Crapplebees

Dear Waitress At Crapplebees,

When I tell you there is a hair in my dip, please do not EVER ask if I want you to take the plate away. I don't know what you do in your house, but when I'm paying for a meal, I don't want the "added" flavor of an unknown hair of unknown origin.

Secondly, when we walk in carrying a baby, shouldn't it go without saying that we need a high chair? What exactly did you think we were going to do with her?

Thirdly, when the said baby is sitting in the high chair at the end of the table, you don't put hot plates 2" from her. Babies grab everything. Unless you are the Scarecrow from the Wizard of Oz, use your brain. Especially don't put a damn steak knife in her reach unless you like to be stabbed with it.

Thank you very much.

Sincerely,

The Kate Family

More Rambling

I was just looking back over my sitemeter results and saw a few things worth mentioning:

To the visitor from LA - more specifically Fox.com - yes, I would be interested in selling you my material for a small premium! :D

To the visitor from Coke - yes, I would love a lifetime supply of your product. I truly do only drink Coke and I would be willing to mention Coke at least once in every post. Have a Coke and a Smile!

To the visitor from Miller Brewing Company - sure send it along with the Coke. I can mention a Miller Lite at least once in every post. Miller - its the cure for what the kids do to you!

To the visitor who googled "Big Turd" and found me - I don't even want to know why on God's green earth you were googling that but thanks for reading!

Disclaimer - these are all very tongue in cheek but yet, still my offer stands to accept your products! Happy reading!

Yeahhhhh Baby!

In what I promise to be my last Red Sox post (at least until Spring Training in March), I want to stand on my roof and shout, "The Red Sox are my Daddies" (using Pedro Martinez's famous line - except his had the Yankees in place of the Sox because he couldn't figure out how to beat them). I want to run around my yard until the men in little white coats come for me. I want to do Pap's jig with him. More than anything, I wish I could be in Boston tomorrow for the parade. So, Huge Congrats to my beloved Sox. You've made a die hard fan very very happy. For you Rockie fans - take heart. Your team is good - damn good. And young. They will be back in the World Series!

On another note, I want to say that I'm really sick and tired of the sour grapes I'm hearing about New England sports teams. The Pats are running up the scores...The Sox are just like the Yankees. What a crock of shit. First off, if the Pats are running up the scores, shouldn't it be the OTHER teams responsibility to stop them? Wow, there's a novel idea. I guess when they're up by 3 TD's they should just roll over and play dead. Where's the sportsmanship in that? As far as the Sox being like the Yankees - this comment almost makes my head explode. C'mon sports fans, the Sox have won 2 World Series since 2004. Before that - 86 fucking years. There was a segment on Sports Center last night that showed the Yankers have 19 Series. The Sox - a measely 7. Five of those seven were prior to 1918. We Sox fans certainly can't help that, in spite of attempts, the Yankers haven't been able to buy a Championship since 2000.

Ok - that felt good.

I have also been debating over the tone of my posts. You see, I know there are people reading but my comments don't reflect this (yes, I'm a comment whore). I've wondered if I "scare" people off. Then I realized that I am my blog. This is exactly how I talk and think. I am an oversharer. I am crude. I am blunt. So, I've decided that I started this blog for me and I shouldn't change who I am. For those of you who do read and laugh - great...I'm glad you "get" me. Please keep reading. For those of you who read and comment (I can always count on my Sasha for a comment!!), thanks for letting me know you "get" me. Like most bloggers, I do love the comments. Hey, I'm even open to suggestions on what you'd like to read. I'm one of those people who knows a little about a lot of things and has an opinion on all of them!

Now, if I could just get all the kids to stay home, I might actually have a chance at some material. Damn little midgies keep running away on the weekends and all I'm left with is Abby. She's cute and all but she just doesn't say much to entertain me yet! If work would just slow down, I'd have more time for posting. Geeze these people actually expect me to earn my paycheck!

Dreams

I have two dream vacations. I want to go to Disneyland and Fenway Park. (And here you thought you were going to get a post without mention of the Sox!!)


Disneyland. Its been a place I've wanted to for years. Without kids. Yes, I am an evil mother. I want to go with just Hubby and I. I want to skip down Main Street. I want to wear Mickey ears. I want to have my picture taken with Mickey, Minnie, Goofy, and Pluto. I want to have a Princess breakfast and wear a tiara with Cinderella. I want to ride "Its a Small World" and sing through the whole ride. Basically, I want to do all the kids things even though I'm an adult. I don't care if I'm 50 years old (which at the rate we are going, I will be) by the time I go.


My second dream will come as no shock. Fenway Park. Hallowed and Sacred ground. While it would be like going to Heaven to see a game there too, I'd actually be happy to just tour the park pahk. The sense of anticipation walking down Yawkey Way and seeing all the Championship banners. Entering the concourse. Walking into those stands. To see the red seat in the right field - which marks the longest home run ever hit there. By Ted Williams. To see Pesky's Pole. To enter the infamous Green Monster Monstah. To look at the dugouts. To sing "Sweet Caroline" or "Dirty Water", albeit badly. I can almost smell the stale beer and peanuts as I type this. Of course, I'd probably end up in a Boston Bahstahn jail cell because I'd probably be overcome and want to touch the field. Or chain myself in the dugout. Or attempt to stuff myself in Jason Varitek's locker.

Dreams.....

Disclaimer: I am actually from New England so while my attempts to translate the Boston accent may seem amature, I'm familiar with the accent and still used "Wicked" in the course of my daily conversation.

PS: As I type this, the Sox are up 6-0 in the third and Dice-K's looking smooth. Fingers crossed!

Thank You Jacoby

All of America should thank one of the newest BoSox, Jacoby Ellsbury. He stole a base during the game and won all of America a free taco from Taco Bell. So, visit your local Taco Bell on October 30th from 2 to 5 pm for your free taco. And remember, Go BoSox!

Disclaimer: I, personally, think Taco Bell taco's taste like ground up Alpo but I'm willing to do whatever necessary to garner fans over to the Sox Side. So, come on, root for the Sox, you know you wanna!

World Series BABBBBBBBY

Apparently, I need to amend my earlier post about what it means to be a Red Sox Fan. This is what it now means....seeing this video and wishing and hoping you were there to see it in person



GO SOX!!!!! You make a good Irish girl proud with that jig, Pap. Although, I'm thinking the goggles kind of ruin the look!

PSA: Parenthood = Control

As the mother of a 16 year old, I've learned several things:

1. No matter how much you profess that you will never be the type of parent your parents were, you will be. Its inevitable.
2. Kids are cute and entertaining, but from the moment of conception the battle of wills begins. Look at labor, you have to wait til the demon spawn in ready. You have to be miserable and look like something dragged out a zombie movie before your doctor will consider an induction.
3. You will make mistakes....and laugh at them.
4. You will find yourself thinking, "I can't wait until you have children of your own so you understand what you are doing to me"
5. You will cry....OFTEN. When they are babies, you will cry at the mistakes you make and just when you begin to think that those tears were shed over hormones, you will cry as they enter school, you will cry the first time they look at you as if you are the uncoolest person in the world, you will cry when they test your patience (which is a daily event from about 10 onwards), and you will cry as they pull away from you and want to begin their own lives. Letting go SUCKS.

As I've read many great blogs that detail conversations with their children, I think to myself, "Enjoy it now because these days won't last". Yes, I have the smugness of KNOWING what is coming next. Sure, your heart melts when they tell you that they love you or when they say you are pretty or when they think your kiss and hug can heal every hurt. Just as easily as your heart melts at those moments, it can shatter into millions of pieces at the moments to come. Let me say it again, letting go SUCKS.

I am the oldest of 3 children. Older than my sister by 7 years and older than my brother by 9 years. Our mom was strict. She ruled the roost and we all knew it. My brother and I were the type of kids who pretty much toed the line (my brother now, that's a post for another day). My sister, well she was the type of child that made you believe that some child abuse is justified! She could make our mom lose it. She knew how to push her buttons, with ease. We called these moments "Break Your Arm" moments. We laugh at it now but I wish for my sister a child just like her (hey, Karma's a bitch). She would get our mother so riled up that she would totally lose her temper. The result of one of these temper losses was her saying the BYA comment out of sheer frustration. We knew our mother would never physically abuse us, but I gotta say with my sister it was close!

I had my own BYA moment a few years back with Shaggy. He was about 10 or 11 so Drama Queen would have been 6 or 7. They were at the age where their main goal in life was irritating the living shit out of each other. This particular night, I'd had it. The conversation went something like this:

Me: If I have to tell you two to stop one more time, I'm going to get up and spank both of you!

Them: whispered pissy comments to each other because if we whisper them, she can't hear.

Me: Storms into kitchen and manages to find DQ first and smacks her.

DQ: Instantly collapses into a paroxysms of tears as if she was just beaten within an inch of her life

I make my way over to Shaggy who is standing by the fridge. This is the first point I now realize he is taller than me....NOT GOOD. I go to smack him and he puts his hand up. I realize I might have a problem here...also NOT GOOD. I then proceed to say the stupidest comment I have ever made as a parent:

Me: PUT YOUR HAND DOWN SO I CAN SMACK YOU

Shaggy: glares

Me: grabs arm and attempts to pull it down, finds out I am having difficulty budging it and once again thinks...NOT GOOD...I'm losing control here. I then make every effort to find a place to smack him (keep in mind his back is against the wall and right side against the fridge, this leaves very limited smacking space) I manage to get a wallop in against his hip which just pisses me off for 2 reasons:

1. It hurt my hand
2. He gave me a look that was so plain it was like I heard the words, "Is that all you got?"

I totally admit to losing control at that point. I'm pretty sure my head was spinning in 360s and a demon voice was being projected. I desperately searched for something to hit him with and found....

A PLASTIC SPOON

Yes, you read that correctly, I so lost control that I attempted to beat my child with a plastic serving spoon. Not one of my prouder parenting moments!

So, my advice to you all is this: enjoy your little kids now when their whole world is you. Call your parents now before it is too late and apologize for all and everything you might ever have done. Seriously think about boarding school for your puberty aged children.

The Times They Are A-Changing

Ok, first off, it took me four times to spell changing...I think my brain is turning to mush.

Fall is definitely upon us here in the Midwest, well, more specifically in my neck of the Midwest. I wouldn't want to speak out of turn for the rest of the region. Even though we don't get the signs of Fall that the East experiences, we do still have some cues that let you know a long winter is peeking out just around the corner:

1. The top news story here is about the firing of Steve Pedersen (AD for University of Nebraska, Lincoln) and the hiring (on an interim basis) of Tom Osbourne to fill his roll. Joking, why no I'm not. This is our news. From September to December, our local news focuses exclusively on the Huskers. Since I'm not from here, and the people in this area are rapid about their football team, college football at that, I chose to be a Husker Hater. I like watching the people here have their faces turn as red as their requisite Husker T-shirt or sweatshirt and their eyes bug out of their heads when I say the Huskers suck. Its good times for me. (For the record, I don't have a college affliation but *IF* I had to chose one, I'd say Penn State since Hubby's from there and BIL & SIL graduated from there. Disclaimer: this is not saying I'm a Penn State fan)

2. The temperature here goes from Hot as the Pits of Hell to Turn on the Furnace OVERNIGHT. During the course of a day, people in this state have been known to be running air conditioning to heat in the span of 12 hours. During the next 12, the cycle can easily be reversed. There are 4 seasons in Nebraska, however, they are: Wear a Sweatshirt (Fall), Wear the heaviest winter jacket you have with gloves, thermal underwear, scarf, hat and remembering to start your car AT LEAST 30 minutes before you want to leave (Winter), Wear a sweatshirt, T-shirt, and shorts because its chilly in the morning and hot enough to make you sweat in the afternoon (Spring), Wear the minimal amount of clothing you can to avoid an indecent exposure charge and avoid any public place that does not have air conditioning (Summer)

3. Rain. And lots of it. Fall rain is different from spring rain. Spring rain brings about violent crashing storms. You know you've lived here too long if instead of taking safe shelter during the blaring tornado sirens, you stand outside to see if you can catch site of it and comment on how the sky is looking green. Spring storms rarely last long before the rain lets up and you are subjected to crushing humidity. Fall rain is dreary. Its been raining for 3 days here. Its gray and miserable looking outside. Its damp and chilly. To me, there is nothing fun about fall rain because in a flash it could turn to (a) snow or (b) freezing drizzle causing car wrecks at every intersection on the way home.

4. Its dark when you get up and dark when you leave work. Talk about depressing! Nothing like only existing on flourescent lighting for 6 months of the year.

I am an oddity (yeah, like you haven't guessed that from my other posts) in that I really don't like fall. It only signals to me that winter is coming. I don't walk around saying things like, "Isn't the snap in the air great?" "Don't the trees look so cool and spooky for Halloween with no leaves?" "Isn't it nice to not have to deal with it being 97 degrees and a heat index of 125?" To me, the perfect conditions would be spring all year round, only slightly warmer. Say a nice 80 to 85 degrees with a breeze. I think I get a little down in the dumps during the changes (God help my husband when I hit menopause then!) so I figured I'd compile my list to God:

If you're listening God (which you probably aren't due to the Weepin' Jesus and all) grant me this:
1. Perfect Weather all year. You can even leave those wicked thunderstorms in. I like to sit outside with a glass of wine soda and watch the lightning. I like the smell of warm rain. Ok, good on that?
2. Make my jeans fit again without me doing any work. Ok so I know that's a pipe dream so we'll just move on...
3. Send my Sox to the Series again. I know you have the power to do this, you did it in 2004.
4. Since I'm asking and all...would it be too much to ask that there is magically either less bills or more money?
5. Can you work on the prices of gas and milk, both of which I use in large quantities. And on the milk thing, if you could just fix that for Ashley in her neck of the woods, it would be appreciated. I owe her one since she listed me on her blog roll and all.
6. Can you make sure that Shaggy stays smart and safe as he enters the dangerous woods known as Almost Grown? I've done my part and now its time for me to let go. Yeah, I need some help with that part too!
7. Can you speed up the puberty process in the Dancer so that she makes it through the teenage years without me killing her and/or becoming an alcoholic?
8. We appreciate Baby and all but can you remind the little Satan Spawn darling who rules the roost? And while we're at it, can you make sure she talks soon so that I won't run out of material for this blog?
9. Can you just eliminate Nascar? It sure would make me a happier woman.
10. Can you eliminate Hubby's craptastic (sorry Sash stealing your word here) taste in music? I know he'd say I have craptastic (that really is a fabulous word) taste but I don't. I don't own every hair band album known to man. As a matter of fact, can you just eliminate the categories of Arena Rock and Hair Bands altogether??? (I know I'm probably offending some but dammit these cd's are just taking up valuable space in our CD player for ones I like....like, Duran Duran and Prince and maybe some George Michael - just to show I too have some craptastic taste but the difference is, I like these. I do not like Warrant, Poison, Dio, Dokken, Winger, Kix, etc)

What It Means To Be a Red Sox Fan

I've been a Red Sox fan my whole life. I grew up listening to my dad grumble about Bill "Fucking" Buckner. For a long time, I actually thought that was his name. We lived in England during the '86 Series. My dad religiously watched every game. I grew up knowing the meaning of being a Sox fan. It meant having dreams crushed. It meant losing hope. It meant worshipping a team that could hand a win away.

My son, Shaggy, knew about Aaron "Fucking" Boone. He, like me, also thought that was his name. I remember watching his walkoff homerun in like the 11th inning against Tim Wakefield. I remember shutting off the TV in disgust and just going to bed. That epitomized what it felt like to be a Sox fan. The loss of hope. Knowing you were this close just to see it disappear. Hope...its a word most Sox fans know well. Loss of Hope...well thats a phrase Sox fans know better.

Something miraculous occurred in 2004. I think its because I didn't have the Weeping Jesus in a drawer. Maybe its because I was abstaining from sex at that point. Maybe its because I was only casually watching the games because they were UGLY and I was feeling that familiar loss of hope. Whatever it was, the miracle occurred. The Sox were down 0-3 games in the ALDS against, who else, the Yankees. It looked assured that yes, it would be the Yankees again in the World Series.

Game 4: I stayed up....late...somehow, someway, the game was tied. After a few extra innings, I finally had to go to bed. I think it was midnight. I woke up like a kid on Christmas morning and turned on the TV. Could it be? Was I seeing this right? The Sox pulled it out?

Game 5: See game 4 above except I stayed up later and the game went even long.

Hope....I had Hope. Could it be? Was it possible? A tiny glimmer of something so small I barely recognized it began to grow in my heart.

Somehow, the Sox managed to do the impossible. They pulled out the biggest upset in MLB history! Against the Yankees. Whom I hate. With a Passion.

Now, I find myself in a similar position this year. Trying to maintain that smallest glimmer of hope in my heart while the Sox are down 2 games to 1 agains the Indians. The current score...7-3. Hope...I feel it growing. If I had the Weeping Jesus, I'd pull him out of the drawer and light it. Hope....

Mama's Little Boy Goes To Homecoming

As you can see, my son no longer resembles Shaggy. However, even with his much improved haircut and pube beard trip, he's still an ass. He gets some kind of perverse pleasure from making me more nuts. I offered to adopt his girlfriend tonight and/or have her parents take him. For some strange reason, they seem to like him. I don't get it. He eats, he's smelly, and well, he's a boy. I truly can't imagine where he got such a smartass attitude from. He certainly doesn't take after me!

For the record, his mother is attempting to raise him right since she kindly reminded him he needed a corsage...well, you can see his response below. Then he asks me to order it and informs me girlfriend's dress is light pink and black. I know I'm old and shit, but I don't see ANY light pink in that dress.

Digital Cable 101

There was a night when Hubby and I were home alone. Both the older kids were off where ever it is they go (probably drinking and doing drugs) and the baby was with her grandparents being fed foods that were easily identifiable the next day (Thanks a freaking bunch, Mom and Dad!!!) What did we do? Go out all night and party? NO...but there were excuses reasons for that:

1. We have a severage shortage of funds in Casa de Momma Rules
2. We're old and the party scene just isn't our thing
3. My feet hurt and I wanted to get out of my girdle capris

So, off to home we went. At approximately 9pm at night. On a Saturday. On the night we were celebrating our Anniversary. Sad, yes, yes we are! At this point, you're point you're probably wondering:

1. How is this funny?
2. Is all the other shit she writes totally fictitious because they sound worse than my grandparents?
3. What the hell is the point to this rambling story?

I'll get to the point. We decided to watch a movie. Alas, (yes I really used the word Alas) there weren't any good movies on pay-per-view. Which led to us feeling old, dried up, and boring. So, Hubby thought it would be funny to scroll through the Naughty channels. Actually, I think he was testing to see if I'd say lets order one. We tried watching the previews but no dice. They don't show them on the Naughty Channels. We tried reading the overview but again, they were more boring than Hubby's Nascar book. We thought about ordering one but Holy Hell, $12.00 is a lot of money. You see, we thought we were getting a 90 minute movie. For $12. Not cool.

Then we started laughing at the channels. Did you know there are Spanish Naughty channels? A Sci-Fi Naughty? If you've got a freaky fetish (ummm yeah, I do), there is a channel for you. We started wondering what might be shown on these. In the course of this, Hubby accidentally ordered a channel. At least that's his story and he's sticking to it. I tend to believe him since we aren't Sci-Fi buffs and there is NOTHING sexy about Mr. Spock, complete with pointy ears, in a porno. We spent 10 minutes trying to cancel it. No dice there either. We laughed and then laughed some more. Especially at Mr. Spock's climax when he shot what appeared to be green pudding from his wanger. Then something miraculous occurred. The story changed. It was good, old fashioned porn.

So, you see, all's well that end's well and all ended VERY well that night! And for those of you who may have considered this purchase and been put off by the price, apparently you get it for like 12 hours.

Secrets to NOT Pissing Me Off

I'm pretty easy going. For the most part. I only lose my temper when I'm irritated. Therefore, here are some things that just irritate piss me off:

1. When I'm anticipating something and its not there. I was thinking all day today about eating the leftover Pork Vindaloo I made as part of my Indian Feast. I get ready to make dinner and *POOF* it's gone. Thanks, Shaggy, thanks a bunch.

2. When there is crap clutter everywhere. Apparently, I'm the only one this bothers. And since I'm the only one this bothers, I end up picking it up. Anal? Why yes, yes I am.

3. When I have 5 thousand hours of taped shows and without discussion, it becomes sports night. Have I mentioned I married a neck? Have I mentioned I hate racing? Have I mentioned that racing is on like 5 nights of the week? Add in baseball, college football, and football....I'm turning into a real woman who hates sports.

4. When I have to repeat myself. I love hate nothing more than telling a whole story to get to the last 2 words and have Hubby go, "What???". Way to make me feel valued! I hate calling the kids to do things and then calling them again and then again. By the 3rd time, the curse words are flying. I truly believe that in our house, the frequency of my voice is only heard by dogs...cuz there sure as hell ain't noone else hearing me!

5. When I buy a new coffee cup to get home and find out it has a huge crack in it. Way to go dumbass....nothing says competence like not looking it over before you spend an insane amount of money for a thermal coffee cup.

6. When I procrastinate so much about this dieting thing and now my jeans feel like a fucking girdle. I refuse to buy a larger size so my only choice is to squeeze into them and spend the whole day attempting to pick half my underwear out of my ass. Yes, half.


Yeah, so I've been a tad agitated the last couple of days. I feel better now.

ETA: I got control of the 'mote so the evening was much happier....I think the heavy sighing and snapping at people did the trick!!!

Supply And Demand My Friend

Last night, as I had both the older kids crammed into the clown mobile car, driving middle to dance and Shaggy to exchange his knee brace, I had a conversation with Shaggy:

Me: Ok when we get to dance and you let Kelly out, you have to get out the car backwards and dance around while singing circus music

Shaggy: gives the look that says my mother is a retard and giggles

We drop Kell at dance. By drop I mean we used to shoe horn to wiggle her out of the backseat of my little tiny clown mobile Mitsubishi Eclipse.

Then we have this conversation:

Me: What time will you be home Saturday from homecoming?

Shaggy: I'm not sure what time the dance ends but I think girlfriend has to be home by midnight.

His current curfew is 11. Yes, I realize he's 16. Yes, I realize he's a good kid. Even good kids need limits and well honestly, I feel the need to still show I have the power.

Me: You going to call Aunt about your haircut and beard trim?

Shaggy: I don't know. **pauses** I think I might just shave.

Me: Why??? Aunt said she'd pay for a haircut, style and beard trim. Let them do it.

Shaggy: I don't think I'm going to get my haircut.

Me: Shaggy, you know I don't care about long hair. If you want to grow yours that's fine. BUT, you need a trim. And you should let them neaten up your beard because, well, it looks like pubes growing on your chin.

Shaggy: Gives me "Did my mom just really say pubes and how freaking gross" look rolled into one

Shaggy: I don't want to cut my hair.

Me: You don't have to get 5" cut off but you need a trim.

Shaggy: I don't even have 5" of hair

Me: Stop being literal you know what the hell I mean.

Shaggy: But, girlfriend likes my hair

Me: You want a later curfew? Its all about supply and demand my friend!

Shaggy: WHAT?? Its NOTHING like supply and demand..I did take economics you know.

Me: I'll supply you a later curfew but I demand a haircut and beard trim, call your Aunt! See, supply and demand.

Shaggy: UGHHHHHH!

Me: You don't seem to understand that this isn't an option....When I say supply and demand, its all on my end. Otherwise, I'll be at homecoming in my nightgown at 11 to pick you up. I will stand outside the car and yell, "Shaggy....Mommy's here. How was the dance???"

Shaggy: **glare of death and dead silence**

Score 1 for Mom, 0 for Shaggy

PS: I pledge my undying love for Tina for showing me a new toy in the strike out thing!!! You rock, Tina!

Thanks and Update to Man Tag

Ok thanks so much to Jamie and Sasha for the help with the link thingy and obviously on my man tag post, I need to change my answer to the question: Who is better with the computer? My new answer should obviously be Sasha and Jamie

Link Thingy

Someone HEEEEEEEEEEEELP!!! How the holy hell do you put a link in your blog and make it say what you want?????

Man Tag

Man Tag from Sasha

1. Who is your man? The Hubby aka Don

2. How long have you been married? Since July 25th, 2006 - we had a shotgun wedding before baby was born!!!

3. How long dated? did the long distance thing from 2004 to 2005 - yes it CAN work!

4. How old is your man? 38 - a whopping 3 years older than me and definitely on the slippery slope to 40!

5. Who eats more? I'd say him....but only because I'm a damn good cook! (right, Don????)

6. Who said "I love you" first? I think it was him

7. Who is taller? Hubby is taller but by how much depends on who you ask! I'm 5'1.5" and he's 5'7.5" but claims 5'8" - yeah we're both shorties

8. Who sings better? I sound great in the shower but I'm pretty sure neither of us would win American Idol

9. Who is smarter? ok, I asked Hubby and he agreed and said me....that's right...he knows who's the boss!

10. Whose temper is worse? Well, if you asked Hubby, me....If you asked me, ummmm me. I have the hothead Irish redhead temper. I don't think I've ever scared him but a few waitresses have scurried away from our table with their tails between their legs.

11. Who does the laundry? Hubby because well, because I don't want to

12. Who takes out the garbage? Sean, our 16 yo son does. Unless he's not around, which is often. Then we try to pawn it off on Kelly.

13. Who sleeps on the right side of the bed? If you are standing at the bottom looking at it, I do. I have this thing about sleeping near the door. That way when the crazy axe murderer sneaks in I will know because he'll get Hubby first. BUT, when he gets out of bed, I usually curl up on his side.

14. Who pays the bills? Both I'd say...whoever remembers that there's a bill due when we get paid. Lately its been more me because I pay them at work when I get paid.

15. Who is better with the computer? Depends on the computer....Hubby's probably a little better with a PC than I am but I rock a Mac.

16. Who mows the lawn? Again, Sean. I used to mow when I was single. We are trying to figure out how to get Sean to do it when he's at college....

17. Who cooks dinner? Me...although Hubby is good about throwing something together during the week and he usually does Friday's since that's my night off.

18. Who drives when you are together? Usually Hubby

19. Who pays when you go out? Whichever one can get the check card out first....

20. Who is most stubborn? Again, I asked Hubby and he said we're even. He admits to being stuck in his ways (ie: when he's right, he's right and when he's wrong, he's right!)

21. Who is the first to admit when they are wrong? see #20

22. Whose parents do you see the most? Probably mine since they live here and his live in PA but we really don't see my parents that often either....

23. Who kissed who first? I think he kissed me first

24. Who asked who out? Neither, we did the ole internet hook up, met and he couldn't resist me and the rest is history!

25. Who proposed? Hubby did but he made me help pick out my engagement ring (and I had to negotiate the price on it but I did get one hell of a deal!)

26. Who is more sensitive? Ummmm the one with the uterus...that'd be me

27. Who has more friends? Neither, we're pretty pathetic on the friend front and truly like hanging out with each other!

28. Who has more siblings? Exactly the same number and we are both the oldest.

29. Who wears the pants in the family? Literally, we both do since I hate dresses but figuratively, me...he says both but he'd be wrong. He's arguing with me but since this is MY blog, I get to write what I want, you don't like it Don, get your own!!!)


And now I TAG: Tina and Mrs. Whogas

They're HEEEEEEEEEEERE

So, the Hubby and Abby returned from their grand adventure in Pennsylvania last night. I was all excited to see them and then it happened...

1. Abby was more excited to see her big sister than me. I was like a can of chopped ham, nobody wants it but it will do in a pinch. I'd say it sucks, and it kinda does, but she knows where her bread is buttered and which one of us is the easier mark.

2. Hubby's got some kind of nasty cough. It was close last night, I almost smothered him with a pillow. I never sleep well when he's not here so I was exceptionally tired. He fell asleep right away, which is a problem because he snores. He claims that I do but until I hear the audio evidence of this I do not believe it! Then, once I FINALLY fell asleep, he woke me up coughing...then again...then again. I feel bad for him but I was totally tempted to use my pillow for something other than my head last night. Lets just say that I like my sleep and I might be a tad bitchy when its interrupted.

He did bring back this picture which I thought was perfect for blogland (you might have to click to enlarge it so you can see):



There are a few options I came up with for what this store might be:

1. The place to return damaged merchandise
2. The largest Viagra warehouse in America
3. Some strange sex shop

Wonder what kind of weirdo's they breed in PA with this kind of store! :D

You Know You're Getting Old When....

You think he is one of the hottest guys on TV. I think he's really the reason I started loving "Without A Trace". Wonder how I could convince him and Jill Hennessey to pay me a visit????

Do You Know Me???

Of course you don't...you're only reading the parts of me I choose to share (or over share as the case may be). Since I keep getting this as a freaking annoying email, I thought I'd use it as a blog entry so then you can say you do know me (lucky lucky you!)

My is my full name: Caitlin Marie J. Only call me Caitlin if I'm in trouble or you want me to punch your lights out. I hate my first name. If you aren't family, don't even try the Katie thing. I haven't been Katie since I was 5 and when I hear it in relation to me, I feel like I should have overalls on and pigtails with ribbon.

The love of my life: My husband, Don. And food. And music. But mostly my husband. In spite of his fart fetish, I adore the holy hell outta him and thank my lucky stars everyday that he came into my life (unless I'm mad at him, that is).

Where we met: We haven't "met" but I would say most of you cyber met me through
Ashley's blog

Take a stab at my middle name: Duh...I typed it above...Marie

How long you've known me: probably not long enough to "get" me but long enough to find me totally fascinating!

The last time that we saw each other: when you looked at my blog, you probably saw me. Although its a purposely small picture...helps make ME appear smaller!

Do I drink: Is the pope Catholic?? What kind of good Catholic, Irish girl would I be otherwise???

Your first impression of upon meeting me/seeing me: you tell me. I'm sure it would be nicer than what I could write about myself.

One of my favorite things to do: read, write, listen to music...I'm pretty boring actually

Am I funny: I totally think so but again, you tell me.

My favorite type of music: Rock Rock and well, Rock

Can I sing: only if you want your ears to bleed

The best feature about me: I think I have amazing green eyes but since I purposely put a small picture (see above) I guess I will have to go with a non-physical feature and say I'm honest and trustworthy. If you are my friend, you are my friend for life. Also, I'm absolutely brilliant but lack the self control to follow through and finish my college degree!

Am I shy or outgoing: outgoing I'd say..who else would write about themselves on the web if they weren't?

Am I a rebel or do I follow the rules: hmmm, both I guess...

Do I have any special talents? If so, what are they: no talent whatsoever but I am a damn good cook

Have you ever hugged me: if you have, I certainly didn't know although I'd certainly like to cop a feel...I mean, hug a few of you!

My favorite food: Indian and Italian...I know I know, I'm Irish but what can I say, I have the whole United Nations for taste buds

Have you ever had a crush on me: probably not but I certainly seem to be crushing on a few of you!

If there was one good nickname for me, it would be: again, tell me though most at work refer to me as that bitch...not sure if that's a nickname or not

If you and I were stranded on a desert island, I would bring: music and books and wine

Are we friends: sure why not

Do I believe in God: absolutely but not so much organized religion. I call myself a cafeteria Catholic - I take what I like and leave the rest

Who is my best friend: my husband without a doubt

What are my political affiliations: Dem to the core..again what kind of good Catholic Irish girl would I be otherwise?

Have I ever been in the military: came close since I turned down an appointment to West Point but not me personally. I followed my dad around during his military career

What are my past jobs: hooker, stripper, and drug dealer..now I'm just a thief

Mama's Little Boy (Part 2)

I love my son to pieces...he is truly a wonderful person and a great kid. I'm gonna have to have a talk with him about how it is more normal for teenagers to get in trouble, not be all good and shit (just kidding!!!) This is how my Seany Boy looks now. Homecoming's next weekend and he's getting a true metrosexual makeover for the big event. Which is a good thing seeing as he truly resembles Shaggy. For posterity's sake, I'm posting this as the "before". I'm sure I'll have loads of "after" to post after next Saturday. Seriously, how did my genes manage to create such a cutie pie????



By the way, these were both taking by him, he has a strange fetish for self portraits.

Why I Am The Way I Am

Lately I've become a bit concerned over the tone of my posts...wondering if they were too much. After some soul searching, I came to realize that my posts perfectly reflect who I am. However, I forget that people who read this don't know me. They don't know my inability to control my mouth. They don't know that I tend to say exactly what is on my mind when it is on my mind. They don't know that I giggle like a little kid at words like box, balls, shaft, etc. What they see on here is a freak (which I am) with little to no social graces (guilty as charged). In short, what you see, or read, is what you get. I make no apologies for my crassness or inappropriatenss. These are my thoughts, exactly as they come into my mind.

However, it has led to some reflection on how exactly I became the way I am. Sarcasm was a way of life in my family. You better know how to come up with a good come back or you will be eaten alive by the sharks in my family. We show our love in zingers and put downs. Practical jokes and an ability to push each other to the limit are every day ways of life.

One memorable occassion occurred when I was about 13. They were painting the base gym and had spent days peeling off the old paint...the old BROWN paint. It was that style of paint that is like plastic. They GI's thought it would be hysterical to shape this paint like a giant turd and leave it in the shower of the gym. Juvenille humor at its best. My dad thought this was the best thing ever and quickly appropriated the fake turd for his own personal use.

At the time, my brother (3) and sister (5) were sick with chicken pox and were often given cornstarch baths together. On this particular night, my father carefully placed the fake turd in the tub, knowing I was getting ready for my shower, and took up position in his bedroom to watch the show. I unsuspectedly enter the bathroom, pull back the shower curtain and prepare for my shower. My father is anxiously waiting for me to discover the turd. Finally, I turn and look into the shower. At the sound of my loud screech, my father comes running. I indignantly point into the tub and make sounds of disgust. I should have known what was up when my father could barely get out the words, maybe E or P had an accident. He's choking on his own laughter. I'm so grossed out I don't pick up on this. My father instructs me that I need to remove the turd from the tub. Of course, my response is an emphatic NO. Remember, I'm 13..sullen and owly but still prone to obeying. After much back and forth, and a flood of tears from me, I stomp over and get about 10 faceclothes, grab the paint turd and with a large PLOP deposit it in the toilet. I'm bawling by the fact that I was forced to perform this disgusting task. Again, I should have known that (A) my mother would never have left a large turd in the tub and (B) no turd is so perfectly shaped. At this point, my dad is crying just as hard as I am, but his are tears of laughter since I've now dropped the turd into the toilet. All I can say is, he's fucking lucky I didn't try to flush!

So, now perhaps you understand why I am the way I am...the blame belongs squarely with my parents. Freaks that they are. My only hope is, I can be just like them!

What A Freakin Day

Today was officially the day from HELL. Its almost 8:30 and I'm FINALLY home.

It started this morning when the alarm started blaring at 5:30 am. I normally ignore it for at least a half hour but I had to get up and take Hubby and Abby to the airport. Yes, you read that correctly, airport and ass crack of dawn. I managed to stumble out of bed, pull on some sweats and a Boston hat, brush my teeth and get in the car. Then some bald weeble wobble freak at the airport, who was also missing approximately 75% of his teeth, decided that it would be good to stutter out some conversation as I was leaving. I was tired, bummed to not be going, and facing a day at work....I'm sure my glare of death translated into "Fuck Off Weeble" because he quickly turned and scurried off. Good deed 1 for the day accomplished.

I got home in time to shower and turn around and leave for work. That whole getting dressed thing didn't work out so sweet for me this morning. I must be bloated because my jeans fit like my lower body was sausage meat and they were the casing. By the time I got to work, I felt like my belly button was being forced out my ass - and not in a good way. I'm sure its bloating because it couldn't be that I now qualify for a contestant on The Biggest Loser.

Work was a bitch. We are busy as an Irishman at a bar during Happy Hour (and yes, I'm fecking ethnically qualified to make Irish jokes). I barely had time to fart all day which wasn't helping with this whole bloat thing. Before I knew it, it was 4:30 and time to go...

Which normally is a good thing. Except for the fact that Hubby is now all comfy at his folks house in Philly which left me to do the running. (ok, so he's probably not real comfy as he had to fly from Omaha to Philly with Abby ON HIS LAP. He hasn't called yet and I'm scared to call him in case he's sitting in a pile of his own drool). At any rate, moving back to more important things (ME), I get home pick up the dancer and the scruffy one. Drop the dancer at dance and have freedom to run until 7:45.

Scruffy One and I make a run to our local Indian grocery store for all my supplies. With Hubby out of town, I get to indulge myself in an Indian Feast (remind me to kick my own ass later because it would have been easier, cheaper, and a lot less work to just go to our local Indian restaurant and buy the beforementioned fucking feast. I think I'm a glutton....for punishment that is). Then to the grocery store and gas station before circling back to where I started to pick up the dancer.

I did get home to find out my Sox kicked the shit out of the Angels so that helps. I now have until Sunday to enjoy some time without Abby but I'm running all the fuck over the next few days. I think by the time I pick them up on Sunday night, I'll be sitting in a pile of my own drool.

ETA: Ok, I came back to edit this because I forgot something but I think I have dementia because I can't freaking remember what it was....

Are You Ready For Some Baseball???

It's October. The time of change. Kids are settled back into school, the weather is turning, time to drag out all the clothes that probably no longer fit (don't even ask how the diet is going because, well, its NOT). Its also time for postseason baseball. Since my beloved BoSox are in, I'm a happy girl. Til I remembered, shit, the husband.

My husband is a sports freak. Well, he's also just a freak but for the sake of this, we'll leave it at sports freak. He would probably watch log throwing if there weren't any other sports on ESPN. Its like his drug. He gets all comfy on the couch and holds the remote in a death grip. Believe me when I say death grip, I've tried to pry it out of his hand. Its a sad sight to watch.

Back to baseball...yayyy the Sox. Now, I'd be content to just watch them play. I don't have to watch every game and then the highlights on ESPN. I don't care. I just want to see my Sox. But, the hubby? He will have to watch EVERY game, especially now that the Phillies are in. Yeah, he's a Philly sports fan....my only small satisfaction that comes out of this is that my Pats beat his Eagles in the Superbowl. When the games are on during the weekend, I'll be anxiously watching to see if his head explodes trying to decide between baseball, football, racing, etc. If he only drank, I'd send him to a sports bar.

The watching sports thing doesn't really bother me because if I really want to watch TV, he'll go watch his crap, I mean sports, in the bedroom. However, his sports obsession does lead to some quirks:

*He gets claw hand from gripping the remote so tightly. I think there is an imprint on his palm that has the serial number from the remote
*He talks to the game. No matter how often I remind him that no matter how LOUDLY he talks, they can't hear him, he still feels the need to chime in his 2 cents on whatever the issue is. He's a couch referee, couch coach, and couch player all rolled into one.
*He gets selective hearing. He has this often but it is especially bad when sports are on. I could stand in front of him buck ass naked and say lets get busy and he'd just lean around me to get a better view of the TV. Now, the selective hearing thing is a big irritant (you reading this my darlin????) When I ask you a question, don't ignore me. When I'm talking to you, don't pretend you are listening until some key point catches your attention and then say, "Now, what was that?". Furthermore, don't get all pissy that you aren't told anything when very often, you are told but you don't listen. You know its true!

As much as his sports obsession irritates the living piss out of me, he's a great guy. With a few exceptions. I might be crass in my writing but in some instances, he totally lacks social graces. For example:

*When you have to sit on the floor in the living room to eat over the coffee table like its a giant tv tray, it is NOT funny to fart and see how loudly you can make the wood floors rumble. Yes, I'm sure Sean can hear it in the basement. Do not laugh like you are 3 at this antic.
*When you fart and it stinks, it is NOT funny to wait til someone smells it and then laugh when they are gagging (usually me).
*When we are in the Wal Mart parking lot, it is NOT funny to go into a mini plie and let one rip as people are walking unsuspectingly to their car (ok that one was funny but only because you didn't realize they were walking to the car and the looks they gave you)
*When we are in Wal Mart, it is not funny to fart near me and walk away so the other shoppers think I can't control MY bodily functions.

Lest this sounds like he's a rude and disgusting jerk, let me tell you about his good.
*He's hot (at least to me). After all our time together, I still find him sexy and I love it when he shows affection.
*He's awesome with Abby. He gets up with her in the mornings and gets her ready so that I can sleep in for an extra half hour and I gotta say, he usually gets up with her on the weekends too.
*He will do whatever I ask. One thing I've learned is, don't drop hints. Most men, won't pick up a hint BUT if you ask them to do something, they will. He knows I hate to mop so he will do that most every weekend and he does the laundry. He even cooks during the week. I forget to tell him often how much I appreciate all that he does.
*He thinks I'm beautiful no matter what. Although he doesn't tell me that as much as he used to, I know he still thinks it.
*I can tell him anything. And, I do mean ANYTHING. We had a great conversation last night about who we think is hot. He knows my "Toy Story". We talk about sex, masturbation, fantasies, and all the other normal stuff.
*My kids love him to pieces. He is their dad. He is just a out and out great father to all the kids.
*On the important things, he does listen (yes, even when it seems he's not). From different things, I can tell he thinks about what I've said and tries to improve.

There isn't much I'd change about him at all. I know he's not perfect but I don't want him to be. He accepts me for all my postives and negatives and loves me in spite of the many negatives. Every day life gets in our way sometimes and we both take each other for granted but at the end of the day, all is not right with my world unless he's in it. He knows about this blog, knows he's going get bitched about (I told him) and doesn't mind. Now, thats love!

So, to my beloved husband....thank you for coming into my life. Thank you for loving me for me. Thank you for healing my broken heart and making me whole again. Thank you for being my best friend in the whole world. For our yesterdays, our todays and for all our tomorrows I love you. (Just remember this the next time you want to be irritated with me! :D)

Needy?? Why Yes, Yes I Am

I love to read comments people leave. If you visit, and like it, or don't like, drop a comment and say so. I'm sorta like the old miser counting his money at the end of the day....today I had 2 comments. I love all the comments, the good, the bad, and the ugly - since all those traits somewhat represent me. Don't be afraid to drop me a line telling me what you think. If you hate it and think I'm a crass Piece of Shit, say so. I'll thank you with a smile!

PS - in case this post comes across as a needy cry for recognition, that's EXACTLY what it is!

PSS - I warned Hubby that today's post is about him and some random thoughts. I think Hubby's great (except for when I'm annoyed at him) but he will probably come across as crass and as lacking in social skills as I am - which is probably why we are together.

Bowling For Dummines

My parents got married when I was 5. My dad had just joined the Air Force and they packed up a U-Haul and moved from Rhode Island to Texas (their 1st duty station). They didn't have much money so for their weekly "date" night, I got to tag along to the base bowling alley while they bowled on a league. I didn't mind at all. You see, I was totally enchanted by the fact that I now had a daddy since my mom had been a single mom til that point. My dad rocked! Ok Ok, so did my mom but I was used to her...she was "old news". At any rate, back to bowling....

Going to the bowling alley was great. All the adults used to slip me quarters to play video games (which to us "old timers" translates to pinball) and I was allowed to get a soda. That was a big deal. Then on Sunday's, that was family day to go bowling (which actually meant my dad went to practice for league and would let me tag along and throw a few balls). My dad originally taught me the between the legs throw, the stand at the line and swing 3 times and drop throw, and finally a real, live bowling approach. My point? I've been bowling since I was 5.

Fast forward to 35. My parents have recently gotten back into league bowling on a mixed double league. They asked my sister and her fiancee to bowl with them. I have to admit to being a bit peeved. Why wasn't I asked? HMMMPF! My nose was definitely out of joint (I conveniently forgot the fact that we have 3 kids at home, one of which is only 1). Then it happened. I was asked. It was a happy day.

My dad picked me up from work so we could take a little trip to his bowling store and I got all fixed up...ball, bag, and shoes. I was ready. Strike city here I come. I was syked to bowl my first Friday...ready to remember my old glory days of bowling. I was cocky, I was arrogant. This league had better watch out!

FIRST GAME
Frame 1 - 1 pin, gutter ball
Conversation in my head - its ok, you're just getting used to the ball

Frame 2 - gutter ball, gutter ball
Conversation in my head - Shake it off, you're just rusty

Frame 3 - gutter ball, gutter ball
Conversation in my head - Good Lord, I've lost my mojo

Frame 4 - gutter ball, gutter ball
Conversation in my head - You suck, you jackass!

Frame 5 - gutter ball, gutter ball
Conversation in my head - Why the holy fuck did I want to subject myself to this torture???

Suffice it to say, I did do a bit better. I ended up with a 76 average over 3 games and a WHOPPING 120 handicap - the HIGHEST in the league. As a matter of fact, I was the ONLY person with a 3 digit handicap.

When I got to work Monday, I was asked how bowling went:
ME: I had 1 by the 5th frame.
RESPONSE: One strike?
ME: No, no. ONE PIN.
RESPONSE: It took you 5 frames to knock down one pin???
ME: No, I'm pretty sure I knocked that down with my first ball
RESPONSE: **total silence**

The up side??? I have a pretty new ball that glitters.

PS - There are so many more things you can do with blogger on a PC and when you aren't using Safari and a Mac