Holy Meltdown Batman!

To all of my dear friends who witnessed the disturbing events that transpired today...

I would like to let you know that, after my kid called your kids terrible names, called you terrible names, and called me everything in the book besides patient, loving, beffudled mother, and after a harrowing road trip home with me trying to keep my chin up while this verbal abuse went on, and laughing through my tears as (God! You won't even believe this!) Beat on the Brat by the Ramones was playing on the radio....

We called the chiropractor and the child's vertebrae have been adjusted so that her head turns in a normal fashion, instead of fully rotating.

We called the gastroenterologist and the green pea soup has been pumped from her stomach.

We called the surgeon and the blue bucket has finally been removed from her grasp.

We called a bible camp teacher by the name of Linda, who is the finest exorcist Concord Christian School could find and she informed us that although the devil is still working hard on our child, a few rounds of "May the Circle Be Unbroken" and some minor child abuse should nip it in the bud.

We called the podiatrist and he recommended she wear size 13 men's shoes from now on, which will serve to prevent her from running too fast and having to be corralled by two heat exhausted mothers again.

We called the zoo, told them our story, and asked for some small primate tranquilizer darts. They are sending them Federal Express.

We called on the doctor and told him Focalin probably wasn't the most calming of medicines for this particular child.

Well, we really just called a family meeting on the kitchen floor for a deadly serious lecture to the child, that ended up with her remorseful and tearful little head on Daddy's shoulder. She managed to hiccup out, "I do all of the things a bad friend does. Sometimes I feel guilty about me."

And well, a sad as that sounds, I think that can be called a good thing today.

It's the End of Me

Remember that movie Like Water For Chocolate? If they made a movie for me, it would be Like Homer For Doughnuts. Well, Dunkin Donuts is removing all trans fats from their doughnuts. All I need is one more excuse to eat a Dunkin Donut. As you recall, I had an earlier post about a year back. I'll let you scroll through my archives and find it. You should get to know me better anyway. I'm really a lot of fun.

Some of My Favorite Things

I thought my friends would like to these. They are old, in web years that is, but I think James Lileks is very funny. I have his book Mommy Knows Worst: Highlights from the Golden Age of Bad Parenting Advice.

Here is his Gallery of Regrettable Food.

Here is The Grooviest Motel In Wisconsin. I can smell cigarette smoke with a hint of bourbon and seven when I see these. For reasons I can't fathom, these sights and smells take me back to my early childhood. There must have been a time in my formative years when I was surrounded by a lot of partying and purple shag carpet. Do I need a hypnotist?

Here's the whole Institute of Official Cheer, just in case that beer you were trying to drink when you started perusing these sites hasn't burned out the lining of your nose.

Enjoy.

Bo-Ring!

Aside from posting on my other creative endeavors, my life hasn't been very blogworthy lately. Stay tuned though, we'll try to run into something interesting to experience and write about. Just kind of waiting around for my kids to be funny or something for now.

A Different Kind of Drawing

It's all about the hair.

More Drawings

A Memorial Portrait.
In the original photo he had a beer in his hand and his arm around his wife. She was holding a rubber chicken. He found it all terribly funny. The rest of the story isn't terribly funny, and I find myself thinking about these sad things as I draw.

This is the Mata Hari. Her story is a fascinating one. It's a bit sad too. I've drawn her in several poses. The old photos of her are splendid. If you have a chance to read a biography of her, I would highly recommend it. Then tell me the title so I can read it too.

Now I will proceed to mess with my drawing with my software. Enjoy.

This is Mata Hari in toxic chrome.

negative

sepia (my favorite)

maroon chrome

hot wax

high intensity chrome

I Like Big Dogs

Your Ideal Pet is a Big Dog

You're both energetic, affectionate, and a bit goofy. And neither of you seem to mind very slobbery kisses!

What's Your Ideal Pet?

I Have An Assault Weapon On My Chest

Your Celebrity Boob Twin:

Angelina Jolie

Who's Your Celebrity Boob Twin?

Lizard and Bad Guy

Lizard

Bad Guy


The kids and I made them out of felt.

Short Conversation

Last night we went to the party of some friends, and took the kids along since it was that kind of get together. Our hostess' parents were there, and sat pretty quietly at the dinner table while the children ran around squealing, howling etc. Our little girl plopped down right next to my friend's mother, looked over at her with her big blue eyes and said, "I love to sit with the elderly." To which my friend's mom motioned to her husband and said "Go sit with him then."

My Wish

It is a testament to my priveledged (some may say spoiled) existence, that one of my greatest wishes is for a tiny little person to take up residence in my laundry room, whose only joy is sorting, washing, drying and folding, and who doesn't mind sleeping next to a cat box. Oh! and who pretty much stays out of my sight, because the idea of tiny people creeping around my house gives me the heebie jeebies.

It's Now 2007, I'm Going Out to Buy My Silver Suit

A real live flying saucer. Apparently one of the models can dock with a skyscraper. I don't know how that works, but these guys know the alien technology, so ask them.



It appears that it's hooked loosely to a crane, but it doesn't look like the crane is assisting its flight. Oh and the crop-circle like imprint on the grass was a nice touch.

The Hike

Yesterday at 10 am we set out for Grotto Falls. It's been a little more than a year since we went last. My very first official post on this blog was some pics my kids had taken at the falls.

To get there, you go to traffic light 8 in Gatlinburg and make a left. You will go down a beautiful meandering drive. The first major attraction to those who prefer scenery without the long hike is Rainbow Falls. It's on your right a little ways up and you can park there and hear the falls from the lot. I was worried that maybe I was wrong and our hike last year had actually been Rainbow Falls and not Grotto Falls, and the drive had been so long from Knoxville, I was concerned that if I passed up this parking lot I was actually missing the hike. It was a one way road and in order to turn around I would have to take it to the end. It's my brain. It doubts me all the time.

So we parked in the second lot and went back to the Rainbow Falls lot. Upon entering the trail, we saw a sign that said "Grotto Falls 3.5". I did a little thinking, and decided we would do it. I needed the exercise badly, because lately I feel like jumping out of my skin all the time and I wanted to wear myself out. I also thought that the kids could do it. And they did impress me. We hadn't had lunch, and we still hiked 7 miles in all, and they whined less than they do at Lowe's.
I loved this tree stump. It made me think of that book Watcher in the Woods. I don't really remember the book, but I know it was eerie and there was a tree in it like this.
This was a doe we followed for a little while. This path was almost deserted. She didn't seem to be too concerned that we were following her. I was a bit concerned that we would run into a bear though.
What a cute little mushroom. I think it looks like a fairy place. About five minutes after this we saw some poop right in the middle of the trail. It looked like pie filling it was so full of berries, and it seemed mighty fresh. It wasn't deer poop, because deer poop is kind of pretty. I know that sounds weird, but it looks like big coffee beans and its shiny. I worried this was bear poop, and hoped this bear didn't have a hankerin' for kid meat. I looked it up on the internet when I got home, and it was actually bear poop. It was much fresher looking than any of the pictures I found online.

We hit the Grotto Falls trail after a 2.5 mile hike on the primitive trail. We hiked another mile to get to the falls. They were gorgeous of course. There were lots of people there.


Josie found lots of salamanders. Every time we go out to the rivers in the Smokies we look for them, but have had no success. We found a larvae once in Norris, but that was it. She found plenty at the falls, and managed to snap a picture of this one. He was about four inches long with a head the size of a hershey's kiss, so he was pretty big.

Walking back along the populated trail, another hiker pointed out bear tracks to us. They didn't really show up in this picture.


We got back to the end of the Grotto trail and decided we would try to get back to our car by traveling on the road. It was smooth. We were very thirsty by this point, and the kids were complaining about the bugs. Josie remarked that they were midges and they had red eyes. I asked her how she could tell on such a tiny bug. She said "When I squoosh them between my eyelids, I take them out and look at them." This was a deer by the road. It was the last picture before my camera ran out of memory, and about that point I wasn't giving a shit about my camera's memory. I was just ready to get home. We'd been hiking for about 5 hours, and we were done.

The deserted trail we had been on originally was just up a small hill from the road, so we climbed up to it to finish our endless hike. About .7 miles from the end of the trail, Jake looks up into the woods and calls to me breathlessly. "The bear! The bear!" It was a small bear about 20 feet away. I felt like it was a bit too close for comfort, but I was also excited to see it. I didn't take a picture, I just wanted to look at him and then get to the car.

It took us about an hour and a half to get home from Gatlinburg due to traffic, and stopping at McDonalds to replenish our calories. I was very proud of my kids. They whined less than me, and if you know how whiny they can get, you have to wonder about how much I was whining. Honestly, not much. And I thought I was going to wheeze at one point, but that was only because a hiker on the Grotto Falls trail passed me and she was wearing some Estee Lauder fragrance that really gets to my respiratory system.

After all of that you would think I would have calmed a bit, but I'm still jumpy today. I don't think I'll go on a hike though.

Mrs. McFriendly

I got this at no school, just learning from someone who is so sweet. He loves bunnies, unicorns, kittens and puppies.....in a blender.

You Are a Good Friend Because You're Supportive

You are almost like a life coach for your best friends. You give them help when they need it... but you also know when to give them a push. People tend to rely on you for moral support and advice. You've probably always been mature for your age, so this is a role that's you're comfortable with. A friend like you is one of the rarest kinds. You are both a good mentor and companion. Your friends need you most when: They are confused or worried You really can't be friends with: Someone who only wants to complain Your friendship quote: "The only way to have a friend is to be one."

What Makes You a Good Friend?

A Long Time Ago, In a Galaxy one Zip Code Away

There lived a spoiled little boy. Now the boy has grown up and is selling his old toys on ebay. The kids didn't even touch these Star Wars figures- weren't even curious. What the heck is up with my kids?!

She..... (ahem)...... Sings.

This may look like a roller derby post, and this afternoon, I thought that this evening would end with one. As you know, I love to attend the roller derby when it's in town, since I have some homeschool homies that participate, and they deserve loud praise. I also have some friends from the "way back days" who now I find in the roller realm.

One of those wayback friends knows me as a singer. And I am. But today I am an extremely talented shower singer. Every water droplet sends me waves of applause as I belt out vocals to the glass doors at least once a day.

It used to be that I was a singer for people. That was many years ago. Without fear, I could get up in front of a crowd, put on a big smile, and sing just about anything. I always had the anxiety that comes with excitement, that optimistic feeling that I would do well and they would like me. Then somewhere along the line I dropped the delusions of grandeur, had a couple of kids (one that was particularly troubled by my singing voice for a time), and took up grumbling, barking, declaring, lecturing and praising. I also have an obsession with seeking that elusive animal called silence.

Tonight one of my wayback friends came up to tell me that the person that was supposed to sing "The Star Spangled Banner" was a no show and would I please sing it? I said yes, naturally I would sing, it had only been more than a decade of course, and it was only a notoriously difficult song, and those weren't water droplets out there. I asked her if vomiting was allowed on the rink, to which she replied "no". She showed me to a room where I could warm up for 3 minutes (or vomit, I'm not sure). So I had a hair's breath of time to get adjusted to the fact that I was singing, then adjust to the fact that it was the freaking "Star Spangled Banner", then to find myself a starting note so I would be able to hit freeeeeeeeeeeeeee in a more or less respectable manner.

3 minutes later, I was holding myself up by grasping the edge of the counter in the "soundbox", holding the mic like it was some kind of limb to keep me from falling to my death, and I quiveringly squeaked out our nation's anthem. My voice broke once. It failed a bit in the middle. But I did hit freeeeeeeeeeeeeee. It was all done in the same breathy way I sang "Over the Rainbow" when I was eleven.

Thing is, I sang the "Star Spangled Banner" in the shower recently, and I really impressed myself. It helped that I was prepared for the audience, I knew them well. My sweet little droplets.

After the show there was a knot in my stomach like I hadn't felt since the night I downed two Guinness and a shepherd's pie then took a flight from Boston that experienced engine failure after hitting a flock of birds.

After sitting with a dear friend who attempted to calm me down, I ran into another wayback friend, who is a musician, and the hubby of the other wayback friend that got me tonight's "gig". He fortunately missed my stellar performance. He asked me if I was still singing, I told him I sang tonight and sadly he missed it. Other than that I hadn't sung in public for about 12 years. Then I did something really surprising in light of the fainting episode I had just narrowly avoided. I told him I would love to sing again. (?????) He knew a few people who could help out in that department and we started talking about doing some music.

I came home a bit wired, and sat down to check my email. Another old friend had written me, telling me to learn some Blondie, which would somehow earn me a fine brew at a future show. Yeah, I'll Gitcha if I don't have an anxiety attack first, baby.

(By the way, I would love to sing the national anthem again. I mean that without the sarcasm that the previous paragraphs may lead you to believe is there. Just give me a few weeks prep time with my droplets though. Then I'll tear the house down.)

On the derby end of things:

I would say the ladies played hard, it was a good game, et cetera, but I spent most of my time socializing, so that would be insincere. Next time I'll watch the bout. I do want to say that the Icearium is a great venue, although the crowd seemed a bit more tame than the other roller rink. There seems to be a lot less cheering and involvement from the people. Maybe it's the bright lights that inhibit the rowdiness. I missed that. The bar area was classy looking with a good beer or two on tap. The bathrooms were clean. The floor of the rink was strange. It was made of a rubber mat-type material that was designed in a repeating pattern of tiny octagonal holes. I think it would be a very bad place to lose your lunch. There would have to be special equipment to clean it.

Catch the Rainbird

Do you remember your basic geometry? We're learning about triangles right now- eqilateral, isosceles, scalene, and right. We are also learning to make rainbirds. There are some indians in New Mexico that put the image of the rainbird on many of their items of daily use. A rainbird who is "happy" and full of water is made with a right triangle for a body. One who is drinking water is made from an isosceles traingle, and it looks like it's tilted in a downward angle. A "dancing" rainbird is made from a scalene triangle. A full rainbird is equilateral.

The kids made cards from their drawings of rainbirds. Originally, I was thinking we were going to make a mobile from our drawings. The kids held on to theirs while I went back to the computer to make a triangle quiz. I was a bit worried that the test would be too hard because they hadn't had enough study time.

When I went back to the living room they were playing a game like "Go Fish" with their pictures. I heard Josie call it "Catch the Rainbird". Josie was asking Jake for a happy rainbird. He said "which?" She said "the one with the right triangle." And he would pass it too her. Then he'd ask for a dancing one, and she would say "scalene?" and he would say yes.

They didn't even know they were studying. This is homeschooling at its finest.

She Can Afford the Coke and the Rehab

Why can't she afford to get a driver?

You Took the Words Right Out of My Mouth

Jake to Furbie:

"Hey Furbie!"

"Hey Furbie!"

"Hey Furbie!"

"Eh...Looo...."

"Hey Furbie! Tell me a story!"

"Hey Furbie!"

"Eh....Looo..."

"Tell me a story!"

(tick tock....)

"Eh....Looo..."

"HEY FURBIE!"

"Eh....Looo..."

"Hey Furbie!"

"Hey Furbie!"

"Hey Furbie!"

"KILL YOURSELF!"

(I hope that thing doesn't go all Chucky on us in the middle of the night.)

Thought You Might Like to Know....

For clarity, if such a thing exists in my universe, I advise you press "play" and then read.




I've been looking to try out a little parlor guitar with nylon strings. My guitar is very nice and I like it, but I find that I want to capo it at the third fret for everything. I think it's because at that fret my fingers are closer together, and the strings have more tension and they don't get all buzzy.

I went down to Pick n' Grin last Tuesday and found that it was closed. I like Pik n' Grin because it just seems to be staffed with friendly people who like to play instruments. How simple. Suddenly there was a little knot in my stomach. My other choices in my area were Rik's (ugh, as lame as it sounds), and the Guitar Center. You see, I'm a girl. There's not a lot to swing around down there, and that's what you get into at these places. A bunch of guys playing How Big's Your Johnson, and not a lot actually playing music. Humility is a rare thing among those who call themselves musicians, almost as rare as talent. Just 5 minutes in one of those places and you'll hear some punk blasting out the sounds of a cat passing slowly through an undustrial shredder amplified to 11. He's usually got a little entourage of slack jawed mouthbreathers, dreaming of parties and groupies, who think he's Jesus H. Clapton, and want to be sure to stick around for when he hits it big.

A funny thought...there's a lot of young fellers out there who seek to meet chicks by hanging out in places that are full of dudes, doing things for the approval of other dudes, playing songs that, in general, are mainly loved by dudes. What they don't know is that while they are all congregated doing their dude-stuff, all the girls are congregated somewhere else, usually in the company of some guy who's figured it out.

But I digress.

(Don't you think that would be good engraved on my tombstone? I'll live forever though, cause I'll be dying, then I'll forget what I was doing, and get up from the hospital bed and walk out in the hall and go "I know I went in there for something," and if there's no nurse to remind me that I'm supposed to be dying, I'll just go on forever. Kind of like this post.)

Anyway, I hope in 400 hundred years when I'm a blind old bald man who forgot to die, I will be able to play for my friends at least one joyful little arpeggio as beautifully as Andres Segovia did.

....and now you know.