and packed into the car. I have discovered that in addition to having left their shoes behind, the boys have also left Michael's phone, so my "where are you!?" messages have not been retrieved. I ask Scott to stay put while I drive up and down the beach access road and look for them.

The beach access road is dotted with little parking lots. One of the things I love about Bolsa Chica is that the water is about 50 yards from the parking lot. I do not like having to search for street parking and lug chairs, towels, coolers, boards and kids along a street and then down a mile of sand. So I was able to drive the road, and turn into the parking lots, and be able to see both the bike/walking path and the water's edge. Of course, I drove the whole length of the beach and was not able to see my missing Eskimo Pies.

Another call to Handsome Hubby at 6:30.
Nope, we haven't found them.
Yep, my sanity is hanging by a very thin thread.
Nope, I can't take a Xanax because I will need to stay awake.
Yes, they have now been missing more than 2 hours.

The next step: We flag down a lifeguard driving on the beach in his truck.

Two missing boys.
They're 16.
No, technically they aren't retarded....
Both about 5'9" or 5'10" medium builds, brown hair.
No shoes.
One in a gray t-shirt, the other in a yellow t-shirt.
No, they were not in the water.
Left to get ice cream at 4:15 with $10 and one brain between them...

The lifeguard calls it in. The guards in their towers and the ones on patrol in their jeeps have the boys' descriptions and are actively looking for these two dorks.

The Beach Police are now involved as well.

I had gone from irritated, to frustrated and was heading towards that neighborhood called "Worry."
Had it been Grant that was missing, or even Conner or Mitch, I would have been in a complete, blind panic. I would have been worried not just that they were lost, but that maybe someone had kidnapped them, or they had somehow gotten back out to the water without me seeing, or somehow had scaled the fence at the beach access road and gotten out onto PCH.... But these are 2 big, almost adult (pfft) young men. What. The. Hell?

Handsome Hubby calls and tells me he is driving over to wait for the boys and is going to be sending me home (Remember, I am supposed to keep stress to a minimum so I don't have another of these Vaso Vagel Snycope episodes...)

The lifeguard came back in his truck and said they hadn't found them. Would I drive up and down the beach with him to help look? Of course.

Jerry, the sweet lifeguard, was asking questions about the boys as we drove.
What kind of students are they?
Honor roll!
Would they decide to just screw with me and hop on a bus and ride up to Long Beach or anything like that?
No! Never!
Would they meet up with friends and leave and not tell me?
No! They would come and ask me first if they wanted to leave with other people.

As we drive around, I confide to Jerry that I am now, officially, starting to freak. The boys have been gone almost 3 hours. The sun is starting to set. I am going to sell my house in Worryville and buy a new one in Panic Town...

I tell him that in a few minutes I am going to have to call Michael's parents and tell them that I can't exactly find their son. (And, by the way, after all of this will they still be willing to let us take him up to Lake Tahoe to go camping next month...?)

We drive from one end of the beach to another, weaving through seagulls and the few remaining beach goers. The day people are leaving and the night-time people are setting up their campfires.

Finally, the call comes over the radio: "Station 20? Yeah, spotted your missing boys. They're walking over the bridge at PCH."

Jerry the Lifeguard and I breathe a collective sigh of relief, as we had just been discussing that it was probably time to involve The Huntington Beach Police Department. Then we realize that they had left the beach all together.

As we drive back towards my car, Jerry asks me if I would like him to put an oxygen mask on me, for dramatic effect. I tell him thanks, but it won't be necessary as I am more than capable of producing plenty of my own, prop-free drama.

I thank him profusely and he drives away, shaking his head and laughing.

I mentally spit on my hands and summon Screechy Mommy. (To be honest, she wasn't that hard to find.)

It turns out that these 2 Dipshits (and I say this lovingly) decided that they would try to find the ice cream shop that Michael once visited with his dad after a bike ride at the beach. This ice cream shop? On the Huntington Beach Pier, more than 3 and a half miles from where we were.
In 3 hours, they walked/ran more than 7 miles, barefoot, to get ice cream.

Didn't you realize how long you'd been gone!!??!!
Yes, but by the time we realized how long we'd been gone, if we had turned around, we would have wasted how far we'd already come.....

Since you didn't bother to take a phone, why didn't you ask someone to borrow their phone so you could call your mother!!??!!
We didn't think of that.

Why didn't you use a pay phone!!??!!
We only had enough money for ice cream.

I am hopeful that they learned some lessons.
I hope that they realized it is OK to admit you're a bit lost.
I hope they realize it is OK to question your best friend's plan.
I hope they realize they should listen to the angel tapping them on the shoulder, even while that little devil is whispering in their ear on the other side.

I hope they remember where that place is, because if they are willing to risk blistered feet and the Wrath Of Screechy Mommy in order to get some of that ice cream, then I want some too.

My son IS a Ding Dong.

We went to a lovely Father's Day dinner at my sister's house. My brother in law made a fabulous meal, and my sis picked up these decadent little cakes (think gourmet Hostess Ding Dongs... I know - sounds weird, but they were awesome.)

Devin and Conner had been visiting their father that evening, so my sister sent home 2 of those little cakes so that they could each have one. I let the boys know the cakes were in the fridge on Monday when they came home.

At 8:30 this morning.....

Dev: Where are those little cakes for me and for Conner?
Me: In the fridge
Dev: There's just one?
Me: No, there's one for each of you...
Dev: Great! (he seems to be heading off in the direction of the kitchen...)
Me: But they're for after lunch.
Dev: aww! But I've already had a couple of lunches since you first told me about them....

So if we're "measuring" time and meals by that standard, he's already had plenty of desserts, right?

Stay tuned, dear readers. After a week of nothing to post about, yesterday my eldest son provided me with a topic for a post and set himself up for family ridicule for the rest of the summer.
Gonna write that up and I'll be back.

I am an Idiot Magnet.

OK..... I must have a freakin' sign over my head that says, "Calling all craigslist idiots!!!! Please contact ME."

(Read this to understand my frustration...)

I was all excited just now because I thought someone was responding to a posting for some bedside tables I am selling.... I open the email, only to read this:

"can you please tell me how to download pictures onto my craigslist ad...i can't find anyone to help me!!"
(Copied directly from my email and pasted into this post.)

Really?

The worst part?

I am going to email her back and tell her how to do it, because in addition to the aforementioned "craigslist idiot" sign, I have "sucker" written on my forehead and "kick me" taped on my back.

It's Planely obvious...

(As you read this, please remember that one of our boys is named Mitchell....)

Grant and Handsome Hubby were playing with some toy planes. Many of them are replicas of WWII war planes.

As they were playing with them, HH was telling Grant the names of the planes (i.e. "This is an A-10 Warthog" or "A P-38 Lightning").

As they went through the names of the planes HH pointed out, "And this is a B-25 Mitchell."

Grant scoffed: "No it's not. It's a You-25 Dad."

What I wish I had said....

After having gone almost a week with nothing new to post, here's a second post in one morning. Go figure.

I must be just in a really bitchy mood (PMS, anyone?) I'm going to continue with my stupid people theme.

This was triggered by my phone ringing a few minutes ago... silence once I answer because it's an automated call. I actually wait to be connected, because I am hoping it will be a live person from my hospital's billing department, explaining why I am being charged $60 for 4 baby aspirin.

It wasn't.

"Hello, I'd like to speak to Ann"
"There's no one here by that name. You have a wrong number."
"Wait, um is there an Ianna there?"
"No. You have the wrong number."
"Maybe it's Ian?...Ann? I - A - N...?"
"That spells Ian and there's no one here by that name. You. Have. The. Wrong. Number."
"OK, I'll call back later."
...click...

Now I am used to people butchering my name. My name may be a bit difficult to pronounce just because it is spelled a bit differently. That's how I always know when a telemarketer is calling:

Is Vi-veeny there?
...Viv-ayne?
...Vi-anne?
...Irveen?
...Iv a veen?
...Viet Nam? (not making these up.)
and the strangest one yet:
...Debbie?

I have manned many a telephone in office jobs. I have encountered many an idiot as a result.

I worked for an employment staffing agency. We would frequently get referrals from the local unemployment offices, sending people our way. I took most of these phone calls:

Stupid Caller (SC): "Hi, I'm calling for Ann Yone."
Me: "I'm sorry, but there is no one here by that name."
SC: "Yes there is, I have it written on this piece of paper they gave"
Me: "What piece of paper, Sir?"
SC: "From the unemployment place."
Me: "Are you sure they told you to call this branch?"
SC: (getting a bit frustrated with me) "Yes. This phone number: xxx-xxx-xxxx and to speak to Ann Yone."
Me: "Sir, I can assure you that there is no one here by the name of Ann. Do you mean Andrea or Sandy?"
SC: "No! Not Andrea, not Sandy, ... Ann!"
Me: "Ann Yone... Ann Yone... Sir, how do you spell that...?
SC: "A!N!Y!O!N!E!"
Me: "Sir, that spells anyone. You are to call this number and you can speak with anyone."

What I Wish I Had Said (but couldn't because I might get fired):
"And no one in this office will be able to place you in a job because you are an idiot!!! We don't have many positions that open up for speed bumps, sea sponges or bear bait. We don't have jobs come up where the only requirement is that you need to be able to breathe. We don't have a diversity in hiring policy to include the terminally stupid. Sorry."

At this same office, I was once giving a caller detailed directions so that he could come in and take a skill assessment test.

Me: "And from that area you will head East on I-10 and exit at Main Street."
Caller (C) (clearly writing everything down carefully, and concentrating as if the directions will be part of his test...) "OK, I-10, East, Main Street, exit, OK, then...?"
Me: "You'll make a left at the signal and the first right you come to is Office Ave. Make the right and turn into our parking lot. You can't miss it. 1700 Office Ave. It's a 15 story, green glass building, and we're in suite 500."
C: "Left at the exit?"
Me: "Yes."
C: "What was the exit?"
Me: "Main Street."
C: "And I will turn....?"
Me: "Left."
C: And then left on...?
Me: "No sir, you'll turn right on Office Ave. It'll take you right into the parking lot. We're in the 15 story green glass building. No other tall buildings around. You can't miss it."
C: "Right..?"
Me: "Yes."
C: "On what street?"
Me: "Office Ave."
C: "And the address?
Me: "1700 Office Ave. It's 15 story, green glass building, and we're in suite 500."
C: "700..."
Me: "1700!"
C: "1700.... and you're in a 15 story green glass ...what...?"
.... crickets for a few moments.... chirp chirp chirp...
Me: "Building. We're in a 15 story building, Sir."

What I Wish I Had Said (but couldn't because I might get fired):
"Sir, we're in a 15 story book. A 15 Story Book... full of fantasy stories where completely stupid people with no common sense manage to get jobs that pay well with full benefits, and the only job requirement is that they need to be able to breathe."

Stupid on parade.

You know that "spring cleaning" thing that people do in, well... spring? I'm doing it right now. Going through closets, making piles for Donate, Yard Sale and craigslist.

Handsome Hubby and I have spent the last week posting furniture to sell on craigslist. I love craigslist for finding some great deals, and I know how to price things so that they are sold fairly quickly. In other words: I price things fairly.

Which is why it bugs the crap out of me if something is priced fairly at say, $100 and then I get an email from someone who asks if I'll take $20 for it, because they really need it and they don't have a lot of money.

Really?

You don't have a lot of money?

Oh that's sad. I have tons of money.

I have money coming out of several different orifices all at once. I have money up to my eyeballs. I burn money in the fireplace when it's cold and I wipe my butt with $100 dollar bills when I'm out of toilet paper. I have plenty of money! Come on over and just take whatever you need! I have food in the cupboards too. Help yourself.

Will I take $300 for the brand new bed and mattress set that is worth $2,500, but I've listed for $650? Um, no.

Will I sell you the $150 chair for $50? No.

My dining table is the same kind you had when you were a little girl? That's sweet. No, I do not offer a discount for sentimental value. (If anything, I may jack up the price.) Kidding.

Will I donate the furniture to your "Mission Charity"....? No.
(And if you're going to pretend to be a charity, you should get new email address, because cooldude3000@dickwad.com was a giveaway....)

(Incidentally, we donated a Suburban totally packed with stuff for a single mom who had been homeless and was moving into her first apartment! Please check out my favorite organization to see what amazing things they do for homeless kids...)

In addition to ridiculous money questions, there were just plain old ridiculous.

I have a puzzle problem when we're at our cabin. As part of my puzzle 12 step program, I posted an ad for 25 1,000 piece jigsaw puzzles. (I told you... a puzzle problem...) I had a woman respond to the posting. As we were talking she said she wanted to get them this past Friday afternoon.
Me: "Sorry, that won't work for me, we will be attending a funeral."
Stupid Thoughtless Woman (STW): "Where is the funeral?"
Me: "Corona"
STW: "Perfect! I'm on your way! Maybe you could swing by and let me see them on your way to Corona!"
...crickets chirp in the silence for a few moments....
Me: "Did you really just ask me to bring you 25 puzzles while on my way to a funeral?"

Am I the only one whose Mama raised me right?

What is it with people who think I should bring my items to them? I had a guy tell me I was too far away and would I consider driving a $75 item up to Los Angeles (a 30 minute drive... if you're traveling at 3:00 in the morning, otherwise almost an hour and a half one way....) um. No.

I've decided that craigslist is very much like people-watching, except that you end up having to communicate with people that you really would rather just mock from a distance.

Well how do they make sno-cones then? (2)

Updated to participate in Hesitant Housewife's Random Post Redux and Happy To Design's Sunday Favorites.
~~~~~~~~~~
Sorry guys.

Another re-run. I'll be back soon, I promise.

~~~~~~ originally published September 9, 2008~~~~~~~

We have a good friend who is a police officer. From time to time we hear funny "on the job" stories. This is definitely my favorite:

Once he was part of a team serving a search warrant for drugs in a house. As part of that drug search, pretty much every stone is overturned during the search, including the inspection of the contents of the refrigerator and freezer.

When he opened the freezer to take a look inside, he noticed the old fashioned Popsicle-making trays, filled with some frozen punch or juice. However, instead of the traditional Popsicle sticks, this homeowner had used chicken bones. That's right. The bones from chicken drumsticks.

Incredulous, our friend turned to the homeowner and pointed at them, "What are these?"

She looked at him as if he were the dumbest person on the planet. "They're chicken-sicles."

Now I have something to wear!

I still haven't found my Writer's Brain.
I can feel something in the works about the furniture I'm selling on craigslist and the doofuses (doofi?) that I am encountering... but until then, there's this:

Lacey at Lacey In Love: The Unmarried, Childless Housewife (how cute is that name?) is young and hip and fun. She's gorgeous and talented, and has her own etsy shop.

She also has a feature she runs on Fridays called De-Funk Your Fashion. She interviews a blogger and puts together an outfit for them. Today she is featuring me!

This is the outfit she put together for me:

Viv by lacey_inthesky featuring Forever21 accessories

That dress is darling!! I looooove those shoes! And the earrings. And the bag. And the bracelet.
Head over to Lacey's and check out the cute clothes and be sure to soak up some of her fab style while you're there...

Now even if I do find my Writer's Brain, it'll have to wait. I'm going shopping!

A tag? Yes, please. Anything for a new post.

O thank goodness!

I have misplaced the part of my brain that is responsible for writing. (It may have gotten mixed in with the part of my brain responsible for juggling end of the school year activities for 3 kids and Father's Day preparations, but I'm not sure.)

I was afraid I'd just have to continue to republish old posts for a while. Thankfully, MiMi at Living In France threw me a bone.

I already did the photo tag last week, but since "I got nuthin'" I am only too happy to do it again.

For the first one, I was supposed to open my first folder and select the 10th picture and explain it.

For this second time around I chose the second file the 10th folder and the 10th picture. But the 10th photo was one with a friend's daughter and not only is there no story, but I don't know that I should post other people's kids, period.

The 11th photo was also of the daughter.

And the 12th.

The 13th was one I'd already posted.

So I cheated and went with the first appropriate photo that I could post.

Our friends used to host an awesome "grown-ups only" Halloween Party each year. This was in 2006 and the last year they did it. If you look at the gal on the far right, you may be thinking, ya, nice costume ya got there honey! You're supposed to dress up... hellllllo....

That's from the front.

She and her husband came to the party dressed as the Half-Assed Couple. It was hysterical!


Handsome Hubby (who even though green and gunky, I still thought was handsome) went as Frankenstein and I was his Bride.

Since in real life, we got married in jeans under a tree. This is probably the closest I'll ever get to being on his arm in a wedding dress. (aka a white tank top, a white mini and strips of an old sheet... Who needs Vera Wang?)

Normally I am a more "Harvest" themed Halloween person than a "Scary" Halloween person.

However, that year for the actual Halloween Night, Hubby cleaned up and I went icky to try and keep up with my friend, who pulled out all the scary stops:

That's Devin popping up out of the coffin to scare Trick-or-Treaters...

What a sweet big brother the Pirate is to his little Buzz Lightyear brother.

Even amid all of the gore, screaming and scary stuff, I still found things that were heart-warming.

Awww.

I know I'm supposed to pass this on to other people, but not only would that require thinking, I think everyone has gotten this already. If you haven't been tagged, please consider yourself tagged.

Victoria's Secret? That they're screwing with us.

I'm sorry you guys.... I still got nuthin'. I haven't found the part of my brain that houses my writing skills (I loosely use that word, skills). Please accept my apologies for another Republished post. ~~~~~ December 4, 2008 ~~~~~~~~~

I am certain that the Victoria's Secret Powers That Be are either

• a) demented
• b) sitting back and laughing their collective asses off
• c) both
  

(I'm goin' with c)

These are photos from the 2008 Victoria's Secret Fashion Show in Miami.

Targeting the Elmer Fudd demographic...




How practical! Underwear that doubles as a float in Disney's Main Street Electrical Parade.



For Icelandic role-playing... she can dress as Bjork.



Pretty Klingon Princess. (Klingons like their women bony)



Gramma! Get out of your garden! Grandpa wants to trim your rose bushes.



So that's where all those free, direct mail aol discs ended up.



One of the Olson Twins gained some weight and combed her hair. Nice.



Rugby?
Lumberjack?
Cold weather S&M?
I'm so confused.
Does this mean that any old, mis-matched or ratty looking underwear that I have buried in my dresser is sexy?



Awesome.
Tube socks? I am a goddess.

Based on these pictures, I am going to surprise Handsome Hubby with the sexiest outfit I can find tonight... shapeless sweatpants, tube socks, an oversized sweater, a necklace and an uncomfortable bra.
And high heel tennis shoes.
And maybe his hunting hat with the flaps.
oooo la la.

Baseball pop quiz. (2)

You guys? I can't find my brain. I need it in order to write a new post. I'm not sure where I left it, but while I am looking for it, I'm going to republish a post.
This one is fitting because I am still sooooooo happy baseball season is over.

~~~~~ originally published March 10, 2009 ~~~~~~~

Grant had another baseball game on Saturday. It was very exciting. I offer you the highlights, in multi-choice form...

A coach drew a circle in the dirt to show Grant where his position was in the infield, in the hopes that he would stay somewhere near it. Did Grant....
a) completely ignore what the coach said and go and talk to his friend in centerfield.
b) follow directions so intently that he did not move out of the circle, even to field a ball that was less than 2 feet from him.
c) both.

The answer is b.

While "on deck" waiting his turn to bat, did Grant...
a) wait quietly, meditating on the coaching he had previously been given.
b) take a few practice swings in preparation for his turn at bat.
c) manage to hit himself right between the eyes with the end of the bat, cry, and have to be moved to the end of the line up until he calmed down.

The answer is c.

When in a fielding position, did Grant...
a) spin around in a circle.
b) pay attention to the game.
c) spin around in a circle.

The answer is not b.

Baseball requires a lot of catching. Did Grant meet this requirement by...
a) catching and fielding balls that came his way.
b) throwing his mitt in the air and catching it.
c) Grant is not very good at catching things.

The answer is c. (But we're positive he will improve.)

Grant got two turns at bat (like all of the other players) and hit the ball thrown by the coach each time (instead of needing to use the T). Each player is to run one base. (There are no outs, no one keeps score.) Upon advancing to 2nd base, did Grant...
a) prepare to advance to 3rd base when the next player hit the ball.
b) stay on 2nd and argue with the 1st base runner that he was on 2nd base, and refuse to advance to 3rd.
c) run the wrong way and go back to first.

The answer is b. (It could have been worse... it could have been c.)

While still on 2nd base, did Grant...
a) push the other team's 2nd baseman away from "his base."
b) sit on the base in between batters.
c) both.

The answer is c.

While sitting on the base, did Grant...
a) massage an aching muscle.
b) tie his shoe.
c) draw in the dirt.

The answer is c.

Was Grant's favorite part of the game...
a) the two hits that he got.
b) being outdoors.
c) being part of a team.
d) snack and the juice box.

The answer is d. (for duuuhhh!)

I confess.

Confession is good for the soul... so I hear.

Kasey, at All That Is Good asked us to spill our guts for Friend Makin' Monday. She doesn't specify how many things or how much detail...

#1. I have exactly 12 minutes to write and publish this post, then I need to run and rinse the color out of my hair. I am a boxed-hair color girl on a regular basis. I have a streak of gray that grows in one spot. It is the diameter of a quarter and just in one spot on the top of my head. My mom has a similar streak by her bangs, but she keeps her streak. I hate mine and do whatever I can to cover it. If the roots need coloring, I move my part to cover it up. Every now and then I go to the salon and get it done, but it always takes too long. (And is expensive to boot!) Boxed hair color? Yes. Boxed wine? Never.

#2 When I was 18 or 19 I brought home a kitten that was being given away in front of a local grocery store. I knew my parents would balk at this new addition to the family (especially my dad, who is not a cat person.) I made up a whopper of a tale, in which I saved this little kitten from a group of boys who were abusing the kitten and trying to burn its whiskers with a cigarette lighter... I know. Shameful. However, once I realized my dad had grown fond of the kitten, I confessed to the story. (Spike, the kitty, lived with my parents long after I moved out...)

#3 I am my own toughest critic.

#4 I have a temper that I am constantly struggling with.

#5 I am a micro-manager and am desperately trying to stop.

#6 I just thought of this one: I am lame when it comes to text messaging. The Grammar Person in me spells out entire words, and then the Wants To Be Cool Person in me erases them and does the text lingo. i.e. I'll type out the entire "you're" and then realize that's not how the kids do it... and I erase to type "ur" - Lame.

For some good stuff, head over here:


I'm off to rinse my hair!

Yes, I know they're noodle bowls. Shut up already.

I'm crafty. I'm cheap. I'm able to see potential in almost everything.
Those things combine to create a perfect storm of unfinished projects.

This secretary desk/dresser isn't finished.
As you can see, the most glaring problem is that I haven't found feet for this yet. So yes. Your eyes do not deceive you. This piece of furniture is resting on four, upside down noodle bowls.

It also needs trim pieces along the back and at the bottom. (And did I mention it needs feet?)

It was a basic brown bow-wow with boring stain and antiquated pulls. I'm horrible about remembering to take before pictures until I'm in the middle of the during portion of the project...

I'd already started with the sanding block by the time I remembered the camera. I lightly sanded everything and then shot it with primer.

My original plan was to spray paint it with my favorite Heirloom White (Rustoleum's American Accent) and then distress the edges and put new hardware on.
I wanted it to go right inside my front door to house keys, bills, stamps, etc. However, it was too stark and practically created white-out conditions in the area.

So then I decided to hand paint the edges of the drawers and desk top with black acrylic paint.

Too contrast-y.

I whipped up a brew of antiquing glaze, pearlized acrylic paint and lustre finish ModPodge. I brushed it on and then wiped it off with paper towels.

Better and it had a nice sheen to it.

I found a scroll design on the internet, printed it and enlarged it until it was the right size.

I taped it on the desk portion of the piece and traced over it with a ball point pen, making sure the pressure from the pen left an imprint to guide me.

Then I took a black Sharpie and colored in the design.

(That's right, you heard me. A Sharpie.)

It still needed something, so I took one of the aforementioned noodle bowls and used that as a template and traced a circle. Printed a "W" off the internet and did the same Sharpie process with that.

Once the pen was dry, I put the glaze over that as well.

The spray paint and new pulls probably totaled about $20, but I had everything else already.

The best part? Handsome Hubby likes it.

Except for the noodle bowls.

He thinks I should paint 'em black.

(kidding.)

We'll see what happens.

I'll post an update once I finally finish.

Linking up HERE