Well, I didn’t see that coming

During a visit to the park and duck pond today, our little guy ran around for awhile with his shoes off. Because his dumbassed mother put sandals on him, when he was going to be running around in fine pea gravel. Number of times one of us had to remove a pebble from his shoe before we wised up and removed the sandals: 172 Or 3. But damn, that’s a long way down every five seconds, y’all.

So, somewhere along the way, he picked up an allergic reaction to something. We truly have no idea what. He goes outside barefoot at home. Hell, I spent my entire childhood (and if I’m honest, most of my adulthood) barefoot.

We brought him home (by which time he was COVERED in red welts and bumps. Yes, welts and bumps.), dosed him with some Benedryl and put him in a baking soda bath. Within 15 minutes, there was a marked improvement and by the time he got up from his nap, he was all better.

Now, you other parents out there (or nurses, who happen to be related to me), what the hell will cover a kid in nasty looking …things….in the space of 10 minutes (the length of the drive home), but is benign enough to be cured by Benedryl, baking soda and an hour long nap?

I’m glad it wasn’t any more serious than it turned out to be, because if I’d had to watch Project Runway in the ER waiting room…well, let’s just say that they wouldn’t booted the small one out without treating him, but we might have got put on one of those watch out for this crazy bitch lists.

For those who don’t know what happened, and you don’t want to know yet…what the hell are you doing here? Seriously.

They didn’t eliminate anyone this week. All four finalists are going to Olympus Fashion Week!

I must say, I’m relieved, as Michael did not do his best work and it was down to him and Jeffrey. Jeffrey’s dress sucked more, but I’ve seen him do worse (couture, my ass) and have the judges have simultaneous hissy fits over what a genius he is.

Oh, and also, my son lost his phone in the Mojave Desert….somewhere. So if one of you guys find it, will you let me know? Thanks in advance!

She’s actually her own bad example

There has been some conjecture about where my daughter got her little joke from the last post. Pookie and my brothers have been named as suspects. Just for the record, she got it from a movie. The menfolk are innocent this time.

Especially Pookie, who is more refined than every person who has ever been related to me, ever. My grandmother could make her ass dance independant from the rest of her body, and would do so, with the slightest provocation.

I married up, is what I’m saying here.

Also, as icky boys go, Pookie’s not too bad. He’s never farted in bed and held the covers over my head, for instance. Which is a good thing, because who would raise the children with him dead and me in jail?

Princess, my shiny white butt

A few days ago, my daughter walked up to me and announced, “I have a gut feeling something bad’s about to happen.”

Then? She farted.

Happy Monday, everyone!

A Call to Arms

First, to answer a few questions:

Pat: Lightning McQueen is a character from the movie Cars. He’s a race car. Currently little man’s hero. A drivable Lightning McQueen is a toy that he can sit in and drive. Now, what is this East Village you speak of? Are there lots of animated movie fans there?

Mrs. Chili: Yes, gator. I will note that I only finally felt better today. Rule of thumb, only one gator on a stick for any one visit to the fair. Because, OMG.

Andy: I don’t honestly know what fair it was. It was the fair that comes to town once a year. Is that the state fair? Or do we not get the state fair here because it’s Podunkville and we have to compensate with the local fair of food poisoning?

And a special note to Roo: AVOID THE GATOR!!

Now, on to the reason I’ve called you all here today:

There’s this guy at work. He’s what you might call a prankster. I call him worse things daily. He likes to mess with me and I like to retaliate.

There have been twists and turns in the ongoing battle: Waterfights (seriously, they used less water to film The Titanic than we’ve wasted in water fights).
Walking around a corner and having the everloving crap scared out of you (I’ve been told I do a very satisfting leap and scream combo) (and when I punch the crap out of his arm? That’s when I get my satisfaction).
The open cans of catfood left in inconspicuous places (if you think cat food stinks fresh out of the can, wait until it’s sat in a light fixture for two days.)
The label he stuck around my around my arm that stretched from my wrist to my elbow (and the ensuing hilarity as I ripped all the hair off my arm. Apparently, strangled screams are a HOOT).

Are you getting the picture, Internet?

So this morning I get to work and he has wrapped my entire grooming table and the grooming arm up in shrink wrap.

I took some really crappy pictures with my crappy camera phone so y’all can get a crappy idea of what it looked like:

Pic 1:

Ok, it’s a really crappy picture but the word ‘Ha!’ is written on the shrink wrap.

Pic 2:

Looks like a Hershey’s kiss, huh? Here is it says ‘Casting Stones’. Before you ask, I have no idea what the hell that means.

So he got me pretty good and I’d like to get him back even better. My first instinct is to shrink wrap his truck’s doors, into the shut position. Then maybe I can write something really esoteric on it.

But there’s got to be something better than simply taking his prank to the next level, right?

Y’all gotta help a bitch out, yo. I need relatively harmless (though a little hair loss on his part wouldn’t hurt my feelings), legal revenge, appropriate for the workplace.

Now some of y’all would probably argue that revenge of any flavor is inappropriate in the workplace. To you I say, “Hah!’.

I hate it when he’s right.

Last evening, I announced to Pookie that the girl child and I wanted him to take us to the Fair.

His response was a resounding…well, whatever sound an annoyed grunt makes. Suffice to say, he wasn’t really excited about it.

So we head out early this afternoon, in the scorching heat, because Mother Nature was just fucking with us last week when it almost felt like Fall outside. I hate that bitch.

As soon as we got there, I signed up for a raffle to win a drivable Lightning McQueen for the little man. Which I would LOVE to give him for his birthday, but Pookie won’t let me buy him one from the store because they are eleventy million dollars. Yet another example of how unreasonable the man is. Y’all keep your fingers crossed that I win the raffle. Or your toes. Or your eyes, if you wish to be supportive and amusing.

We gorged ourselves on such delicacies as gator on a stick, sausage on a stick and catfish on a stick. Because we are a family of gourmands, that’s why. I also made Pookie buy me a funnel cake, which I took two bites of and then gave to a friend of the girl child. Because he looked skinny and hungry. And also because I was going to explode if I took another bite. (side note to girl who made the funnel cake: Believe it or not, there is a limit to how much powdered sugar should be on a funnel cake. Find that limit and work within it, please. Funnel cake killing bitch.)

We also drank our combined weight in lemonade. Many, many lemons died in our quest for hydration. We salute you, you brave little yellow bastards.

We’ve now been home for quite some time, and I still want to punch anyone who mentions food, we’re all exhausted, and we’re quite a bit broker.

I really do hate it when he’s right.

School Daze

Some of you already know that we are homeschooling the girl child. I won’t go into the reasons we are home-schooling her, because the point of this post is not to start some great debate. Basically, if you feel like home schooling is the province of gun-toting redneck Christians, you’re right. I’m not here to convince you otherwise.

Besides, we have been known to tote guns, Pookie is most decidedly a redneck and we don’t have quite enough to kids to be Catholic.

Suffice to say that the girl child was a well-liked honor student with no record of misbehavior whatsoever when she came to us and asked to be home-schooled.

So, anyway, this evening I was reading the report she’d written for the book Catcher in the Rye. It was a very thorough report and gave the reader (me) a good sense of the plotline, timing and motivations of the central character.

I just wanted to quote a line out of that report for you, because I almost peed myself while reading it.

She says, when referring to a particular character , “Luce was a real butthole, by the way.”

Y’all, I snickered for 5 minutes.

I guess she has her writer’s voice pretty well in hand, although I probably shouldn’t encourage such editorializing. I’m pretty sure her college professors won’t be nearly as tickled as I was.

I give her an A+!

Buh.

I tend to watch Project Runway on Thursday night instead of Wednesday (the night it airs) for two reasons.

1. I have Tivo . I can fast forward through the commercials. I can rewind to the best bits. I can pause it while I yell obsenities at the TV. Seriously, if you don’t have TiVo? Get it.

2. By the time it’s all Tivo’d, it’s 10 o’clock and time for this old bird to get to bed. Early to bed, early to rise makes a girl surly, rude and unwise.

So I didn’t start watching last night’s episode until just now. The title of this post was what I said, verbatim, when I saw the twist at the beginning of the episode.

Jo, why you didn’t call me?? I know you were planted in front of the TV last night, you no Tivo having bitch.

( I have to break in here to tell you that Kayne just caused Tim Gunn to say ‘Oh, Jesus!’. Awesome.)

Oh, Geez, Laura’s crying. Usually, I have no respect for that kind of thing, because Girlfriend, grow up. This is business and you got no business crying. But she’s pregnant and exhausted and is crying against her will. I feel for her.

Ok, Vincent’s model (yes, Vincent!) was in an accident. She’s fine but they replaced her with another model. One a lot bigger than the first model. So big she broke the zipper in his top. Now y’all know how I feel about Vincent, but that is just crazy. Was there an effort to find a like sized model? Criminey.

Ok, my impressions of each outfit:

Angela’s: HATE.

Kayne’s: Meh. Think he’s gonna get points taken off for not quite following the guidelines given.

Laura’s: LOVE. (I thought I should be equally as emphatic about love as hate.) That model looks adorable, respectable and sexy.

Michael’s: Oh, damn. That man can make a dress look good and make a good-looking woman look even better when she wears it.

Jeffrey’s: I don’t need to see a drug test. That boy is smoking dope. The good shit, too. This dress would be appropriate at a cocktail party given by the Osbournes.

Uli’s: Eh, not so much.

Vincent’s: Don’t look now, there’s a high class hooker on the runway.

And the winner is…..Laura!! Whoohoo!

Now, let’s see who’s leaving.

Aww, man. It’s Kayne. The one time his outfit doesn’t look like it belongs in a closet at Graceland and he fucks it up with this little white ribbon.

For a brief shining moment there, I thought Jeffrey was gonna go.

Oh, the humanity.