It’s been a year of almost pure shit.  I am sick and tired of it and want it over with. It can not come soon enough. And, I know it’s not supposed to make a difference what year it says it is on the calendar. There is absolutely no reason to think that having the year change from aught nine to ten will make any difference in our day to day continuance. I mean why should it. Logically, it won’t make any difference at all.

And yet, it has to.

I know that it was very close to the beginning of this year when things started spiraling downhill. John’s job got a ton more stressful. We had Marital Problems. His health issues. Issues that weren’t even acknowledged to us by his then general practitioner, and we ended up finding out with his stint in the hospital for the better part of October. Yes, October in particular, can bite my ass.

Moving right along…..

Henrietta has decided that Kessa’s boyfriend is the devil. No. Really. She selected him from all the other contenders of people that she see’s day to day sometime in October when John was in the hospital.

It all began with her telling my SIL, who was here taking care of her while I was there with John, that The Boyfriend was a shifty character who was just trying to sleep with Kessa.

Upon John’s and my return she announced to us that my SIL was unable to sleep while she was here one night because The Boyfriend was going in and out the front door all night and he was trying to sleep with Kessa.

Of course the SIL had already alerted us to this latest rant and we were kind of expecting, well, something like this.

I came *this* close to telling her something like, “Henrietta, I know it’s been a long time since you “slept” with anyone, but it’s not accomplished by going in and out the front door of the house.”

I just explained to her that SIL said no such thing and we had talked to her already and she must have misunderstood her.

Soon afterward, she indicated her annoyance with The Boyfriend in more ways to me.  Saying little muttered things under her breath about him being lazy, shiftless and no good. Rolling her eyes at the mention of his name. Said things like, “Oh, you know how that boy is…”

“No, how is he, Henrietta?”

Exasperated sigh, “Krissa, you know how he is!”

“NO! Truly! I do not! What have you got against him?! You’ve been badmouthing him for days and he has done absolutely nothing to deserve it! I stopped just short of telling her that he is just the latest in a long line of victims she has plucked out of thin air to harp on, (including me), and she is just never happy content if she’s not being hateful about someone.

At this point she stopped and told me that while John was in the hospital The Boyfriend threw the telephone at Kessa.

What?

Oh, yes. She was certain of it.  He was standing at the top of the stairs and Kes was standing on the landing and she told him she didn’t want to talk on the phone and she’d call the person back and he THREW the phone at her!

I assured her that this did not transpire and took the story in and was telling John what she said when Kes came home and caught the tail end of it and was amazed that there actually was a tiny grain of truth to another one of her wild tales.

Old Blue was for sale during all this time and we had an ad on Craig’s List.

We were getting calls for it and Kes and Keelan were taking numbers for me to return from the hospital or where ever. Hence, she took the phone upstairs with her to watch a movie. She came back down to make popcorn and The Boyfriend appeared at the top of the stairs and hollered at her that there was a call for the pickup. She said tell them my parents will call back and he said they just wanted to ask some basic questions. So she stepped up onto the landing and he pitched the phone down like we have done a thousand times, except Kes is the worst catcher in the history of people with hands and practically never does anything but break the fall for the phone. (Stairs are carpeted, whew!)

So, as per normal procedure, she drops the phone and then picked it up and talked on it and hung up and that was the end of it.  OR WAS IT?

God, please, PLEASE give Henrietta a more loving, tolerant, accepting soul and fill her with the understanding that there is no one in this house that is pure evil and actually the only evil she has to worry about is what she brings out in me when she gets all bitchy like this… Actually, scratch all that.

God, PLEASE give me a more loving, tolerant, accepting soul…

Amen

Friday, John and I went to JC Penny and I took a gander at the clearance rack.  I walked into the place with a $10.00 off coupon.  I walked out with two really cute new pairs of jeans that cost me a total of $11.21.  AND they’re a size smaller than the ones I’ve been wearing!  “What size, Krissa?”  I’ll tell you.  One more size down and I’ve hit my goal!  Woo-hoo!  How’s that for specific?

I put on one pair of them and wore them yesterday and Keelan remarked that they don’t make me look like I have an, ahem, “old lady butt”.  I considered this statement carefully and decided to let her live after all put it in the compliment category.

Both pairs of jeans are low rise, and while I don’t wear the “Mom Jeans” that  Stacy and Clinton on What Not To Wear are constantly lecturing people about, they are a good deal lower than I’m accustomed to.  I finally went in and put on a belt because every time I stood up I felt like I was losing them by an inch or so.

Then, Sunday,  Kes and I were running into Kohl’s.  Upon getting out of the child’s car, (actually climbing up out of her car, which is what you do with a Mustang…), grabbing the “waist” of the jeans and hauling them up, while pulling my shirt down and noticing Kes staring at me, I turned around so she could see my back and said, “So can you see any butt crack?”

She pinked up a bit, glanced nervously around and said, “NO MOM!”.  While deftly giving the ubiquitous eye roll.  She then had the grace to grin at me and comment that I need to “…get some tight strapless tops today.”.

I told her that I am wearing practically butt crack pants so she can just score one for her team and leave well enough alone.

Free toes, everybody!

Remember Jay Leno’s Stupid Criminals segments?  When he would regale the audience with tales of how someone got caught breaking into a house because they made it halfway through the dogie door and got stuck there?  Or was holding up a liquor store and trying to steal liquor too and when told that they needed to be over 21 to take the liquor, they handed over their license and even forgot to get it back?

There are many more of these.

John comes home from work fairly often with some doozies.  There is no end to the funny, and sometimes a little sad, tales of stupid criminals.

Take, for instance, the other day when a young kid was spied taking a box of Extenze (male “enhancement” product), off a shelf and putting it in his pocket. This crap sells for $40.00 a box.

John was waved over and he more or less stalked the guy until he got spooked and went into the bathroom.  John followed and the kid was immediately leaving.  John stopped him and gestured to the trashcan where the empty box was.  The boy denied everything and so was asked to step into the office.  He continued to deny that he had taken the box or that he had taken the blister packs out and had them on him.  John told him to just give it up, because the cops were going to be called and they WOULD get it back.  Nothing.  Complete denial.

The cops show up and, eventually the kid strips to his skivvies.  John said the cop told him, “Don’t take off the underwear!”  Anyway, they were tightie-whities, so it was evident it wasn’t in there.

Then they pulled out the big guns.  They called The Mama.  Tears were shed upon hearing this.  Mom showed up and he finally admitted taking the box and that when he got it into the bathroom, he discovered that someone had already stolen the contents.

This boy is 17 years old, just graduated from high school, 6′5″, has basketball scholarships to colleges, and stole a box of Extenze.

That was empty.

And he was a black kid, too!  Doing absolutely nothing to uphold the stereotype.

*sigh*

It was a misdemeanor, so I don’t think it’s going to hurt his ability to use the scholarships, at least I hope not.  I told John it just makes me want to shake him really hard and scream at him about how stupid that was.  He assured me that The Mama was most definitely going to be doing that.

In our next installment of Stupid Criminals, we will explore the question of, “Why are we consistantly turning up $100.00 short on one till or another when different people are running them… even department heads?” And no, it’s not organized crime.

Recently, John was practically comatose from overwork and sleep deprivation, when I woke him while getting in bed and he made a remark that if given a fraction of a second to respond while wide awake and alert he would have rather died than say.  He clearly wasn’t thinking straight and it was obviously not meant to be mean spirited.  He spoke these words to me and then, promptly rolled over and fell back to sleep.

I admit to feeling a tad stung at the exact moment, but in seconds I wanted to laugh, just because it really was out of character for him to say something so critical about my appearance.

I wasn’t going to say what he said, (out of deference to him), but it really was harmlessly meant.

He reached up to my face, (I was sitting up reading), and gently touched my cheek.  As I smiled and leaned into his hand a little he mumbled, “You’re getting some deep lines here… I noticed it the other day…”.  He, quite literally, rolled over and went back to sleep.

He was touching my laugh lines.

Needless to say I was… flabbergasted and a touch peeved, (not to mention a wrinkled up old prune), and I also knew, without a doubt, that he would never remember this tomorrow.  So I filled him in the next day and he was properly sorry and contrite, and had no recollection of the remark.

I shared this story with Kessa, the 19 year old child and she was incredulous.  Then a few days later, John told me that Kessa had, “ripped” him.

About what?

“Well, she started in on me about what happened the other night when I made that dumb remark to you about wrinkles and then Keelan walked in and Kes told her about it and they both jumped on me and I wasn’t sure I was gonna get out of here alive.”

HA!  My girls are looking out for me!

OK, fast forward several days to yesterday.  John and I were talking and making lists and whatnot as he was off work.  I told him I need some new  bras.  He said, Oh, Ok, or something like that.  And then made some off color remarks about why he doesn’t want me to wear them at all or some such thing.

After that he casually mentioned that it wasn’t too long ago that I got new bras and I agreed that it wasn’t that long but they really don’t do that much for me and I have my eye on one that will get ‘em up there.  He then looked at me and said “What do you mean?”.

I was in a nightgown and said, “Well, they’re here…and I want them somewhere higher.  Don’t you think?”

He immediately opened his mouth and snapped it shut like he was trying to catch flies.  It’s a wonder he didn’t bite his tongue off.  He then squinted a little, looked slightly pained and very slowly said, “Where do YOU want them to be?”

Heh.  Yeah, he may be careless from time to time but, he’s not that stupid!

Kessa bought a muzzle for The Boyfriend’s dog because he had nipped at another dog when they were playing.  It turned out to be too small.  She thought it would be funny to see what Baby would do when the muzzle was put on her, even though it was much too big.

I don’t think she liked it…

Yet, this didn’t keep me from laughing hysterically when I saw this picture.  Does this make me evil?  Perhaps.

Chuck, of Dooce fame may be an extremely well trained, talented dog, but I challenge him to look this pitiful.  Anyway… this pic is now my desktop picture.  I smile every time I look at it.

On to other things.

I think it’s weird that the person in, or close to Dublin, California that checks in on me regularly did so immediately before someone in Dublin, Ireland looked in.

I am the kind of person that derives immense pleasure in curious, wacky, little  coincidences like this.  I should have been a statistical expert, that way I would know just exactly how tickled to be.

Here I am waving at you, person in Dublin, California… HI!  OK, I guess I should wave at the person in Ireland, too, but, they’re not a regular, so I won’t be quite as enthusiastic.  Hi! (Not in all caps, yet still heartfelt.)

I am also going to take a minute to wave to a bunch of other regulars that I don’t know who are.  A lot of the same people check in regularly, but I know most of them from comments and email back and forth.  However, there are some that have been looking in on a regular basis for a very long time and not ever letting me know who they are.  (Cue the spooky music)

OK, lurkers, you know who you are!

Someone in West Jordan Utah, someone in or around Dallas, Texas, Jarrettsville, Maryland and Melbourne, Australia.

HI!

Well, there are more, but these are the only ones that are on the Live Feed right at this moment.  Once again, YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE, if you want your time in my, er…limelight(?) just comment and let me get to know you!

This particular post is one of those that’s a work in progress.  I have added to it twice now and I don’t know when it will feel finished.

Regular readers are probably wondering what exactly would constitute a “finished” er, “work”. Shush.  I could easily make a series of statements that flow together seamlessly and form cohesive thoughts and feelings and you would NOT EVEN KNOW WHAT WEBSITE YOU HAD STOPPED AT.

So this is how I roll.

It just seems like it sometimes.

I am being threatened again, by family and… “loved” ones.  I am being told that if I don’t post again immediately, well, there will be consequences.

You don’t want to know.

So here’s what’s going on at chez Lopez now and for the past six months few days.

As you probably remember, there was another auspicious occasion to go along with Mother’s Day.  My birthday was the day before.  I promised pictures when I wasn’t feeling too lazy to work on it and since I am now properly motivated, here they are.

Here’s John and I at Olive Garden.  I gained 50 pounds that night, and it’s all in my neck… and boobs.  I SWEAR my neck doesn’t look that wide in real life.  My boobs, however… Yeah, that’s about it.

We had a wonderful time and I got all kinds of gifts and whatnots.  The whatnots were especially great, but what would you expect?  I know everyone has had tons of fun with their whatnot’s before and you know of what I speak.

Here I am with my adoring fans.  I know you thought I really didn’t have any so I am attempting to provide proof.  John took this and I have to admit that every night there is a fight to see who can get in my lap first when I sit down in the living room with John to watch TV and talk.  Please click on the picture and notice that there are three (3) animals ergonomically packed into the chair with me.  There is the one small dog slid in over there on the right trying not to be noticed, cause if I get feeling claustrophobic after a bit, or just plain HOT (and who wouldn’t), they all have to be dumped out.

Going   back a ways, the last time I was at World Market I found the neatest little pair of earrings.  They are freshwater pearl on a sterling silver wire.  And, they were ten bucks.  I LOVE them.  They are comfortable to sleep in and came with little, tiny, clear acrylic backs that keeps them from wriggling out of my ear.  Cause if something can wriggle off of me, it will.  Except the pets… I think we all can agree that I am doomed to be smothered by the pets.

Moving right along…

This tree, planted between my house and the neighbors is in bloom and it is the neatest thing!  The blooms, that are ALL OVER IT smell like lavender.  And I guess they look a tad like it too.

The leaves, however, look like marijuana.

Well, they DO.

I have named it the “Lavender Marijuana Tree”.  It sounds like a kind that should be very expensive.

And finally we come to my new Haan steam mop!  Ignore the little old lady in the background.  She continually throws food onto the floor for the dogs, (and they DO NOT clean it up well), and she’s the reason I need the steam mop in the first place….  Yeah.  That’s what I’m going to run with.

Anyway, Mither gave it to me because I had told her how badly I wanted one and there is genuinely a NEED for it.  She’s wonderful like that!

This bad boy does it all and with only a cup of water.  Of course it needs someone to run it around and before that happens the floors need all the pet hair and food scraps swept up off of it.  My chiropractor specifically told me not to sweep or mop for a couple of days.

What?  Chiropractor?  Krissa, you must lead an exciting life doing all kinds of adventurous things to have to go and see a chiropractor.

Yeah, well… OK, sure.

John went with me and I was glad he did so he could see and verify that I wasn’t just making up big fat fibs about how archaic the machinery looks in there.  Plus I felt like it wouldn’t hurt for him to hear all the cracking that happened when she “adjusted” me.

I feel  better now and go back again on Friday.  Henrietta, on the other hand is going on a diet.  She laughed when I told her that…  I don’t know why she thought I was joking…

It’s late now and I am tired and am about to go to bed.  John is snoring lightly in the chair beside me and he’s off work tomorrow.  So we will get all kinds of things done.  Maybe.

Free toes, everybody!

In worry of a lawsuit respect for my Mexican readers, (I have none that I know of), I have titled my post in… Spanish(?)

Whatever.  My political corrected-ness doesn’t go too terribly far.  Ashamed for my “slander” of my SIL’s wetback boyfriend?  Not entirely.

OK, not really at all.

The afore mentioned wetback is a very nice guy and holds a job in a mechanics garage and really wants to get me alone without my husband around learn better English and pay taxes.

Yes, he does in fact stare at me and make me feel quite uncomfortable from time to time.  Even some of the other members of my family have noticed it.  Yet, he always wanders outside and finds something useful to do while the SIL is here.  Mow the lawn, clean out the garage, weedeat.  Whatever he can find.

So hell yeah, I tolerate leering!  I have told John more than once that if he wants to, try out polygamy,  have a three way, or just a girlfriend, it’s fine with me as long as the other chick cleans house.  And I mean good!  Not like I do.

Yeah.  I can be loose and uber cool.

Until I don’t want to.  And that’s? the tricky part.

On Wednesday, April 29, Henrietta turned 87 years old.  There were festivities as you’d expect from a festive family like this.  I do, in fact have pictures that I would like very much to post, but this stupid thing won’t let me as the file size gizmo has pissed off the maximum load of shit thingy.  Or some such crap.  And it’s not Wordpress’s fault this time.  It’s that rat bastard, Vista.

Have I mentioned how I loathe Vista?  I do.  We are getting an Apple sometime in the near future and all I have to do is find a way to finance it….  Hum.  I have children I could sell.  They are 18 and 19 now, but really, if I list them as “slightly used”, won’t that cover my butt?

Anyway, as I was saying before I got all sidetracked, H had a birthday with a beautiful cake I made and Kes iced for me and presents and whatnot.  She had a grand time.  Only her daughter never showed up or called.  So about half way through the day, I’m figuring she may have forgotten and I started trying to call her.  I left messages and never heard back from her.  John did the same from work.

The next day, Thursday, she showed up with the most gawd-awful looking pot of almost completely finished blooming tulips.  Some of them were lying over the side of the pot.    She said she hadn’t called the day before because she was out of minutes on her cell phone and she never gave any idea about why she didn’t come.

She doesn’t own a car, but drives a 14 year old piece of junk Accord that belongs to her boyfriend.  And I DO mean junk.  Rust showing through, no A/C, dings and dents everywhere.  Ugly as sin.  She always parks right in the middle at the end of the sidewalk.  We always make a point not to park there because it is directly across the street from my neighbors driveway.  It’s the elderly couple with the red door that I have posted about before.  They are very sweet and terrific neighbors.  It just makes good sense to not park right where someone has to back out.  You know, the courteous thing to do.

We should have told her not to do it too.  The man that lives there was backing out and hit that piece of junk and dented the front quarter panel.  So he rang the bell and asked me if he could talk to me and I went out and he showed me the dent and said that they were going some place right then and just tell SIL they’d be back in a little while.

So SIL called her boyfriend and told him.

Here’s where I get politically incorrect.

He’s a wet back an illegal alien.

Of course he wanted the insurance info.  **Sigh.**

She stayed here longer than usual visiting with her mother that day so that she could go and talk to my neighbor.  That’s the only good that came out of this.  He gave her his phone number and asked her to call him when she got an estimate.

That was all on Thursday and Friday SIL was calling saying that she’d talked to him and he’s supposed to be bringing a check over.

For $244.00.

To fix body damage on a car.

Yeah,  right.

John was appalled at the whole thing of course and we are both embarrassed.  So when the neighbor came over with the check, he talked to him and apologized.  When the guy left John told me that he’s going to tell his sister that he brought the check but needs a copy of the estimate for his records. He didn’t believe for one minute that $244.00 was going to fix that car either.  And, he and I both know the car will never get fixed.  It will just be an embarrassing reminder every time she comes over here of what happened and how she extorted money from our retired, on a fixed income, neighbors.

She came back on Saturday earlier than she has been here in many, many months, (1:15), and while I was surprised to see her that early, I wasn’t.  My first thought was “OK, at least she’s in time to change her mother’s diaper this time.”.

She stayed 10 to 15 minutes and left.

H promptly rang the bell to be put on the bedpan.

This is my life.

The copy of the estimate she brought looks legit enough.  It’s barely legible, but has the name of the garage stamped on it.   So… whatever!

Well, people, it’s been a while since I spat out whipped out a post and in retrospect it doesn’t seem like there’s too much to say.  But, let’s dig deeper… shall we?

The other day I decided to cook a chicken, rotisserie style, on the grill.  We have the gizmo that you plug in and it turns the bird on a spit via an electric box bolted to the side of our monstrosity of a grill.

This, in and of itself, is not that noteworthy.  However, I would pay big bucks, (if I had them), to have had someone take footage of me trying to get that damn chicken on that spit.  That sucker is 45″ long.  I looked like a dwarf trying to maneuver that stupid chicken onto that spit and not skewer anything or anyone else, (including myself).  WAY harder than you’d think!  I never never would have thought it would be so awkward.

See the two prong things.  Well you, (and of course by “you” I mean me), have to tighten one of them on there at the right spot that the chicken needs to be on the grill and then ram the bird down on top of them impaling it and not any part of yourself, most specifically your hands.  And, once again, by “you” and “yours”, I mean ME!

Then, you slide the other pokie thing down on the other end of the chicken, shoving it hard so that it impales the damn thing as you cuss and laugh manically.  Then tighten it down with a pair of pliers because your hands are too sore from multiple stab wounds to do it without them.

After shoving placing the spit into the hole of the turning deal and and resting the other end in the… other end receptacle, I flipped the switch on and left it alone on low for a solid hour.  It was about an 8 pound chicken.

It took every bit of that time to clean my kitchen with anti-bacterial spray everywhere some sort of raw chicken/chicken juice squirted and/or landed.  That was several days ago and I still don’t feel entirely clean.  I am probably a walking salmonella factory.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I am now watching Craig Ferguson and it’s a rerun, (So much for up to the minute reporting.  Snort!), and he’s saying that Michelle Obama “TOUCHED the queen.”  I am guessing he’s talking about The Queen of England.  He’s acting like it was a mistake and a horrible faux paus, however he tends to be a tad sarcastic and facetious at the least, when it comes to anyone English. (He IS Scottish.)

I’m still wondering what the story is?  And how do you “make up” for “touching” somebody?

Henrietta had a visitor today.  Her next door neighbor from her old neighborhood that she hasn’t seen in about 5 years came to see her today.    My SIL, to her credit, brought her out to see her.   She was absolutely beside herself with joy.  It was so funny, she saw her from across the room right  when she entered the doorway and she practically yelled, “Barbara!”  They sat and talked for hours and hours.  It really did make Henrietta’s week to be able to sit and chat and get caught up on all the neighborhood gossip.  Especially what’s going on in the house she and Marcos lived in for close to 50 years.  Her eye’s grew huge as Barb related tales of how the woman that lives there with the three grown men is married to one of them, but she goes out partying till all hours of the night with the other ones and she’s had two babies since she’s been there and nobody in the neighborhood knows whose children they are!    THIS? Is exactly the kind of crapola Henrietta lives for.

She will be talking about this visit and all the accompanying gossip for a solid week.  To me.  And the really funny part will be the way the stories will grow and grow in her mind as time passes.  Eventually, her house will have become a brothel with a line of men outside and circling the block.

I will keep you appraised of the situation.  It’s only right.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The… boyfriend-in-law was outside giving my yard a makeover.  That’s about the only way to describe the before and after shots that make a jungle look tame.  It was VERY bad.  He showed up about 1:00 and finished and left at 4:00.  Three hours to mow and weed-eat a front and back yard the size of mine if ridiculous.  THAT is how bad it was.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tomorrow is Easter and do ya wanna know what my plans are?  Do ya, huh, do ya?  Get a load of this!

Nothing.

The SIL and her bunch of people that descend on my house for every holiday, to consume as much as possible of everything I cook and then leave as soon as they’ve eaten, are… otherwise engaged.  Where?  Who cares.  It is going to be quiet and I might put a ham in the oven.  I might not.  I might cook the Easter bunny if he pisses me off.

WOO-HOO!  Reel me in, I am COMPLETELY out of control.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Last night I called Mither and asked her what she was doing.  She told me she was about to watch a Maverick’s basketball game.

I had better preface this little rambling with the fact that there has never been a bigger Dallas Maverick’s fan than both Mither and Auntie-Poo.

Aaaaanyway, she mentioned to me, (not for the first time), at some point in our conversation that she was not supposed to be talking to anyone on the phone when the game is on because Auntie-Poo might call and yell at her if she wasn’t paying good attention to the game and couldn’t keep up with what Antie-Poo was talking about.

We laughed about this, just because they are both fairly hopeless and then I told her I was going to wait until the game started and I was going to call Auntie-Poo and chat aimlessly to her for a while and then call her back several times.  Just cause I’m that way.  Ya know?

All of the sudden I heard evil laughter and Mither said that I should call her at exactly 8:30 then she would call her at 8:33 and when Auntie-Poo told her she was on the other line talking to me, Mither would yell at her that she WAS NOT ALLOWED TO TALK ON THE PHONE WITH ANYONE ELSE DURING THE BALL GAMES!

So I did this and all went to plan and when Aunti-Poo came back to me after Mither called her I asked who it was and she said, “Oh, it was your mother and she told me I have to get off the line cause the basketball game is on.”  We both agreed it was absurd that SHE have to get off the line and when I told her that we set her up to be caught she decided that she would have all my cousins call Mither one at a time, just to “chat”, during the game.  There are four of them.

That was the last I’ve heard of them.  I haven’t talked to either one of them today and they are out of pocket.  I left messages for both of them to call me, so I will follow up sometime.

Sometimes I wonder at the mechanics of this family.

Little bratty baby brother, Cam has hooked up with Scribble on Everything to reproduce his phenomenally popular Periodic Table of Typefaces into a wall decal.   Click on the pic of it at the Scribble website to see the different colors it comes in.  I myself like the “chocolate brown”.  Cam is going to be getting a little piece of the profits from the sale of them.  Go!  Buy!  My nephew needs college fund money!

There are going to be other things in the works here soon also if the wall decals aren’t your style  Among them posters and some nifty leather book jackets with the table printed across the entire thing.

I was sitting in the office, (a.k.a. riffraff room), when I overheard Henrietta talking to Tanya as she rolled her into the living room and, apparently, Ellen was on tv.

“You know, it’s such a shame she decided to become a lesbian… she was such a good actress.”

For a split second you could hear a pin drop as both Tanya and I digested this and then we just fell out and must have laughed and snickered for a good two minutes.

When I was on Twitter the other day I ran across a website I really like that Timebandit put up.  He says he can’t take the credit for finding it since a friend of his in Seattle sent it to him.  However he gets credit for it from me since I don’t know his friend in Seattle.  Check it out!

Witchypoo over at Psychicgeek linked me up with Schmutzie, who was so inspiring I made a few vows to myself.  Go read her post and watch the video on her site.

I’m thinking maybe I can stop trying so hard to write only light heartedly and get a little more gritty from time to time.  At least I’m trying to convince myself that no one would run away screaming if I did more than just occasionally bitch and get pissy about things when they go wrong.  I tend to rely too much on finding the humor in whatever situation I am plunged in.  Cause, really?  That’s not always possible.  And then?  I’m left with nothing to write about.

So now I guess you’re expecting me to be grateful for the fact that I live with two teenage girls and change the shitty diapers of a little old lady daily…  Heh!  Yeah.  Blog fodder!