My Email Rights Should Be Revoked

I suck at email.  Seriously...  I teach computer classes all day long.  I worked in business technology for years.  You'd think email would be a no-brainer.  Not the case for me, though.  Shall I remind you of my little accidental-email-to-the-boss-about-the-boss mishap??  I'm too quick on the trigger.  I don't write, think, revise, think, revise, think, send.  I merely type, send, regret!  It bites me in the a$$ every time.

Today is no exception.  Lucky for me, it wasn't a serious snafu.  The email did not contain any of my trashy talk.  It was to my husband, but it wasn't flirtatious or sexy.  That's not how I roll.  I wasn't giving him a dog cussin' clarifying instructions either.  I was quite embarrassed, nonetheless.

I received an email this morning from my children's preschool regarding Teacher Appreciation Week.  Each year during Teacher Appreciation Week, the parents of children attending the preschool provide snacks and treats to demonstrate our appreciation to the faculty and staff.  I'm not complaining; I'm more than willing to show my gratitude towards them.  Those teachers do great work!  My kids have learned so much there.  I forwarded the original email to my husband to ensure that we remembered to contribute.  My husband replied with he would remember if I didn't.

Being the smarty pants that I am, though, I could not resist.  In response to my husband, I added a little of my own commentary about the festivities.  Since I am a teacher, my email simply stated, "Yes, and you should show your appreciation towards me that week! I work hard for this chump-change!!"

It was meant for my husband, but it went to the administrator who originated the email.  Uh-oh!!

She emailed me back with, "If you taught my children, I would dear :)"

I'm sure she thought I was a straight-up loon!  I know if a parent emailed me stating that I should show appreciation for all the work she does at home, I'd add her to my list of Crazy Folks With Whom I Should Avoid Eye Contact in Walmart!

Even more embarrassing???  How about I cleared things up only to have her probably think that I was trying to sex up my husband while at work!  Seriously, she probably thought I was creeping on my husband in the middle of the day!    

I Hope He Didn't Lose His Eyesight as a Result...

My dear husband has been MIA for the last three days. He went on some stupid hunting trip. I suspect he's merely hanging out in a hotel for a few days since he's yet to come home with any type of dead animal. I know if I could have three days to myself, that's exactly how I'd spend it. Of course, my hotel would be in Paris, France, instead of Paris, Tennessee. Men are much simpler creatures, though.

While the ol' man (that's my biker chick impression) was hunting some peace and quiet turkey, the kids and I spent some good quality time together. We hit the zoo, played a little baseball, shopped, painted some pottery, enjoyed an afternoon birthday party, had a sleep over, and even played Just Dance on the Wii. I rocked it, btw... It was fun!

No, really... I'm not being a smart-ass either. We actually had a great time. With the exception of some accidental bed-wetting (not me; my son), it was all good.

However by the time Big Daddy showed up this afternoon, Mama was ready for a drink break. Too much mommy time is just bad for everyone involved. Before my husband could get both feet in the door, I was off for a little retail therapy. I had a few things to bring back to Old Navy and a couple of items to pick up at the grocery store. I was gone for nearly FIVE hours!

I get my shopping technique from my grandmother and my mom. I'm not happy until I've touched/fondled/handled nearly every item in the store. I peruse the racks and hum to the musak. Oh, the Spice Girls! I love that song! I sing and peruse some more.

I rarely try anything on, though. This is supposed to be fun, remember?? Instead I buy everything I want, and then I return 95% of it. That way, I get another afternoon to myself in order to return the unwanted merchandise. See??? This ain't my first rodeo!

Today I was torturing myself in the swimsuit section. Because I have complete body dysmorphia, I look at the two-pieces. What? I can dream, can't I? Don't worry; I'm not delusional, too. I went to the tankinis. Thank God for tankinis! Even big girls like me can own a two-piece!

Anybigfatass, I was having a dilemma regarding some pink, full coverage bottoms to match a print tank. The tank was green with a paisley print in various colors including pink. The pink, though, seemed to be lighter than the bottoms. See my dilemma? Consequently, I did what any woman would do... I asked a gay guy who worked there.

He and I debated and pondered for several minutes, but I could tell he wanted to get away. I'm thinking, Shit! I know I'm still carrying around those extra pounds, but I'm not grotesque, dude! At one point, I thought I saw him blushing. Was he creating a mental image of me in the swimsuit? Hell, is it that bad?!? I finally let him off the hook thinking he was on his way to the restroom to barf.

That's probably what he was doing, alright... As I reached down to pick up my purse, I saw the most horrific sight. There, for the entire world to see, was my left breast! I was wearing a peasant top with an elastic neckline. I bought it last summer when I was about 20 pounds heavier. I knew it didn't fit as well as when I purchased it, but I had no idea it stretched that much. Luckily, I was wearing a bra. But still!

I wonder how long I walked around the store with my boobage out?!!? They probably have a store surveillance tape to show at the next staff meeting. My wardrobe malfunction will be on Youtube.com video by next week.

That was not the five minutes of fame I was looking for...

Mama Has Super Powers

My husband really pisses me off sometimes.  Alright...I know one of his little "office spies" reads my blog and will go run to him regarding the contents of this blog.  "Kiss my ass!" is all I have to say about that.  Go back and tell him.  See if I give a shit!  If he were your husband, he'd probably piss you off every once in awhile, too.  As much as he'd like to think it, he is not perfect.  I'm not either, but this isn't about ME!  It's about him!  Stay focused, Little Spy.

Anyrat, I'm pissed!  We took the kids swimming this morning.  My son had his brand new pair of Versace Spiderman goggles with him.  The kid has 40 pairs of goggles, but these are his new prized possession.  He loves them!

When it was time to go back to the condo, my husband and daughter left before I could even finish the requisite death threats necessary to get him out of the pool.  After a series of tough negotiations, he got out but they'd already gone.  I dried him off, put his shirt on, grabbed all his pool gear, and headed up to our 6th floor condo for some lunch.

After eating, we headed to my dad's place for some scrump-dilly-ish-ous crawfish, visited my aunt, and stopped for a delicious snow cone.  A nice leisure afternoon in some of my most familiar haunts.  I nearly got the warm and fuzzies with all the nostalgia. 

After some enjoyable family time, we went back to our condo for an afternoon swim.  I dressed the kids in fresh swimsuits while my husband collected their pool gear.  That's when things went bad...

Apparently, the crown jewels were missing a stone!  *GASP in complete shock*  The Spiderman goggles were missing a lens!  And it was all my fault!

WTF?!?!

"If you'd keep up with stuff..."

I did keep up with the stuff.  Everything made it back to the condo, didn't it?

"Not exactly.  Where's the lens?  Where did you lose it?"

Aw, hell...  My head did a complete 360 and the green gunk started spewing.  Linda Blair didn't have shit on me!

Where did I lose it?  Are you suggesting that I lost the lens?  Oh, and I guess I lost it in a specific location to which I can return to retrieve the lens?  I freakin' hate assinine questions like that.

To make matters worse, my husband does this a LOT.  A whole, whole LOT.  My kids think it's my fault when it rains.  Well, if you wouldn't have washed your van...  Yea, and that whole tsunami thing?  That was me.  I didn't mess with the mine, but the earthquake in Cali, well, I just couldn't help myself. 

God, if I only had such power.  I sure as hell wouldn't be wasting it on stupid shit like sending my son into a complete meltdown over a damn lost goggle lens.  I'd be using that power to wreck havoc on Iran or North Korea or some other jacked up place like that.  For that matter, we'd have had a lot more snow days.  And that stubborn belly fat would be HIS-TOR-EEEE!

Jackass!  That's right, JP's spy!  I just called him a jackass.  A jackass who will probably be going without tonight, too!  (Watch...his damn cell phone will start ringing as soon as I press the POST button.)

Hey Moooog!  Do you think you can make me some reward posters at work?  I guess I'm on the hook for a new pair of Spiderman goggles if that darn lens isn't found.

Wait for it.  Wait for it...  *RING, RING, RING*

Memoir Monday - 10K Walk-a-thons and Why Skin Cancer Is Gonna Get Me

It's Memoir Monday, my favorite day of the week.  Well, at least my favorite blogging day of the week.  Let's not get crazy; Mondays still suck!  However, Travis, at I Like to Fish, and his bloggy friends do make me laugh and keep me from drinking the poisoned Kool-Aid.  Check him, and them, out!



My husband, kids, and I are in my hometown for a little mini beach vacation this week.  I was born and raised on the Gulf Coast.  While you could not pay me a million dollars to live here again, I do enjoy visiting.  My kids love the beach, and we all get to spend some time with my dad. 

Anyhumidity, I grew up in a beach community where warm and sunny was the daily forecast for about 10 months of the year.  We wore shorts from Valentine's Day until New Year's.  For some reason, though, we'd get 14 inches of snow in January or February.  I guess God really does have a sense of humor.  For the most part, though, the weather was beautiful.

Each year in about April or May, the March of Dimes held a walk-a-thon.  A freakin' 10 kilometer walk-a-thon!  I say that because I looked at the March of Dimes website where they sponsor 3 mile walk-a-thons these days.  What's up with that??  Did they finally kill a kid?

Let me back up...  My school system, for whatever reason, felt compelled to support the walk-a-thon every year.  They talked it up and really got us kids into it.  If you didn't walk in the walk-a-thon, you were considered the anti-Christ and shunned by the rest of the teenaged community.  It was a big. dot. deal!  I suspect the schools were getting some kind of kick-backs.  Don't get me wrong; the March of Dimes does awesome work.  But a 10 kilometer walk???  That's a little much for 13 year old kids.

Without fail, my friends and I met at the starting point near the lighthouse on Porter Avenue each year and made the 10-kilometer trek along the seawall.  We walked from the lighthouse to the mall.  About 6 miles to raise 47 cents for the March of Dimes.  Sometimes, I walked even though I hadn't collected any pledge money at all.  I didn't want to look like a big dork, ya know.

This is the walk.  We walked 10K!  That's about 6 miles!

Of course, we put our own little spin on it.  It typically went from about 9 am until noon.  It took just about an entire day to complete the trek.  We'd start at 9:00 a.m. and finish at about 2 or 3 p.m.  We did have a lot of fun, though.  We pool-hopped through all the hotels along the beach.  We stopped and ate at Wendy's.  We'd meet up with other friends.  All this dressed in bikini tops and NO sunscreen!

I must admit.  My intentions were pretty suspect every year.  Ya see, I was a certified tan junkie.  And what better way to get a starter tan than to walk outside in the hot sun during prime-time tanning hours??  I'd slather on the baby oil mixed with iodine and reapply after every dip in the pool.  For me, it wasn't a successful walk-a-thon if I didn't receive a third degree burn.  If I had to sleep naked with a thick coat of Aloe Vera because clothes were too painful, I was triumphant!

I'm glad to see that the March of Dimes has changed the walk to a mere 3 miles.  I presume they had to change it because so many folks are fat and lazy these days.  You can possibly get a teen to walk 3 miles, but he ain't doing ANYTHING for 6 miles.  Maybe drive 6 miles.

Now ya see why I'm certain that skin cancer will be nemesis???  I still have the scars from a bad burn in 1981.  

No Fun(neling) for the Over 40 Crowd

Finally!  Spring Break!  I thought it would never get here.  I thought I'd never get here (at least without receiving a sentence of 20-to-life).  I survived; they survived.  It's all good.  Now I can relax!  "Wait, but what about your own kids?" you ask??

Ahhh, life is beautiful!  No, I didn't ship them off to a boarding school.  I didn't even sell them on eBay, though that listing is currently sitting in my "pending" file.  Instead my husband did the sweetest thing that will cost me several blow jobs, and took them for a visit to the MILs house.  That's right folks; for the next 24 hours, I have the house to myself.  I don't think that's happened since Moses parted the Red Sea.  It may even be before dinosaurs became extinct.  It's definitely not happened since the PK days, better known as the Post Kids days.

Yes, I have a gazillion and one things on my to do list.  I really need to get ready for our trip to the beach!  We're leaving Sunday!  There are clothes to be washed, toilets to be cleaned, and my fingernails to be plucked out slowly with needle-nosed pliers, all of which are equally painful.  Ok, I won't be doing the last one but the others are pretty painful, too.  I've got suitcases to pull out of the attic.  I need to find the much-dreaded swimsuits and sunscreen.  I've got to drop the dog off at the kennel, stock up on some JC cuisine, weigh-in, get my hair cut, have my nails done...  Phew!  It's making me tired just thinking about it.

No wild kegger tonight, I'm afraid.  I may try to find that old funnel, though, and pour a Miller Lite down my throat for old times sake. 

Not me...or is it???  Uh-oh, maybe? 

Of course, that will probably make me puke.  Everywhere!  And I will feel like Hot Death on a cracker tomorrow.   

Oh, just NEVER MIND!    That damn voice of reason...  Why did none of that ever occur to me when I was in college making bad choices and sleeping with random frat boys who only appealed to me after 40 Lemon Drop shooters and a case of beer? 

Got the Blah, Blah Blues

Blah, blah, blah, BLAK!!  I hate when I'm in a miserable funk.  I know the people around me hate it, too.  I'm a b-word from H-E-double hockey sticks when I'm feeling out of sorts. 

My foul mood began on Saturday when I had my weekly weigh in with my JC consultant, Jessica.  When I got there, she was still with her previous appointment.  Usually I'm not impatient, but we had an Easter egg hunt, a baseball jamboree, and a birthday party on the agenda for the day.  I had too much going on to be waiting for something that I dreaded any way.  To make matters worse, and to be expected, I'd gained a pound.  Uuugghhh!!!  I suck!

I'm sure it had absolutely NOTHING to do with the whole bag of Cadbury mini eggs I devoured on Wednesday, all the beer I drank Thursday night, or all the pizza I ate Friday night to help absorb Thursday night's alcohol consumption.  I guess I should be thankful that it was only a pound.  So what do you think I did?  Do you think I went home and re-evaluated my food choices?  Do you think I went to the gym?  Maybe developed a stringent plan to eliminate any distractions from my focus?

Hell, no...  I went home and ate some more Easter candy.  On Easter Sunday, I ate even more candy and a scrumptious, traditional Easter dinner complete with candied yams and hot yeast rolls.  I just didn't seem to give a rat's ass be very concerned about my weight loss goals!

Today, I'm still in a funk.  I awoke at around 1 a.m. to a severe upset stomach.  I've felt nauseous all day, and still wish I could puke.  My head is in a fog, I'm ill as a hornet, and my ass is expanding as I blog. 

What is freakin' wrong with me?

It's got to be either my lovely anticipatory blahs before Mother Nature's gift or cancer.  Or AIDS.  How many years can that stuff go undetected?  

If it's terminal, God, please don't let my husband marry the first nympho stripper who comes along.  I can't have someone like that raising my children.  If it's not, can it at least be a stomach bug that will cause me to puke and defecate until I lose five pounds??

Blame It On Genetics

I've turned into my grandmother.  It's true.  My whole life I've been very deliberate in my attempts to NOT turn into my mother.  Instead, grandmother snuck (no...it's not a Merriam-Webster word; it's mine) up on me when I wasn't looking.  Damn!!!  You just can't fight genetics.

Let me back up here...  Some of you may remember me talking about my grandmother and the HOOT that she was (God bless her).  She was a fiesty little thing with her own flair.  She'd buy a plain tee or white canvas shoes and "embellish" like a professional designer.  She made Lelli Kelly shoes before Lelli did!  She didn't need the Ronco Stud Maker or the Bedazzler.  Hell, she practically invented those contraptions.  (I sure wish she'd have gotten a patent, though.  Maybe then I'd be vacationing in the Riveria right now instead of creating lesson plans for next week.  Oh, wait...I'm not doing that either.  I suck.)

Anyglitter, every thing my grandmother owned shined like the Hope diamond.  It felt like Fairytopia Barbie had just walked through the door each time she entered a room.  The only difference?  The small slits she made in the sides of her shoes to allow room for the bunions.  Other than that, she was a walking, talking fairy duster.  She blazed a trail through life with glitter!

Like I said, she's got a hold of me now.  Glitter is my new best friend.  I can't seem to control it, either!  My new motto has become Just a little more...

For example, I made little Girls' Night Out tees last night.  My girls and I have a limo reserved tonight, and we are hitting the town.  I'm so excited!  To commemorate such an event (and believe me, with a husband and kids, it is noteworthy feat), I got the idea to make matching shirts. 

After getting the appliques on the front, my hand started itching.  I just couldn't leave it like that!  More is better, right?  Before I could help myself, I had the glitter paints and sequins out.  Those shirts sparkle so much, the driver will probably end up blind after looking in his rearview mirror.  Seriously...  If a tail light goes out, I gotcha!  If we get lost, just follow the glitter trail.

If I start cutting up my shoes, please take me to the nearest nervous hospital.  That's where I draw the line!  Ya hear me, Mildred!!!