T Minus 5 and Counting

In 5 short posts, including this one, I will hit one thousand. Posts. No wonder my back hurts all the time. Now, I'd love to say, "Hey, this blog always kicked ass and you should read it all!" but really, I tried to read my archives once, and I've never had such a fulfilling nap in my whole life. Seriously, ZZZZZZzzzzzzz.

But I didn't suck all the time. There are gems. So guess what I'm doing for my last 5 posts of this thousand? I'm actually reading my pathetic archives and pulling the good ones out for you. Because I'm bored I hate laundry I want a divorce I care about you and want to make your life easier. Each day I'm going to sift through 200 posts and pick out my favorites. And now, without further ado, the highlights of posts 0-200.

Yes, these are the WHOLE posts. I didn't get all chatty until, like, year three.

M is for Mommy
My 4 year old is having trouble identifying lower case letters, so we have been drilling at home. We got down to the letter m. After 2 days of “What does moon start with?” or “what does mouse start with?”, he finally got it. He can recognize M. Here’s how it played out….

“2of3, what does mouse start with?”

“M! Mom, what does angry mob start with?”

If I could be a llama rider…I’d get spit on. A lot. (This one's a little long for the ol' cut & paste. That's the gist, though.)

Just Checking
Do you know where your towel is?

Really, go check. You need to know.

Dear Mr Michael Jackson
You can now go back on everyone's overnight babysitter list.

No hard feelings, but I've taken you off mine.

No one doubts that you are probably the best, most musically gifted gifted person alive today, but let me lend you some advice. Remember J.D. Salinger, Bobby Fischer, and Hunter S. Thompson? They, like you, are unsurpassed in their fields. They are gods among us. And they did us all the small favour of removing themselves quietly and without much ado from our society, knowing they just couldn't fit in anymore. They spared us their crazy antics, and left us to remember only their sheer brilliance.

Please follow their example and do the same.

Competitive much?
My 1of3, so wise, after only 7 years…

“1st place is the hardest to win. Every other place is the easiest; you just have to fail.”

Some Things Money Just Can't Buy
bottle of Robitussin…$7.99
roll of duct tape…$1.99
really loud Megadeath CD…$2.99 (used)

Never having to hear “Are we there yet”…Priceless.

Rate the Hate the Columbia House Can Bite Me Edition

My husband has a Columbia House membership. He's had it long enough that we are through with out "commitment" and could either cancel the membership or order 8,493 more movies that we don't have room to store for $.02/each. Or, there is always route three...the don't cancel, don't order any, but don't reply to the card they send in the mail and let $62 movie after $62 movie show up in the mailbox.

Guess which route we've taken. Go on, guess.

So, just the other day, this DVD rolls up in my mailbox. Alvin and, oh yes, those glorious Chipmunks. My father once gave my brother a tape of the Alvin & the Chipmunks album that was popular in the 80's, but clever guy that he was did so over an old Blue Oyster Cult tape. If you know any one thing about my mother, you're giggling right now. She made us unscrew the cassette casing, melt the tape, chop up the plastic housing, melt that, and them beat the pile of ashes with baseball bats until she was certain that no one could reconstruct it and have Satan Himself coming out of their speakers.

Needless to say, I have conflicting feelings about them. I mean, the thought of them, and the great Cassette Tape Possession and Subsequent Exorcism Thereof Debacle of the mid 1980's is seriously one of my favorite childhood memories (yes, I had an unacceptable sense of humour even then) but yeah; shrieking rodents? Not cool. It hurts.

So, just the other day, this DVD rolls up in my mailbox. The minions? DEEEE-lighted. Squeals of glee echoed through the halls of Chez Mr Lady and before I knew it, they'd gotten the thing out of its cardboard box, unwrapped it, gotten all of those freaking ridiculous plastic strips off (I managed a video store for A YEAR and still can't do that) and it was on the tube.

Yesterday, I was sick as a dog. So I caved and let them have tv on a school-night. Today is Friday. Know what that means? That means as soon as school is over, it's TV free-for-all. We have not gone more than 5.3 seconds without the all new, Jason-Lee-Broke-My-Heart-And-Made-Me-Cry, computer animated A & the C movie playing, on 50-something Glorious inches.

Um, help?

So, now that this stupid movie has shown up in my mailbox that I didn't order, don't want, and wasn't required to get, I hate all things chipmunk. Our recipes this week? How to help Mr Lady with her little problem.

From The Bob Rivers Show:
3 Bean Chipmunk Chili

First, you are going to need about 10 or so fat chipmunks - best thing to do is capture the little buggers and fatten them up. This way you can make sure they are disease free. Also, you can monitor what they eat. Unless you don't care then, just go out and hunt down 10-15 chipmunks. If you use a shotgun, please make sure to remove all shot from the meat first. IF you use any "Road Meat" chipmunks, please make sure they are fresh kills - makes it easier to peel the fur off.

Use a cat capture cage, bait it with peanut butter. Once you have captured about 10 to 15 of the little guys, set them up in large cages (each cage should measure 4 x 4 at least). Do not put more than 1 or 2 to a cage. Give them bird houses to live out of.

Now for the next 2-3 months, feed those little guys. Plenty of veggies, (carrots apples, etc.) nuts, (walnuts, etc. shells off) fresh water (put some vitamins into the water), oatmeal. Keep the cages clean.

When the day comes, just shoot the little buggers right there in their cages. Make sure you decapitate them right after and strip their fur off. Hold them upside down to make sure all the blood runs out.

Save the fur - you can make a nice pair of gloves with them later.

With a sharp knife, de-bone the little guys, but save the bones. Once you have your pile of bones, put them in a 2 qt pan and boil them. You will use this as your stock for your chili.

Chop up meat into fine pieces or grind.

2 lb. Chipmunk meat pieces
1 small yellow onion, chopped
1 small green pepper, chopped
2 cans (16 oz. each) Dark Red Kidney Beans, undrained
2 cans (16 oz. each) Pinto Beans, undrained
2 cans (16 oz. each) Black Beans, undrained
1 can (14.5 oz.) diced tomatoes, undrained
1 can (6 oz.) tomato paste
2 envelopes chili seasoning mix
1/2 tsp. Ground Cinnamon
1-1/4 cups Sour Cream

Use your broth you made from the bones to boil the meat in a large sauce pot on low heat.

Make sure you do this slowly, use a slow cooker to make the meat tender. Cook for about 3 hours on low heat. Then let it set for 30 minutes and skim off any fat.

Add onion and green pepper; cook until tender, bring up to a low boil on medium heat, stirring frequently.

ADD all remaining ingredients except sour cream; mix well. Bring to boil; cover. Reduce heat to medium-low; simmer 20 minutes, stirring occasionally.

SPOON into soup bowls; top with sour cream.

And don't forget about Dessert! From Cooks.com, and no, I'm not kidding. I really found it there.
Turnpike Turnover Dessert
6 chipmunks
Tube of puff pastry dough
1/4 c. powdered sugar
1/4 c. milk
6 acorns

Skin and cut chipmunks. Wash and place acorn in each mouth. Divide pastry, pat flat, place chipmunk on pastry and roll like taco. Brush with milk. Sprinkle with sugar. Bake at 375 degrees for 40 minutes on cookie sheet.

Good night, and good luck.

100 Words

A tangling of limbs in a dark, secluded corner of the world between two strangers turned into a child growing around my vital organs which turned into a little man pushing through an unwilling cervix that became soft pink skin warmed by mine in a hospital room that grew into cuddles after owwies which evolved into hasty kisses on my cheek at school doors and subtle snuggles when no one was looking which will change into handshakes at college dorms one day. For now, forever, I hold fast to the memory of my soft, sweet, perfect creation pressed against me.

100 words: Against. See the others here.

It's the Time of the Season...

Let's hope you can see the picture now. Also, there's some more terrible advice over at Stark Raving Dads
today. Go, and be amazed. At our mediocrity.


MommyTime, my, like, just about all-time favorite blogging chic, wants to know your prom story.

I don't have a picture of me in my dress, but I did manage to dig up this little gem.We have no life.

Prom. Huh. I didn't go to one school dance until my junior year of HS. My Junior homecoming was my first school dance, ever, and I was the (dateless) photographer. My senior prom however.... I was crazy-stalker in L.O.V.E. with some guy from high school. I wanted him to ask me to prom *this* bad, and made that quite clear, but yeah, he thought I was a crazy stalker.

Bygones.

My BFF, whom we shall call Ditto, asked me to go in the very nonchalant way he did everything. I accepted, in the very nonchalant way I did (almost) everything.

I picked him up about 30 minutes before the gig started, and he was still in a t-shirt, playing video games. I had to help get his tie straight while his mother found his Doc's. While I was wearing THAT monstrosity. That my boobies looked so good in, you don't even know.

Anyway, he hadn't eaten yet, so we hit the Burger King Drive-Thru and then off to prom we went.

Warm and Fuzzy, no?Our prom was held in a (remarkable spacious) hallway of the Denver Museum of Nature and Science, giving us a lovely view all night of <---this.

My English teacher spent the evening from the balcony heckling all the girls who dared hoist there boobies up in the middle of the dance floor. I spent most of the night waiting for Mas Younon to ask me to dance, and Ditto more than likely spent most of the night waiting for me to stop waiting for Mas Younon. Whatever.

We did our thing, hit the stupid after-prom, and then I drove him home. I was admittedly nervous, so I also offered the German foreign exchange student and some girl I can't remember the name of but I seem to associate with food stuck in braces a ride home. I dropped Ditto off first. No hanky panky, no making out, nothing.

That? I TOTALLY regret.

2 years later, a friend asked me to go with his little 10th grade brother to his prom, and that I totally did. And that? Was, like, the funniest night EVER. We danced the Time Warp. In kilts. I was WAY older and cooler than every girl there. And that little 10th grader was suddenly the coolest boy in school. And my dress was LEAGUES better. Just sayin.'

That, friends, is my very boring ass prom story. Please don't make me ever tell it again. But now that I've shared mine, you HAVE to share yours. Let MommyTime know if you do.

Updated: You all need to read this. Goddamnit, I wish this had been MY prom story. Matt, you are officially the comment of the week.
I am a little late on this one, but my prom story is pretty good. My plan was to go to the prom with my girlfriend at the High School, five minutes at the after-party, then to some hotel rooms we'd reserved with a group of friends.

On the way to pick her up I stopped at a Quick Trip for a fountain soda. As I was paying, I saw a shady guy in a fishing hat and a Union Jack T-shirt eyeing my van (I had painted it black and red like the A-Team one) suspiciously. When I questioned him about it, he handed me five hundred dollars in American express Travelers Checks and told me to follow him to the alley behind the gas station, where he peeled back the corner of an old tarp that was covering the bed of his maroon El Camino. There were 4 or five Hefty bags in it. He said the money was mine if I drove them in my van to a trailer park in Missouri and dropped them in a dumpster that had the phrase "pemmican rules" written on it in green spray paint.

Being young and stupid, I took the money. There were no cell phones back then, so I hoped my date wouldn't be too pissed...Missouri was about an hour away.

Sure enough, as I was crossing the Martin Luther King Bridge, a cop going the other way turned on his lights. I watched, horrified, in the rearview as he pulled a sharp U-turn. Damn! I jerked the van to the side, ran to the back, ripped open the bags and started dumping the contents over the guard rail. I couldn't believe what was inside. Cat heads. Perfectly preserved. Hundreds of them. Some of them seemed to look at me angrily as they fell, growing smaller and smaller until they splashed into the Mississippi, making soft plopping noises. The cop pulled up behind me, his brakes squealing. To make matters worse, a local Channel 7 news team happened to be passing by and got the whole thing on film. I was all over the evening news on prom night as "The Cat Head Kid". Needless to say, I spent the whole night in jail and missed my prom. My girlfriend left me and I was the laughing stock of the town for a while. I did manage to keep one of the heads though. It sits on a shelf in my bathroom next to my back scratcher and a bottle of Brut aftershave.

Pretty boring night, actually. Sorry for the long comment.

The Object Pictured in the Shoddy Camera Phone Picture is a One Pound Slab of Butter

Psst...Stark Raving Dads. New Post. You know you want to.

We rose from dinner, boys running outside to indulge in the last of the fleeting sunlight, baby off to play. Once the evening tea was brewed, a few minutes of quiet fell over the house. Beds waited to be turned, dishes waited to be washed, but even I could not resist the cool evening air, the still of twilight, the crisp night air of spring.

I stepped out on my deck, tea in hand, and soaked in the first moments of peace the day saw fit to bring. It’s a good thing the baby can find things to keep herself occupied.


This week's 100 words challenge at Velvet Verbosity is Distraction. Join us here.