Drinking in the shower.

Yeah, I just did that.  I just George Castanza-ed my evening, to the max.  I just You tube-esqued my evening into the most awesome Mash Up ever known.  Better than my most favorite mash up ever known to man.

I enjoyed 1/4 of a bottle of red wine whilst simultaneously enjoying a piping hot shower.

Yes I did.

And it was magical.

How have I not ever thought of this before?  Going along with the premise that there are no more new ideas, like there are no more new movie ideas, I mean, why the hell would be be seeing a Judge Dredd remake already or a freaking Spiderman re-do for the fifth time in 3 years?  Surely someone else, just as brilliant, dare I say, just a tad more brilliant than me, has already thought of this.

I then ponder that there are day spas that offer the very service that I am talking about.  Drinking during your spa day, but are you enjoying your adult beverage, whilst receiving that massage?  Are you taking sips while in the fountain of youth?

I am.

I just ADDED seven years to my life, (which pretty much evens out if you divide by the many times I've had to hold in a fart, carry the three and try to act like a lady) by reveling in the experience of drinking, and showering in hot steam and massaging water sprays.

This sounds like a dirty movie. Oh, and it is, if your fantasy is just like mine.  Solo piping hot shower, 20 minutes, large glass of red wine, thoughts and music to yourself.

I combined my two (well, pretty much) favorite things in this world.  A piping hot shower, and drinking.  George Castanza would be proud.  Quite possibly not to the level such as eating and enjoying sexual escapades, but definitely, a lot less messier and just as exhilarating.  My activity is actually a lot more practical than eating and sex.  If I were to truly enjoy eating and sex, I'm not sure how viable a chocolate fondue set on our tempurpedic would fare.  I'm not sure how the dipping would succeed in that scenario.  That's what she said.

The moral of the story is this.  If you haven't tried drinking in the shower, I suggest you do.  It's just as efficient as brushing your teeth in the shower, and much more satisfying, the Today Show would know nothing about this.  Live your life like a real person, I'm not saying you need to actually wash yourself, that's what mornings are for, but come home, on a cold evening, start up a piping hot shower, crack open that bottle of wine, pour, and enjoy.

You're welcome.

Tales from the School Drop Off Line

Part I.

Let's start with my very first crossing guard experience, BEFORE I had children.  Stop sign was out, I was coming up to the guard at 25 MPH, consciously reducing my speed as I am approaching the line, which is still at least 10 feet away from the guard.  Apparently I wasn't stopped farther back enough, or I didn't slow down enough, or quick enough and that, my friends, brought on my first, and not last, experience with the..


WRATH OF THE CROSSING GUARD.


<**insert extra space here for emphasis*>

I thought she was going to jump my hood and punch my face through my windshield.   Wayne Brady was going to choke a bitch, and that bitch, was me.

No shit, she was THAT mad.  If you live in the U.S., you know what Willis is talkin' 'bout here.

Not only did she make me feel like a complete arse for, apparently, doing absolutely everything wrong that a person could possibly do while, carefully, approaching a school crossing.  BUT, I was ALSO publicly humiliated as this episode was witnessed by clusters of elementary school children, their parents and other motorists on this road.


Don't be fooled by this nice looking granny guard, they will ALL, kick your ass, if they have to.
Courtesy Asylum.com

Apparently I should have ESP'd my way down to that crossing, two blocks before even being there and radioed in to her that I was aware of her sign and that I would be sure to stop, many blocks away.  I should have stopped my car at the end of the street, got out and walked a slow casual walk up to the stop sign, whilst holding out my hands in the submissive pose, fingers stretch out into face down palms while my knees crouch as I walk, getting ready to approach, still 20 feet away, sniff and immediately roll on my back and ask for a belly rub.

Let's remember that I'm a foreigner, so let's also remember that when I SAW, in person, on the street, my street, my first yellow school bus at the ripe age of TWENTY, and NOT on Sesame Street, I "eep-ep" like a little girl, like, excited to see a real Planet Hollywood in real life and the REAL Wax figure of Bruce Willis, not the Australian exported knock off version.

EEP it's a real Wax figure of Bruce Willis, in a real Planet Hollywood and a real school bus in real life!  Eep again!

I know nothing of your practices and culture, only what I have gathered from watching re-runs of "I Love the 80s and 90s" on VH1.

Soooo, I was not aware that you had to stop for school busses. 

Things they DON'T teach you when applying for an American Driver's License. 

I knew you had to stop behind them, but not on the other side of the road.  I still feel bad for that, but not because anyone was in danger, but because I now know better and I'm sure that bus driver would have gone ALL CROSSING GUARD APE SHIT MAD AT ME, if he wasn't restrained by a seat belt.  I now know what could have happened with the bus driver, because crossing guards ARE NOT restrained by seat belts, and possibly should be.  Just sayin'.

SO anyway, let's do the obligatory, blah blah, crossing guards are looking out for our kids, which they are, which I appreciate, blah blah, just doing their job, blah blah.  Ok - are you done?  Thanks.  I want to get back to my story now.

I felt like shit all day long after that.  Talk about a total buzz kill for the rest of your day, and if you're like me where shit just eats you up no matter how many vodka tonics you have, you're still upset, but now upset and perpetually hung over for a week, at least, and probably out of vodka. 

Out of vodka.  Upset.  Embarrassed.  Possibly hungover.

That one crossing guard, who quantum leaped her way onto the set of "Are you my baby's daddy?" 10th episode of Maury, and paraded her best over-the-top Jerry Springer fake fist fight advances all in front of me, in front of other people, distressed me.  I also got a lesson in other culture language, words I'm still not yet sure about, not sure if they were swear words or just heated words, but, another language words, I knew that. 

Yup, throw on a safety jacket and she was gonna MAKE me her baby daddy. <**shudder**>

I was embarrassed and upset. 
I'd done nothing wrong. 

I wasn't going to mow down those kids - I hardly knew them.  I mean, I'm sure one or three of them are total shit heads, but that's no reason for me to iron out the whole group on a street crossing.  That's not my bag, baby.

Now I see a crossing guard, two of them, every Monday to Friday morning.  Some of the first human (aside from my five year old) interaction I get, before I get to work, before I've caught up of what everyone else did starting at 9pm the night before, that I am now aware of thanks to Facebook, while I sit in my yoga pants yawning, eating my fourth nutella sandwich, not regretting the choices I've made to sit in a warm house with kids and a husband and not going out starting at 9pm and dragging my arse the next day.

I had an even worse wrath of the crossing guard experience, recently, dropping my kid off to school, because now, I have to see her, see them, every day, post trauma.  Every Morning......   Part DEUX, up next.  Stay tuned to "Tales from the School Drop Off Line - WRATH OF THE CROSSING GUARD."  Ahem.


In one final editor's note, why is it that if you google "Crazy crossing guard" or "crossing going going ape shit mad" or "angry crossing guard" Images of Sean Penn show up and images with him and Josh Brolin together?  That's fuckin' weird.

What's wrong with this image?

So much. 

So many, much things.

It's bothered me so much, that it's gotten me off my blogging hiatus, to rant about it, here.

Image introduction:

Courtesy, Verabradley.com

Ok, so firstly you are all like "What the hell is she doing on VeraBradley.com, and spending enough time to disect ridiculous stock images?".  You are spot on.  I've had a Vera Bradley (so not like me) addiction lately and have been monitoring sales so I can get their ridiculous old lady quilted bags at a better price, so, when I finally give up the goat and live like I complain, as an old lady, my look will be complete with a VB "go-around-tote".

2. Ridiculous woven tote for apple hauling, bad for your back, who hauls apples this way?

3. Too many apples in this ridiculous tote.  Making apple pies for the homeless, sweetheart?

4. Too many smiles, hauling ridiculous load of apples, in said, ridiculous tote.

5. Crossbody bag, on the WRONG side of your body, to be hauling ridiculous amount of apples, in ridiculous tote, totally would get in the way of your strong arm side carrying ridiculous tote with ridiculous amount of apples.

6. Ridiculous amount of apples from.....their backyard?!?  What apple oprchard has a perfectly sculpted walkway as you bring your riduclous amount of apples to your car?

7. Bringing apples to your car in this ridiculous tote, can only mean one thing.  Applesauce on your way home.  These are going to be projectiles in your car, if you drive like me, or drive faster than Miss Daisy for that matter. 

8. Matching red his and hers gingham button down shirts.  What?  Did you guys, like, walk into your matching closets and pull from the "happily married matching - matchy" section of your ridiculous ensembles?

9. Dude smiling hauling apples, this does NOT happen.  If this was a ridiculous tote filled with cans of BEER, this would be accurate.  This photo is in kin with elfin land, fairies and wishes like, more seasons of Firefly, that do no come true.

And there you have it, that's what really grinds my gears about this picture.  
That's what's wrong, in perfect, sarcastic, accurate detail, with this image.  
Also, I just "space jumped" the number of times "ridiculous" has been used in a blog post.  And I just made up a new way to reference the epic Baumgartner space jump, in a way that only partially makes sense.

The Mutt named Rabit, two patties short of a Big Mac.

That's not a typo, that's his name.  We named Rabit after we had previously called him "Bailey" and decided that name was, well, to be completely honest (and you know I know nothing otherwise) too "smart" for him.  He was, one wiener, short of a hot dog, and the entire box of french fries, short of a meal.  He had two brain cells and they weren't ever arguing, they were just too distracted to get organized.  If you've ever seen UP, think "SQUIRREL".  All.  The.  Time.  That was our Rabby.

Adopted from the Woodford Humane Society, before children, before the second cat and definitely AFTER the lizard (if you didn't know, Suzy, Leopard Gecko - she's dead too, though), Vaughn, as the shelter dubbed him, was a beagle blue-tick mix and at least, already, 9 months old.  His "creative" description from the shelter was misleading at the best, but I'd consider it downright false advertising.  He was going to be a total shit from the get go, regardless of positive or negative reinforcement. 

His tag should have read:
"Adopt Vaughn today and be amazed at the everyday household items he will consume before your very eyes and crap them out, without a shred of intestinal damage.  The first dog with NINE lives, a stomach of steel and a colon like the north-south pipeline.  He will love you like he loves whatever he just ate, with total unabashed blindness and will dive right in to be your forever pet like he will do on a daily basis to any unprotected trash can or litter box and lap up every "kitty treat" and baby diaper, as well as your love.  He will protect your house from all threatening intruders, especially if they look like 9 year old girls, and, even though you will try to remove this dog stereotype with much haste, he will continue to be prejudiced towards black people and also, anyone on a motorcycle.  Take Vaughn home today, you won't need the puppy food, he'll eat, whatever you've got!  Enjoy the ride.  No take-sies - back-sies."

I mistakenly thought our current dog, Dingo, needed a day time pal for when Mr. Price and I were earning enough money during the day to spend on carpet cleaning and destroyed packages for light bulbs and toilet paper.  I told Mr. Price that I had gone to the shelter and brought home this dog on a "trial", a total lie.  He was bought and paid for and, the forgiving Mr. Price, pretended to buy my false statement.  Rabit, was here to stay.

One day, we dealt with him nearly killing himself to get out of his cage, blood on the walls, lacerations, mud marks, clawed dry wall, and you wouldn't have known it to see his smiling, dumb, absent look, tongue hanging out of mouth-to the side, happy face.  Tito (our cat) was FURIOUS, Dingo was unsure as to why he needed an impossibly incompetent playmate and Mr. Price always accused me of why MY dog, that I picked out, was SUCH TROUBLE, ALL THE TIME.  Ahh Rabit.  I smile when I think of this.

He lived through eating everything and lived through peeing on our stereo and destroying multiple carpets, bed linens and everything in between.  He was shitting SHARDS of broken light bulbs when he ate an entire pack of light bulbs one day, and lived through it.  We wouldn't have known that he ate an ENTIRE RACK of RIBS, bone and all, except for the barbeque breath and the mystery aluminum foil appearing in the Rabit yard piles.

He did weird shit, like, eyeball a fly with ninja-like stealth and strike when the moment was right, eating said fly.  We never needed fly spray.  He would freak out our guests when he'd lock eyes for a stare down, he'd always win and would still be staring, hours later.  He'd turn too fast, in a doorway and whack his noggin on the arch, but think nothing of it and would always find the strangest way to sit, on top of Dingo and act like it was comfortable.  How Rabit got to be the Alpha dog, we will never know, that award wasn't given to the sharpest tool in the shed, unless it came from a cornflakes box.  He would clean Dingo's ears though, and they'd lie curled up together on the ottoman for hours.  A forever puppy with an attitude like an absent minded old fart.

Rabit's large floppy auburn beagle ears flopped in the air like the flying nun, whenever he ran.   He always jumped before he looked, and ran twenty feet ahead of his brain.  He let our babies jump on him, pull his ears and drag him around by his tail (before we caught them), he put up with my bad attitude when work pissed me off and tolerated, with his dumb fun loving smile, the addition of the children that overshadowed both our dogs existence.  He was a sweet, sweet dog, with always, nothing to lose.

Rabit was and will always be our fun loving family friend who will be missed.  He always ran out when the  door was open if we weren't quick enough to stop him and yesterday, he was hit by a car.  Thanks, Rabit  for being around and being our friend, have fun eating endless racks of ribs and all the light bulbs you want, without regret or repercussion.