Christmas Clutter

There is ONE thing I love about Christmas.  The music.  Everything else?  Makes. Me. Cringe.  I hate that it has turned into a present holiday, but most of all I hate the Christmas lights.  Christmas is a cluttered holiday.  Everything about it is clutter.  Inside the house, with all the Christmas crap everywhere.  I don’t have a lot of things, but I do put some stuff out for the sake of Little Man.  I don’t want him to feel like he wasn’t raised with the Christmas spirit.  

The Christmas light thing stumps me the most.  There is one way to put up Christmas lights.  Hire someone.  Hire someone and do it right.  Doing it right....

It is very rare that I see people doing it the right way.  Everyone, EVERYONE mixes the lights and decorations on the front lawn.  I don’t get it.  I don’t know how they sleep at night.  There is no organization, no pattern, no format.  It is green on the bushes, blue and purple on the house, white on the trees, and then what the hell, lets throw some deer and a plastic nativity scene in there.  Seriously?  This is insanity to me.  It stresses me out to drive by it all the time.  I just want to knock on their door and ask them what the method is behind the madness on the lawn?  I have to think there is a method.  There is a reason.  There MUST be a reason for creating such a headache on the front lawn.  Is it for the kids?  If it is for the kids, you should teach them organization.  Teach them it should all be one color.  One color looks neat, straight, pretty.  Teach them not to wrap it around the bushes and trees because there is no way to do that in a precise manner.  There is no way to make those lines exactly the same distance between each row. Don't even TRY to tell me those stupid net lights that you flop over the bushes look good.  They don't.  They look like a net of lights you threw over the bush.  Don't do it.  Not even those are exactly straight lines.

Why would anyone let their two year old wrap their bushes in lights?

So just leave them off the bushes and trees.  Teach them to put the lights in a straight line on a straight surface...like lining the frame of the house.  But don’t use the stupid icicle lights because the wind blows those and they don’t hang straight down.  Also, don’t use the little lights because those never really hang straight either.  The ONLY way to go is the giant bulbs, like these:

These are easy to control, and they are less likely to wiggle and move around in the wind.  And they are all one color.  Genius.  Doesn’t get better than that.  

For the love of Pete, make it a learning experience for the children.  It is time to teach them nothing good comes of disorganization and clutter.  

If they don’t do it for the kids, what other reason would they do it?  If they think it looks pretty, let me tell you now... It. Doesn’t.  For my sanity, please at least give it some thought next time you go in the attic to grab your ten bins of Christmas clutter.  Think long and hard.  Think happy thoughts.  Organization.  Straight lines.  One color.  Don’t mix decorations.  Less is better.  

Please.  If you aren’t in this clutter club, but your neighbor is, please wait until 2 am, then go tear all the shit down.  All of it.  Please.   

I just had to post this last picture I found.  If this were my neighbor, I would move.  Seriously.  With or without the Chief and Little Man.  I am out.  There is no need to live next to such idiocy.    

Oh Deer!

Me: Holy cow! Was that a deer?

Chief: Yep.

Me: Poor guy.

Long pause...

Me: You would think a deer that size would have caused serious damage to a car, right?

Chief: Yep.

Me: Enough damage that a tow truck or even a police officer might have to get involved, right?

Chief: Yep.  Maybe.

Me: Then why the hell didn’t someone tow that deer off the side of the road?  They were there at the scene anyway.

Chief: That is a whole other department that takes care of that.

Me: Oh.

Long pause...

Me: What if it wasn’t dead?

Chief: That deer was dead, I assure you.

Me: No, I mean what if it wasn’t dead when they hit it?  What if it just really hurt the poor guy?

Chief: Then they shoot it.

Me: Who shoots it?  The cop?  He can just open fire in the middle of the highway and shoot a deer?

Chief: Anyone that is licensed to carry a gun.

Me: What if it was me who hit the deer...

Chief: Wouldn’t surprise me.

Me: I wasn’t done.  What if it was me and I stopped and saw that he wasn’t quit dead.  What would I do?

Chief: Back up and run over him again.

Me: Seriously?  And risk popping my tires on his horns?

Chief: Antlers.  Okay, then let it suffer.

Me: Okay, someone hits a deer, and they don’t have a gun...what do they do? Seriously?

Chief: Hit it with a bat.

Me: Who the hell carries a bat in their car?

Chief: Someone who plays baseball.

Me: Never mind.  I am done playing this with you.  

This is a cousin of the deer we saw.  This guy is happy, not dead.

Family Date 1

Friday the Chief and I went out on our weekly dinner date.  Actually, it’s the three of us.  This Friday, we had a guest...Little Man’s girlfriend.  He wanted to invite her to dinner, so we went and picked her up.  We took full advantage of our parental duties of humiliation. 

Little Man’s new saying is “legit”.  Weeks ago, we tried to explain to him where that originated came from.  MC Hammer.  He had no idea who that was, so we took it a step further and pulled out the Chief’s ipod and played the song.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QlRScuN-x5U

So, while we had him and the girlfriend trapped in the truck, we decided to pull out Little Man’s new favorite song...NOT.  As the song came on, Chief broke out in full blown dancing from the front seat.  I turned and glanced at Little Man who was now in the fetal position with his hands covering his ears.  The girlfriend was laughing uncomfortably.  After playing out the song, we moved on to the pictures.  Okay, just one that I happened to have on my phone.

Then, lucky for all involved, we arrived at the restaurant.  We get a very interesting waiter.  He seemed a little...off.  Those of you that know the Chief, know his lovely sense of humor.  

Waiter: Would you like a box for your leftover pizza?

Chief: Well, I am not sure a bag would work because it would just fold up and make a mess.  Yes, a box would be great.

Waiter: Would you like to see a dessert menu?

Chief: She will have the brownie sundae, with no nuts...unless you have an epi pen handy...

I’m not sure if the waiter didn’t get the jokes, or if he simply didn’t like my adorable husband, but he walked off.  I of course, remembering we still had some embarrassing to do, turned to the Chief and pinched his cheek and told him he was fantastically hysterical.  Little Man rolled his eyes, while his date was making mental notes of how she was going to end the relationship after dinner.

Family date one.  Success.

Good times, good times.   

Can't make this shit up...

My life has been busy which is why I haven’t been blogging.  A week before school started, I got a phone call from the Interview #2 people.  They called to ask if I would step into a long-term subbing position for the 7th grade Language Arts (MY DREAM JOB).  I of course quickly agreed.  So I started the year with these kids, I am the only teacher they know.  

Which leads me to my story.  I have always been told, by other teachers, not to teach in the same city you live in.  Today I discovered why.  I teach about 20 minutes away from my house in another city.  After school I decided to make a quick stop at the Walmart by the school for a few items.

As you know, I am seven months pregnant and I have well, a problem pooping.  The Chief really can’t make fun of my rabbit pellet poo anymore.  I have the opposite problem.  I think I might be taking in too much iron because now it is painful to poop because I have...well....horse turds.  Gross, I know.  It gets better.

Rabbit poo looks like raisins!

Did you really think I was going to put a picture of horse poo?  Gross!

So I am at the Walmart, picking up a few items, and go ahead and grab some Preparation H while I am there.  It gets better.  Wait for it.

There I am standing in the 20 item or less check out line reading the US magazine, that just so happened to be screaming my name, when I get a tap on the shoulder.  Wait for it.

A student and her mother are standing directly behind me.  I immediately start visiting with them, talking about the student’s recent progress on her descriptive essay we are working on in class.  As I talk, I approach the counter where I quickly throw my five items on the little bar.  We continue chatting when I hear this annoying, “BEEP...BEEP”.  I turn to see the checkout girl attempting to scan my butt cream.  Instead of pulling up a price, the screen simply says: <CLEAR>.  WAIT.  FOR.  IT.

After three or four more attempts at pounding on her keyboard, she finally interrupts our conversation with, “Ma’am, do you know how much the Preparation H was?”

We stop chatting so I can address the checker lady who now is starting to look more like Satan with a blue vest.  My mind quickly races trying to think how I am possibly going to get out of this without killing any chance I might have maintaining respect from this parent, and without traumatizing a child.  I could say:

A: How the hell did that get there?  That isn’t mine!

B: My elderly mother put that in there, and she is now wandering the store somewhere...no biggie, she can get it another time.

C: Preparation H?  Holy Cow!  I meant to get toothpaste!! This pregnancy brain is REALLY getting to me!

Instead I muttered, $5.50 or so...silently praying she wasn’t going to announce a “Preparation H price check on Checkout #3” over the loud speaker.  Luckily, she typed in the $5.50 and moved right along to my next item.

I then turn back to the two innocent bystanders and ended the conversation with some bull about the weather changing and how the student shouldn’t forget to study for tomorrow’s test.  I walked away with my head down, shame crawling up my neck, and my Preparation H in my bag.

Can’t.  Make.  This.  Shit.  Up. 

Going Green

Chief: We are almost out of toilet paper.

Me: Don’t use so much.

Chief: ....

Me: You only need three squares.  Tear off three, fold it in thirds, wipe, fold, then wipe again.

Chief: That only works for your rabbit turds.  That doesn’t work for a real poop.

Me: Don’t diss my poo because you don’t know how to ration toilet paper.

Chief: Again, get some toilet paper, we are almost out.

Me: You know I buy Charmin right?  It is two-ply toilet paper.  You can rip off three squares and separate them into six!  Double the paper...AND you are “Going Green!”

Chief: Two reasons not do to that. One, it’s a septic system so the enzymes eat up the paper already.  Two, Daddy got a job, get me more toilet paper.  

Gray BFF Part 2

Let me explain how Gray BFF came into my life, and tell you where we currently stand in our relationship.  I came downstairs one Saturday morning after sleeping in.  I probably sauntered downstairs around 9:30, despite what the Chief says.  I went straight into his office, which is where he always is on Saturday mornings.  I went over and sat in his lap.  This is how our conversation goes:

Me: Hey.

Him: Good morning!  Do you love me?

Me: Well, of course I love you!

Him: Unconditionally?

Me: <<long pause>> What the hell did you do?

Let me interrupt.  I am not a morning person (oh the horror!).  You are lucky if you get a smile out of me before 11.  

Him: Ummmm...

After he says this, he clicks on one of the background windows on the computer, and this is what I see.

This is what I feel...

Him: Yeah, so I’m gonna need you to... (Office Space) go get dressed so we can go get it.

Me: You bought a flippin’ (like that choice of word?) car?

Him: You slept in!  I couldn’t help myself!  I didn’t know I was actually going to win the bid.

Me: OMG, you bought a flippin’ car?  While I was sleeping? You have GOT to be shitting me right now!

Him: I am a little shocked myself...

Me: Oh good, well that makes everything better.  Let me make sure I understand this.  I slept in, you bought a corvette, and now you want to just mosey on over there and pick it up?

Him: Yup, but we need to stop by the bank first.

So we get to the guys house, hand him the cash and he hands us the keys.  Chief takes them, gets in the corvette, and then looks up at me (corvettes sit REALLY low).  

Him: We have a problem.

Me: What, did you buy another car on the way over here?

Him: No, I can’t reach the pedals, and the seat won’t move forward.

Me: Oh, well aren’t we in a pickle.... 

No matter what the Chief says, we are the EXACT same height.  I have long legs, and he has a long torso.  So when he gets in my car, he moves the seat up, and the rearview mirror up.  When I get in his truck I move the seat back, and the rearview mirror down.  

Me: I guess this means I will have to drive.  Bummer.

Chief: Well, it was for you anyways, so you might as well drive it.

Me: WHAT?!?  This is mine?  

Chief: Yup.  

Needless to say, I then ordered, ehem politely asked, him to remove the top.  So I drove my new car home.  We instantly clicked!  We did have a little chat on the way home about what her insides were looking like.  I explained that she stunk, and she explained that my pregnant butt looked ridiculous inside her.  We put aside our differences, and when I got home I got to work.  

The Chief went out of town for a few days, and I asked a friend of mine (Handy Friend), that is the handiest person I know, to come and help me fix her up.  I ordered all new insides for her (carpet, seats, door panels, stereo system).  By the time the Chief got home, he was looking at a new car!  Here is my video diary of the five days it took to gut her and redo her.  BTW-couldn’t have done ANY of it with out Handy Friend.  She rocks, and she taught me SO much about cars!!  LOVE her to pieces for giving up so much of her time to do this project with me :)

Check out my videos...

End of day 1

End of day 2

End of day 3

End of day 4

End of day 5

End of day 6

Quiet Game

Little Man...well he talks A LOT.  There are times I need to tell him he needs to rest his mouth so I can rest my ears.  This morning in the car, this is how that conversation went.

Me: Okay, it is time to be quiet now.  I think my ears are starting to bleed.

Little Man: Okay.  Hey, can we play the quiet game?

Me: I thought that is what I just said.  Be quiet.

Long pause....

Little Man: So are we playing?

Me: Stop talking.

Long pause....

Little Man: So did we start?

Me: Start what?

Little Man: The game!

Me: Why does it have to be a game?  Why can’t you just stop talking?  

Little Man: It’s more fun when it’s a game!

Long pause....

Little Man: Did you say, “go”?

Me: OMG.  

Little Man: Just say it.

Me: Go.

Long pause... (three minutes tops)

Little Man: Are we still playing?

Me: Please, quickly find me a pencil that I can stick through my eye.

Little Man: You lose.  You talked.

Me: You have GOT to be kidding me.  You talked first.

Little Man: It doesn’t count, because you weren’t clear on if we were playing or not.  

Me: It counts and now you are grounded.

Long pause...

Little Man: Can we play again?

Don't worry, I don't punch him in the face.
I know better than to leave bruises people can see.

My new BFF

In the past I have talked about my Blond BFF and my Brunette BFF.  Moving to Connecticut, I have had to leave them behind.

Blond BFF

Brunette BFF

The good news: I have a new BFF!!  Don’t judge, but she is gray.  So I will refer to her as Gray BFF.  She is older, but that is okay...I have always gravitated towards the older crowd.  She is AWESOME.  She loves to chill with me.  She loves to take trips to the mall (which I really needed a buddy for that).  She always has my best interest/comfort at heart.  Please look past her rough outside appearance because I love her.  Here she is.

My new 1981 Corvette

I know it's a little risque, but here she is with her top off

BTW, I will tell you later the story about how we met.  It's a good one, and I want the suspense to keep you coming back to my blog.  

Olympics

There are a couple times of a year that the Chief has his undivided attention elsewhere.  One of these are when Tour de France is on (first two and a half weeks of July), and during NASCAR season.  Luckily Nascar season only really takes a Sunday away, which happens to fall perfectly around a nap time.  NASCAR lasts nine months out of the year.  Do you wonder how the Chief, someone who works from 5 AM to 10 PM, has time to watch Tour de France?  

D V freaking R

He comes upstairs, laptop in position and watches Tour de France for like three hours while doing email.  What bugs me?  I can watch this three hour recording in like an hour and 45 minutes.  Chief?  It takes him a whole three hours because he is only half paying attention to it, and doesn’t fast forward through the damn commercials!!  Babe, take a short break from work/email so that you can watch your shit and turn your attention back to me.  That’s what life is all about, right?  Me???  I thought this 2.5 weeks of bicycling was bad.  The Olympics?  WORSE.  

I have learned to just accept that I am stuck watching the Olympics until midnight every night, and force myself to enjoy it.  I will admit...I’m kinda getting into some of it.  These people are amazing.  The best.  No room for error.  Last night, Chief and I are watching men’s 100 meter race.  This is how our conversation goes:

Chief: You know, the winner of this is the fastest man in the world.

Me: Well, not necessarily.  Not EVERY man chooses to enter the Olympic competition. There could be someone faster that is sitting at home watching this.

Chief: You’re right, there might be some dude in Africa that is faster with a lion running behind him.

Me: See?  Right!  There probably is right now!

Chief: He might not be the fastest man in the world, but at least he is faster than his bestie who already got eaten.  

Me: Poor guy.

As we are watching this, I start to imagine myself doing these competitions.  They make it look so easy.  I could totally do this stuff!

Me: Babe, I am fast.  I think I could do this.  I could totally be in the Olympics.  

Chief: You’re so fast your legs can’t keep up.  Need I remind you about your Hooters race?

Okay, so let me explain.  One night after a pleasant dinner at Hooters, Little Man challenges me to a foot race in the parking lot.  Knowing my legs are much longer than his, I decided to take him up on it.  I am in shorts and flip-flops.  Nuff said?  No?  Let me finish this fun story with this...I still have scars on both of my knees from my fall.  Needless to say, the brat won, ONLY BECAUSE I WAS IN FLIP-FLOPS!  I was winning before I decided to see what asphalt smelled like.  

Me: I was winning that race, Babe!  I had him!

Chief: Yes, you were going to win.

Me: I know you are rolling your eyes inside your head!  

Chief: No, you were winning.  I just don’t think that you and running are a good mix.  

Me: What about the hurdles?  I could do that!  I did that once in middle school.  

Chief: Really, how did it go?

Me: Okay, so maybe the Olympics aren’t my thing.  But I COULD do SOMETHING!  Hey, I’m gonna go downstairs and get ice cream, want anything?

Later, during mens long jump...

Me: Holy cow, did you see that guy?  He totally jumped like three times!

Chief: Hence the name of the event.  Triple jump.

Me: Last night, they had to jump when they hit the white stick by the dirt...all of a sudden they changed the rules?

Chief: Different competition.  That was the long jump.  This is the triple jump.  Triple means three.

Me: Yeah, I know what triple means, Jack Wagon.  

Even later...during women’s volleyball.  USA against Korea.

Me: That chick’s last name is Hooker?  Can you imagine if I had that last name with my first name?

Chief: Be grateful your first name isn’t Skanky.  

Me: Adorable, that’s what you are.  Simply adorable.     

  

Later, the next night... We are watching the men’s 5000K event.  For those of you that aren’t really keeping up...they are talking about a runner from Great Britain (Mo Farah) and how he trains with one of the Americans (Rupp).  Ryan Seacrest is interviewing the two friends that are competing against each other.

Me: Farah sounds like he is from London.

Chief: He is. 

Me: Oh, I thought his jersey said Great Britain on it.

Chief: That is London.

Me: What’s London?

Chief: Great Britain.

Me: It’s a city in London?

Chief: Oh. My. God.  Great Britain is the country.  London is the city.

Me: English major, not Geography.  Don’t judge.

This is the close of this.  I hope it was better than the closing ceremony of the Olympics...that made me want to poke my eyes out with a sharp stick.