Abandoned

Well, if anyone is reading this, I'm highly surprised. Clearly, I've given up all hope of being a regular blog writer...and reader for that matter. I don't write posts, I don't read any of my favorite posters...I do however make time for some solitaire every now and again. I'm completely and totally resigned to the fact that I'm addicted to my extreme thrifting as well as yard-saling and all other forms of thrifting. It's my life right now. And I'm good with that. Swiffering, still suffering. Baking, no time for that. Exercise, I get it running house to house at neighborhood sales. Could I make the time for writing more posts? Absolutely, I make time for solitaire, I could definitely post something, however, if I'm on the computer doing solitaire, it's because my brain is fried. Like it was all day today. I couldn't focus, I couldn't organize my thoughts, I was a wreck. But I just worked through it going house to house at a neighborhood sale, buying bargains. Because that, Bleaders, is my life.

My Swiffering Is Suffering

Well, we all know how I love a Swiffer. I love to dust, love it, and any Swiffer product makes it that much more enjoyable. I run around here Swiffer of some sort or another in hand talking on the phone, yelling at children, and Swiffering. It's a good time. Only, I haven't hardly done it at all in the last couple of weeks. Strange, but true. I blame it on what I now call...dun dun dunnnn...Extreme Thrifting. It's taking over my life. It's not like thrifting anyone has ever seen before. It's a free for all, it's pure madness, and best of all, it's all paid for by the pound. No more pricing rules with pants being one price, shoes another. Erase all that from your minds, it's over. Now, it's fill a cart, weigh it on a giant "cart scale" and pay 50 cents per pound. They don't care if you have 2 Hollister sweatshirts and a vintage 70s sundress, it's 50 cents per pound. They don't care that I just found a Bitty Twin and her clothes along with a pile of vintage Cabbage Patch Kid clothes and a box of Legos, it's 50 cents per pound. So you can see where the madness takes over, I'm addicted. So, at least my Swiffering is suffering for good reason. I mean, who can argue with a good bargain?

New Series ~ Quick Confessions ~ #1

Sometimes you just feel better when you get things off your chest, Bleaders, know what I mean. Thus, my new series, Quick Confessions. I'll just be writing down my thoughts, as naughty, ridiculous, godawful as they may be. Here goes.

Most of the times when I tell the kids I'll make them Chocolate Chip cookies, it's only because I crave the dough. I obsess about it. I just love it so much. Then I have to sneak it because they think eating dough is really bad for you, in fact, I just don't want to share. I mean, the cookies are good, but the dough is effing fabulous.

That's Right...No Christmas Cards Again This Year

And I'm not sorry either. I didn't send out Christmas cards this year and I couldn't be happier about it. I don't know what my problem is with it. Perhaps it's my own little rebellion against the USPS, I'm doing my part to allow them to continue whining about how broke they are. Perhaps it's because I always wait until the last minute to get the kids pictures done. Well, not this year, this year we got them done early, but then, because they were done by a real professional photographer, you don't order them directly at the studio and apparently that is something that must happen in order for me to actually order them. I still haven't ordered the photos, so what, I'll get to it....maybe.

Perhaps I just don't like sending out the Christmas cards because I've done it for so long that I'm over it. When I was in elementary school, once I had learned to write in cursive, my dad came to the table with a stack of cards and a pen. He declared that I had such pretty writing, I should do the Christmas cards. Well, always a sucker for a compliment, I agreed to do whatever he needed me to do. Uh huh. It became, forevermore, my job. After writing out cards to my dad's 280 brothers and sisters as well as various other fringe family members for years and years, I'm suffering Christmas card writer's block. I just can't force myself to get out the address book and address all those envelopes and write all those "merrys" and "happys". So I won't and I don't. And I'm perfectly at peace with it.

The New Salvation Army-Covering It's Own Ass-Screw Everyone Else

How's this for Tacky, Bleaders? I frequent many of the thrift stores in town, oh hell, in all of Michigan, one of which is The Salvation Army. Now, I mainly purchase knick knacks and toys from The Salvation Army stores. I do not go in for the clothing. Their return policy sucks and I have a problem that there is no rhyme or reason to their pricing. Let me give you a couple examples. At Goodwill, all kids clothes are $1.99. At Salvation Army, they may be $3.99, because you know, it may have an important name brand....like Faded Glory. At Goodwill, all women's shirts are $3.29, take it or leave it. At Salvation Army they may be $1.99 or they may be $7.99, again, could be an important name brand like Arizona with the tags still on. Yee. Ha. So you see my point, the pricers are either pranksters, or completely illiterate.

So in the last couple of months I've noticed a real lack of toys. I mean, I used to pick up doll houses, gorgeous stuffed animals by the armfuls, Bratz dolls, fantastic board games, just all around great stuff. Now, there is nothing, zippo. A small bin of stuffed animals and a couple bikes, it's just horrible. I decided to ask an employee what the heck is going on. She informed me that they aren't putting toys out anymore. I asked why and she said that they are afraid of lawsuits because of all the toy recalls concerning lead. I of course told her that most people are well aware of which toys to avoid....I'm looking at YOU Mattel....and that they could easily avoid putting out the toys in question....Mattel.....and put out all the ones that are good. I said that there has never been a problem with MGA/Bratz dolls, Little Tikes, I don't recall any board games or puzzles that were recalled. I certainly don't remember any recalls on stuffed animals. Some Barbies had problems, but it was just the accessories, not the actual doll. I mean, this is easy stuff, I told her. It's sad, I said, that they would just throw away perfectly good items, and in effect throw away money, especially when they have a responsibility to the community to provide low cost goods as well as to the foundation that they serve. Well, she quickly informed me they don't throw any of it away, surely she didn't want me to think that. I asked what they did with it then. Oh, they box all the toys up and send them to South America. WHAT? They are so concerned and wouldn't want to poison the precious little children of the United States, but it's okay if they poison the children of South America? I mean, this must just sound like a great solution to them. They get a write off, they don't fill up the land fills in our great country, and no one in South America that will receive these goods has any money to sue them. It's a win-win for The Salvation Army.

For me, I'm completely done with Salvation Army, done donating, done giving money to the red kettle, and done shopping until they get their priorities in order. If you're worried about poisoning one kid, you better worry about poisoning them all, not just the ones who can sue you. If you're not going to be knowledgeable about sorting your donations, let people know at the door that their toy donations won't be resold to people that can use them here in the States. Spread the word, Bleaders, your donations don't count at the Salvation Army.

It's That Time Of Year Again

The time of year when I request a weekly (or daily) spending limit be placed on the Playmobil website. Clearly, they don't reply to my requests. Letting me loose on that website is like letting me loose in the Grand Traverse Pie Company with no calorie limit, have you seen their Dutch Apple Pie? I can't get enough of Playmobil. I love everything about it. The themes, the accessories, the size, the smell, the taste. I seriously want to eat every last piece of it. I love it so much I feel the need to squeeze the shit out of it. Everytime I see something on the website, I think about how much fun I'm going to have on Christmas morning putting it together and setting it up. Obviously, the amount of fun I'm going to have in those two areas is a huge determining factor if I decide to buy it for the kids. Or if I decide to talk the kids into loving it and letting them know they will need it for their lives to be complete.

Don't Breathe, Breathe

Well Bleaders, as you can see, today was x-ray day. I should've had them taken yesterday, but clearly, I was far too exhausted to get over there....literally. So today I decided to go directly after waking up. Well, that's not entirely true, I should say after getting around, I've been awake since 3 am. I think I got a good solid 4 hours before I woke up though, so high five that.

As you can see, I'm grinning and baring it. Actually, mostly I'm just grimmacing. The x-rays were in fact taken lying down, not a good position for me. They asked if I could be pregnant before we got started. Ha! If Vader shifts positions in bed and jostles me a little bit I'm near tears & awake for the next 2 hours. I can't do anything that involves undressing, lying down, sitting down, rolling over, bouncing, twisting, bending, or any variety of movements that would in some way cause my hips to move my legs in an outward position rather than straight ahead. With this laundry list of pain provokers, it was easier to just say, "No, I'm not a masochist."

What I Wouldn't Give For A Good Nap

Where have I been you ask? Well, I've been doing a lot of standing around. Seems that's all that I can really do anymore for any length of time. You may remember that I injured my back a couple of months ago. There are lovely pictures of me crawling up the stairs. Anyhu, it's still not better. My back is, but the remaining injury to my hip is sending these lovely shooting pains down to my ankle if I try to sit, or drive, or sleep. Hell, even if I try to sit and pee. None of this is working for me. I'm in pain constantly, I can't sit for long so I'm broke because I can't get on ebay, plus I'm completely exhausted because I haven't had a decent night's sleep in 2 months,. What kind of bullshit is it that I can't lie down, whoever heard of an injury that consisted of only being able to stand all the time? I'm learning to deal with it, I mean, what choice do I have? I stand or walk as much as I can throughout the day, the problem is, it makes me even more tired and then....oh yea, I can't lie down. Then I try to think of ingenius ways to work around the pain. The problem again is, I'm so damn tired, I can't come up with anything. It's gone on for too long, I'm wiped out. I finally broke down and went to the doctor yesterday. Who knows what will come of it, I just want to be able to do something besides stand without biting my tongue to keep from crying. At this point, I just need reassurance that this isn't going to be my life, that this will get better and I can return to my bed to catch up on a lot of lost sleep.

My Life Is Now Complete

Oh the splendor. The wonder of it all. It's exactly what I've been dreaming of and I didn't even know it. A giftset. A teeny giftset of teeny Barbie as she's changed through the decades. Shut. Up. There are actually 6 tiny dolls in the giftset, not shown are Teeny Brunette Bubblecut Barbie and Teeny Number 1 Ponytail Barbie. They measure only about 2 1/4 inches. As you can see, they are all dressed in an itty bitty replica of their original outfit from the year they were released. Is there anything cuter than a miniscule orange plastic bikini with a white net cover up? Now, I know you can't really get the full appreciation of them from this little bitty picture, but I assure you, they are stunning. I want to just eat them, or crush them in my hand, like I'm King Kong until their heads pop off, or stuff them into my bra so they can go everywhere with me. That's how much I love them. Sadly, I can do none of those things as I'm not supposed to know about them. They're a super secret Christmas gift. Yeah right. One that I'm going to be drooling over in my office daily because I can't let it out of my sight.

Oh Hell

Apparently, the One Woman Mob has sold her house. Readers, what am I going to do now? Who is going to take care of the animal carcasses that seem to pile up in my path? What will I do when China takes his gun out of retirement? Readers.....what is to become of me????

The Haunting

Vader is in Texas this week. So really it's not my fault that I had to invite E to come over with her shovel. That handy dandy shovel that takes care of the stuff of my nightmares. You know how there are movies that haunt you? Mine are Amistad, Schindler's List and the like. I literally try for years to erase the images from my mind. It's no different for me, the images of dead animals. The sight actually sticks with me and just seeps into my thoughts the way boobs and butts seep into the minds of men at all hours of the day and night. Anyway, I had no choice but to go get E to pick up the dead baby birds that tumbled out of their rooftop nest onto my lawn. I was beside myself, just writing this is giving me a stomachache. I feel a little lightheaded right now.

Poor E though. Today I had to ask her if I could borrow her ladder so that I could break into my house. When she saw me coming she said, "What happened, another dead bird? Should I get my shovel?" No E, just a little breaking and entering, but I'm thinking I should probably get you a tool belt with a shovel holder just so it's always handy.

For Mature Readers Only

Let me just say that when I moved to this neighborhood I was fortunate enough to live in an area with some wonderful people. To say they are great neighbors really isn't true, they are great people that happen to be neighbors. Please understand, the Crazies are plentiful on my street as well. You know the type, you see them and quickly do an about face, head down, back into your house. All the while whispering the mantra, "Don't make eye contact, don't make eye contact...". None of it matters, these are the type of people that just follow you on into the house, grab a seat on the couch, and ask what's for dinner. Anyway, aside from those 3 or 5 special treasures, the people I share a neighborhood with are some of the best people I have ever had the privilege of knowing.

In saying that, let me just point out that everyone has their, um.....quirks. Sometimes funny, sometimes bizarre, sometimes.....scary.

Here follows our story:

One neighbor (we'll call her E) that is truly a wonderful friend and person, I just love her, recently had an unfortunate break up of her relationship. Now, believe me, at the time I thought her ex-husband to be straight stupid, E doesn't possess a single bad quality. Now, after getting to know her a little better....I find him even more stupid, perhaps fatally so.

Another neighbor who has made his way to my postings before, China, has a vendetta against the squirrels. On this street we had a few crazy squirrels as well. Some might call them friendly, but when they peer into your storm door and knock to be let in, to me that's crazy. When you bring out the broom to scoot them off the front porch and they instead help you sweep, that's crazy. China had only the best intentions in mind, to rid the neighborhood of the crazy, and potentially rabid squirrels, when he bought himself a b-b gun. He's only thinking of the children after all.

Well, one lovely spring day, China turned out to not be the best shot. Here is where the horror begins, Readers. Be warned, the following story is not for the faint of heart. China had thought he had a good clean shot on the squirrel, the squirrel disappeared and he thought that was the end of that. Until poor D discovered the squirrel under my hose reel, paralyzed on the whole lower half of her body with a large round hole on the side of her body. China's calling card.

The squirrel was in pain, but still mobile and was limping under the fence and trying to get up the tree, not able to figure out why her body wouldn't do what she wanted it to do. China was conveniently gone. I cannot handle looking at (let alone touching) dead or dying animals, not roadkill, not a little mouse, not even a whole chicken in the local grocer's meat counter. I ran to E's house. Before becoming a full time mommy, E worked for the pharmaceutical companies, we all know what that means. Well, to be honest, Readers, I really didn't fully know what that meant. So I tell E what has happened, she's appalled. She says, "Hang on, I'll be right over....I'll bring my shovel." Whaaat? I just say okay, I don't really think I want to know what she's talking about. And I was right. She spots the squirrel and announces that there is no saving the squirrel, the bullet hit the spine and she's dying. She said that she's going to have to kill it because it shouldn't have to suffer any longer. The squirrel at this point is behind my next door neighbor's garage, I go around to the side of the garage so I can't see anything because this is the part where E, kind, calm, loving mother of 2, whacks the squirrel to death with the shovel. The whacking stops, I ask E if she's okay or not, she says yes, but she just wants to make sure that the squirrel is really dead. I go to open the neighbor's back gate so that she can take it out back and I see her and think she's burying the squirrel right there instead. Nope, she's just standing up on the shovel on top of the squirrel's neck, "To make sure the spinal cord is snapped and she's completely dead.", she says. I'm about to pass out at this point, I steady myself on the gate. E then listens for breath sounds, scoops the squirrel up in the shovel and takes her out the back gate to bury her in the woods. Meanwhile, my head is between my knees and I'm biting my tongue just to stay conscious. This is some shit, I know I couldn't pull this off for the good of the squirrel or no. I'm beside myself, this is a one woman mob, this is a woman you do not f*ck with, you don't do it. She can take you out with a whack of the shovel and then bury you with it. At this point, I realize I would not want to be China. Further, I wonder what her ex-husband was thinking, he definitely f*cked with her. Perhaps he didn't know the extent of her knowledge of the snapping of the spinal cord.

At the time of this writing both China and EX are alive and well. They learned a little something that week, don't mess with the One Woman Mob. China apologized for the terror caused the squirrel and distress caused to E, and packed away the b-b gun. EX has taken up ass-kissing.

Banned From The Laundry Room...Yet Again

Oh OCD, you serve me well. You help me make my home cleaner, my children cleaner and full of manners, and recently, my planet healthier. My kids are totally into the whole recycle thing. Vader has been much more reluctant. He's not ashamed to admit it's because recycling takes way more work either. He's coming around though, it takes me a lot of time training him and I feel like a broken record, but the rules are finally seeming to make a difference and he's really learning.

With the recycling anyway.

With my new Better The Planet Compulsion, I figure out new ways to help out the planet and save money. I don't want to use my dryer and really haven't for about 2 years. I figure I use my dryer about 2 times a month right now. This doesn't please Vader, thus he's been banned from the laundry room for a couple of years now. Not that it stops him. He always tries to sneak in there when I'm away and do a load or 4 of clothes. I come home and see what he's done and flames come out of my eyes and smoke from my nose while I curse him with infinite abstinence. Then he gets all pouty when I'm not proud that he's just finished all the laundry and thank him for it. What? I know I don't get a thanks for doing laundry and I save money and the environment at the same time. He claims then, that I must not like doing laundry, ipso facto I don't like to work, and so that's why I've chosen to do it this way. Oh hell...no he didn't. I have to do laundry every single day because I don't use the dryer and it's way more labor intensive. So I calm down, tell him once again that he's banned, don't even talk to me another word about it, end of story.

Until the next time.

Yesterday was the next time, Readers. I came home and he was actually hanging laundry on the clothes line. WHAT? I was shocked. It was all his clothes, cause that's how he rolls, but at least he was trying to turn over a new leaf. Until I stopped and thought for a moment. I ask him, "Vader, what did you do with the laundry that I washed this morning?" (It was waiting for me to put it on the clothes bars.) Vader says, "Oh, there was a whole bunch of small kids stuff in there and everything. I didn't want to mess with that so I put it in the dryer." At which point my head spun off my neck, flew around 360 degrees, landed back in place just in time for my eyes to shoot out flames like Cookin' Mama's. It's my own fault though, I knew I should've called to check on him. He just can't be left home alone without proper supervision. Next time I'm hiring a babysitter. I think the 9 year old girl across the street will work out perfectly.

Newly Added To My OCD List

As you may have ascertained from my posts, I have some obsessive compulsive tendencies. Since the birth of my children, I have shifted those tendencies....a tiny bit. I don't have to vacuum everyday anymore, they can have some mess in their rooms. I still like things picked up and in their place, but I can put up with them making a mess and even playing with toys in the living room...for a short period of time. Assuming they are fully picked up at the end of the day....even if I have to do it. The OCD has in fact become more focused on them. I want them to have polite manners, excellent table manners, they need to be clean and neat, with teeth brushed, in an outfit that actually matches. And is cute. And appropriate. And stylish. Did I want to pull out my hair when D would have his cute little shorts outfits on with his rubber rain boots..in 95 degree weather? Why, yes Readers, I did. He was so little that you could barely see the outfit over the boots. And rain boots just aren't appropriate when it feels like 120 degrees with humidity and there isn't a cloud in the sky. But, we'll save a discussion on D's obsession with rain boots for another post. More than that though, I worry constantly about forgetting certain memories so I'm forever writing cute things down, taking loads of pictures, and taking video when I can. I have a pile of crap on my scrapbook table so deep, that I couldn't possibly hope to get through it in my lifetime and they haven't even reached the teen years yet. Now you'd think my everyday OCD, combined with my OCD I've created for myself by birthing children would be enough for me, but it clearly isn't as I've added a new one.

Recycling. My kids have luckily picked this obsession up so I'm not completely on my own this time. I recycle every single thing that I can. I even go through my parent's garbage and bring things home that they can't recycle. I go to specific stores to buy products that are packaged in recyclable material versus materials like styrofoam that I can't recycle here. I buy meats that are at the meat counter and insist that they are put into the freezer paper. I try not to use plastic baggies, but if I have to use them for cold lunches, I make my kids bring them home so that they can be recycled. I am down to about one garbage bag of trash every 4 weeks, my goal is 5.

Here's an example of what keeps me up at night. Worrying about transferring my videos of the kids onto DVD before the tapes disintegrate, wondering about what happened to the picture of D after his first haircut - it's been lost for 2 years, and figuring out new ways to reduce my trash output. Add that to actually falling asleep and then having nightmares about missing great deals at garage sales and I'm as close to an insomniac as you can get folks.

This Time I Just Forgot About You, Readers

Where have I been? Well Readers, I've been busting my ass on my house. The spring cleaning bug hit me a little late this year, but now it's full on cleaning frenzy around this house. Out with the old, in with the new. Get rid of the dirt and dust, bring on the sparkle and bling. The only problem seems to be that as the cobwebs get cleared from my house, they gather in my head. I had all these things that I was going to write and I can't remember a single one. Little anecdotes and stories from recent days, completely wiped out of my memory. I always was afraid of being one of those scattered people that you can't even hold a full conversation with because they're holding two conversations (one with you, one with themselves), eating a snack, and writing out their will. Despite my best efforts to hold that craziness at bay, I think it's happening. I feel myself starting to and wanting to ramble in this post even. It takes all my effort to keep my brain steady and to even just sit still long enough to get it done. I don't sit still during the day until I've completely worn myself out. I'm sure I'm suffering late onset ADHD. And some stress induced amnesia, that's a real condition....right?

It's On

That's right, Readers, the time is now! Yard sale season is upon us and life as we know it will never be the same. I'm talking early mornings, standing in line at every denomination of church in the city, digging through bins boxes and sometimes trash cans, and finding the most phenomenal deals EVER! Can you stand it? The excitement is almost overwhelming isn't it?!

Dragging every bargain home, whether it's from a sale or the curb (know what I'm sayin' V?) is my obsession. Hell, it's what haunts me, a possible missed treasure is the stuff my nightmares are made of. (And I'm totally serious, I have recurring nightmares about missing out on fabulous finds, it's just not right.)

New Trend: Plastic Grass

What's my newest hobby, you ask. Why it's pulling multitudes of dandelions and violets from my lawn...by hand. I can't spray anything on them, I'm currently in the midst of my last desperate attempt at reseeding. So, daily, I'm off to look and see what the rain has spawned fresh in my lawn. It's a losing battle and it's getting more hopeless hourly as the leaves are just about to pop, forever shading the little seeds making it impossible for them to open. My house is destined to be the only one on the block with the small patchy clumps of grass and lots of blowing dirt. I mean, Vader and I busted our butts on our anniversary last year trying to smooth out the lawn, getting it ready for seeding, to no avail. We changed tactics and thought we'd wait until early spring to try again, when the sun can actually touch the lawn, but the tree is not cooperating with my grand plan. Right now, I'm really liking the idea of the fake grass like they use in Arizona. Actually, real grass is bad for our air and water, in the spirit of Earth Day today, I'm completely advocating fake grass. It might have just a little something to do with the fact that I can't grow any, but inspiration takes many forms.

I Don't Sleep On The Job, Even On Vacation

Consistent. On vacation, at home, at least we can say, I'm consistent. It's just I don't want to let anybody down, don't want my kids to think I'd lay down on the job of getting what's right and fair.

What's my daughter's favorite thing?
"When mommy has a conniption fit."
Why?
"Because she always gets her way."
Damn straight.

In Arizona, we had a little issue at the Ikea eatery. We went for a quick dinner in their cafeteria as a family. Involved were my parents, my sister and her family, and then myself and the kids. There was a bit of a misunderstanding between the lovely greeter downstairs who gave us dinner coupons, the cafeteria server, the cafeteria cashier, and me. Of course as fate would have it, I was in line first. The misunderstanding was going to cost me a whole lot more money than I was willing to spend. After much gesturing, waving around of my hands, exclaiming about fine details being ignored by staff and etc, I was given my way. This in turn positively affected my parents and sister, who were also given my way. And a supervisor never even had to be called.

"What did you say to her?", my dad wanted to know. I don't even know what to say about that, apparently he hasn't talked to my daughter who could tell him that I always get my way when I have a conniption. Or it could be that waving my hands up to the heavens was enough to scare the poor cashier into thinking that I had some contract with God and He would strike her blind if she didn't find a way to get rid of me. Overall, it was a pretty minor conniption, very easily executed and I wish someone had videotaped it so that I could learn from it. Then I can apply those same techniques to my next conniption to perhaps shorten the time from explaining whatever random problem is on my mind to having said problem ultimately fixed.

The other issue I have, that I just couldn't get away from even on vacation 2000 miles away, the need to Swiffer. I really didn't have enough time for it, but I did take one afternoon where I put some real quality time into Swiffering the tile at my sister's house. I went through like 5 or 6 Swiffer cloths and eradicated lots of pet hair and major dust bunnies. I wished I could've done more, but I can't tell you the joy I felt every single time I would then walk past the knickknacks in the corners knowing that dust bunnies were no longer making their homes there. Swiffering....it's good for the soul.

Just Let Me Use My Words!

Here's another little burr in my side. I'm not even sure if it's politically correct, I haven't discussed this with my homosexual friends yet, but I don't appreciate the new commercials about "It's wrong to say things are gay."

I love words, I think I've made that perfectly clear in more than one of my posts here. Love them. One word I happen to like the sound of and like the feel of it when I say it is queer. I think it's so quaint, and reading it in books, like, "She gave him a queer look, he wasn't sure if she was angry with him or had just ate a bad clam.", makes me want to go out and use the word. Sadly, queer is associated with being a homosexual and saying to someone, "I love that little picture, it's queer, but I think it'd be cute in the hallway.", could be misinterpreted by people to think that I think it looks to be homosexual. Homosexual is the proper term. Not gay, queer, or other less desirable terms that I won't mention. These are all words that had actual meanings before they were re-interpreted as meaning homosexual. It ticks me off that people are spending money telling people to not use the word gay, when it's not being used in it's original meaning for their purposes either. You're darn right I see things that I would term gay. Things that are so bright and cheery that often times it borders on insipid. Like gaggingly happy. You know, blindingly bright flowered pants, my kids on a bike ride on their way to get ice cream, the Dick and Jane stories, Hello Kitty. Now, do I think any of these things are homosexual? Um, no, but I would love to be able to use the word gay about them, without being attacked as being some politically incorrect snob.

I certainly don't like any put downs for any group of people and I don't want my friends put down ever, so I agree gay shouldn't be used in a way that is inappropriate. I also have no problem with my homosexual friends being called gay, or calling them gay if this is what is preferable. I just don't like that gay has been so fully ingrained in our society as being a word with a single definition, that I can't even use the word in it's original form so that I can fully emphasize and detail my feelings about something in the most descriptive way possible. For godsakes, all I want to do is tell the world that my husband's left calf is queer. I certainly don't mean it's a homosexual calf....it's just so much skinnier than the other one, it's an oddity, truly the definition of queer if I ever saw one.

Such Disappointments

I generally try to be a positive person. I'm happy, I love life, I enjoy good humor and love sassy sarcasm. Some weeks just give you more than you can take though. Here is a short list of things that are currently ruining my life.

1. Lying Liars who lie.
2. Teachers who insist your child can't read, yet admittedly aren't personally involved in teaching them said skill.
3. The dissolving of the best church sale ever.
4. The gradual increased suckiness of the 2nd best church sale ever.
5. The most gorgeous, softest, thickest, bake sale sugar cookies ever...tasting like mouse turds.
6. My lawn.

Don't feel better about yourselves Liars, just because you're in a list of six things vexing me. You're still at the top of the list and won't be leaving anytime soon, like ever.

Late addition:
How in the hell did I forget number 7??
7. Hover Moms

That's just bullshit.