No Trickin’……

October 29, 2011
The Original Monster Mash

Image via Wikipedia

I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE Halloween!  I’m glad my birthday is in the same month and not too far away from the Big Candy Day that I have often had Halloween birthday parties. Usually I trick my house out with some really cool decorations, do my pumpkin carving, and play my cd with Monster Mash, purple people eater, and such. This year, I  got my light-up signs in the my windows and my string of ghost lights up, though not in their usual place on my mantle,and the girls and I did get a few pumpkins carved, but that was all the trickin’ out I did this year.  And I think that’s why I’ve been slogging through this month.  I’m bummed….

This was confirmed by my friend, Momma Lime.  She said the same thing happened to her last year when she didn’t put up her Halloween decorations. And the 31st was a bust last year. The neighborhood gathering was ill-planned and uncoordinated, which for me, who had gotten my stuff up early and had been pumped all month waiting for the day, was a big disappointment(the kids didn’t care, but I did).  So, this year, it’s me, the Debbie Downer of Halloween Decor.  I think it’s because Halloween kicks off the decorating season in our house, where we regularly change our decorations from October through the new year. And we love to decorate; Halloween, Thanksgiving, and especially Christmas. Our kick-off was more like a stubbed toe this go around. To top off my sluggishness, it snowed today. Truly an Eeyore moment for me.

So, thank you Momma Lime for bringing me into the jack-o-lantern light about why I have to start the holiday season off right with my Halloween decorations up, to light the way into the new year. Getting my fall decorations and spirits ready to go for November and getting giddy about what December brings.

-a Mini-Boo from the Edge

Assuhdraggin’……..

October 26, 2011

Stop I want to get off.  Life a the Edge is always crazy, but for some reason it seems to be more so that usual.  Between the superheroes and their activities, Butterface and his walking/dogpark needs, work-gone crazy and my inability to say no, I feel like I’m gonna bust.  It doesn’t help that my ass is uhdraggin in the midst of it all.

I think I was a bear in a previous life.  And my inner bear has been calling from within of late as I feel like I want to hibernate something fierce.  I thought with my recent forays into the gym at work, my energy level would be up.  I have noticed a power surge now and again(not of the hormonal kind!), and have been sleeping better for the most part, though I’m still snoring like its my job.  But I feel like I’m ready to curl up for a long snooze in my little cave at the Edge.  This is beyond my regular, “Damn I need to go to bed early since I get up at O darkhundred!” 

Thank GOD for coffee!  Three cheers for coffee-Wee hee, Woo hoo, yipeeee! It is the nectar of the gods.  I wonder can I get it to come out of the shower head to wash over me, to take it in through all my pores for maximum absorption.  Lightbulb moment!  Hey, maybe my arse is not draggin’ so much afterall! Unforetold Riches!  Woo Hoo! Yea-uh!

…..Okay, bring it back. I might be a little delusional from being so run down.

So maybe a little hibernating wouldn’t be so bad.  Of course We all know that ain’t happenin’, cause the Tribe called, “Crazy” won’t even let me power nap on the couch for 20.  Only 15 more years until Glamour Rayz leaves for college.  Huhn….a girl can dream.

On Crazy Overload,

Edge

Accidents……

October 21, 2011

So I’m out walking Butterface this morning, it’s 6:00am and I’m in my requisite white, so as to be seen. Someone in an oversized pick-up truck, obviously overcompensating for some baby man parts,
comes speeding up the hill, gets right up on me, then honks. WTF???!!!

It was on one of the main roads in my ‘hood that doesn’t have sidewalks.  The speed limit is 25 mph, but clearly this clown was moving at a far faster clip. People that don’t live in our neighborhood often cut through to avoid traffic on the nearby freeway.  Clearly, they don’t give a flying fluffernutter about the folks who actually live here.

So, my wild imagination takes over and I have a vision of an  accident on this road, where the pick-up truck driver, who has just mowed down a pedestrian, is all upset and crying, telling the police officer, ” I’m soooo sorry, it was an accident!  I’m soooo sorry!”

Is it really an “accident” if you’re flying through a residential neighborhood going 65 mph on a road with a posted limit of 25?

I’ll remember to tell the officer is was an “accident” too, when the officer comes to arrest me for strangling your stupid ass because you were too inconsiderate to slow down.

Stepping of my soapbox now,

Edge

Attention Fellow Garage Patron……

October 8, 2011

Date: Today and going forth until the end of time

Attention Fellow Garage Patrons,

It has come to my attention, as a fellow patron of the Land Down Under, that you may not have been informed as to proper “garage” etiquette.  So, to assist you in your transition or refresh your memory, if you have been here for a while, but have had some lapses in judgement, here are a few tips that might be helpful in your daily parking execution.

* The lines between the spaces are not to be UNDER your vehicle, EVER. Rather, there should be two of those pretty cheesy colored lines on either side of your car. Your car tires should be equidistant from the lines on both sides, not touching them. If I have to go through my sunroof AGAIN to get into my car because you don’t know what equidistant means and can’t park in the middle of the space, I’ll make sure to hop up on your hood to get into my car.  For the record, I ain’t little. Again, BETWEEN the cheese sticks, NOT on the cheese sticks.

*If your vehicle is sticking out of a space marked “Compact Cars Only” by a two and half feet,  your car/truck/bus/moonrover is NOT compact size, and you’re blocking the aisle! Of course, if you like parking in those spaces with your “compact car,” I’ll gladly take off your front end with my big ass SUV as I try to manuever through the garage to get to the space for my big ass SUV. You know the ones not marked “Compact Cars Only.”

*Conversely, if you DO own a compact car, please park in the spaces indicated for your vehicle size.  If your car is in a space that looks like it can fit three more cars in it along with yours (and still not be over the lines-see first bullet), then please troll on over to the spaces for the Matchbox cars.  If those spaces are full, please feel free to call me and I can park your car inside my big ass SUV.  If turned on its side, your car should slide in quite nicely. If driving the new Fiat 500, we can squeeze two in.

*For those veteran parkers, I know were all adults here, but I’m calling “Same Seats!” If you park in a regular space, then park there.  No need to wander over to my usual spot, just cause you want to sit with the cool kids or try something new.  Please note the previous references to the big ass SUV.  If you continue parking in my space, me and my big ass SUV will help you back to your regular one. Beat it, buster! I mean it. To newcomers who accidentally park in my space, you get a one-day free pass. If you’re in my space two days in a row, you will be treated like a veteran interloper. In which case, please reference this bullet from the beginning. Consider this your friendly reminder. And I use the word “friendly” lightly. Very lightly.

I hope you find these tips helpful in assisting you in your daily excursions into the our little slice of combustible heaven.  Thank you and have a pleasant day (not in my parking spot)!

Riding the Line,

Edge

Pardon The Interruption….

April 19, 2011

Years ago, the children were ensconced at the table eating a snack-good time to head to the Head.  “Eat your snack. I’m going to take a shower, I’ll be out in 5 minutes. Do not disturb unless it’s an emergency.”  I ran into the bathroom, jumped in the shower,  and kicked it into gear to get my whole self clean in five minutes.  I was a pro from back in my boarding school days when five minutes was sometimes all the time we had, and then the hot water would run out. 

2 minutes in, the door bursts open.  “Mom is this purple?” It was Whirling Dervish holding up a skirt.

“REALLY?!  Did we forget that Mommy said “Do NOT disturb!”

“Uhhhhh.”

“Is someone concussed?”

“No.”

“Is someone bleeding? Does someone have a limb off?”

“No.  But Momma is this purple?”

“REALLY???!!! Please close the door on your way out.”

I guess I should be happy, she was outside the shower. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she had gotten in there with me. Whirling liked to invade my personal space-a “close talker” a la Jerry Seinfeld.  Her usual M.O. was to wait until I was in the bathroom and then come in and step so close to me that she would be standing in my under garments. yes, IN, my underwear.  And it wasn’t as if she was coming to tell me the kitchen was on fire or anything.  She just wanted to chat.  Mind you she had absolutely NOTHING to say to me while I was not in the bathroom.  I guess her mind got rolling as soon as I sat down on the can.   I would have to politely ask her to back up out of my draws and out of the bathroom.  And off she would go, inevitably leaving the bathroom door wide open, leaving me fully exposed for all the world to see.  And she wasn’t the only one.  Her siblings were just as bad. I got asked all sorts of stuff in the water closet. Can I transform the Transformer back?  Momma, can you get the pony tail out of Barbie’s hair?  Mom, can you sign my permission slip?  Can you get this knot out of my sneaker? And so it went. For years.

My youngest is now 8, so I thought I was done with the interruptions.  They still do it from time to time, but for the most part, they stay out, at least until I turn the water off in the shower or flush the toilet to barge in. Some times tey wait until I have finished brushing my teeth to ask me a question or talk to me.  But no.  Now there’s a new interloper in our midst. Butter Face cometh.

My dog has become the Bathroom Bandit. It doesn’t matter what bathroom I’m in or what floor he’s on. He makes his  way to the bathroom heads on in.  He just opens the door all the way and waltzes right in.  He walks right up to me, looks up, as if to say, “Hey, whatcha doin’?” Then he sniffs my shoes, does his doggy circling ritual and then lays down on the rug. And stares.  I don’t know about y’all, but it’s hard to concentrate with the beast ogling me from below, peeping at me underneath my reading material.

I guess I should be thankful, he doesn’t ask me to deknot his bone.

Routines…..

April 8, 2011

Since I rise before the chickens to do the first round of waking the dead for school, I take Butter Face for his morning stroll through the ‘hood.  Ours is a tranquil little hamlet with great neighbors, who greet each other on the street, awesome families (Shout out to the Pool Ladies Book Club AKA The Mommy Mafia), and regular routines.  There’s the “Walker Lady” who speeds through the neighborhood hoofin’ it to the bus stop on the main road. And the “Beige Man.”  He walks his beige dog, in his beige coat and pants, wearing his brown hat and shoes. Everyday.  And so the routine went yesterday.  Or so I thought.

It was Thursday, Trash Day. It was recycle day as well. And so, Butter Face and I took our usual stroll, weaving through the forest of green cans and bins.  At least for half of us, who use the same trash company. Trash Day is blissfully routine in suburbia.

It was early; the sun wasn’t quite up. It was just casting a pink and orange glow through the trees.  I hadn’t had my coffee yet.  Thankfully,  the dog was on auto-pilot.  He knows the drill- up the street, take a left, walk up the block, make a left, up that street, another left, along one of the main roads, then take a right.  Ahhhh, routine. Go dog go.

We were halfway past the first left, when I saw this from a distance.…..

Here Kitty

 

Oh, look, a cat on the trash can.  I wonder if Butter Face sees him.  He’s not moving-wait!   That’s not a cat!  Is that a bobcat?! What the heck??!!! It’s a stuffed bobcat in a trashcan!

Mesmerized, I had to get a closer look, because really, it’s not every day you see a mounted bobcat on the curb. Right?

Ain't I purdy?

And so my mind went…

Eeeeew,  that thing’s been through the ringer. It’s got fur missing and looks all mangy.  Who HAS this in their house(Clearly, these are neighbors that I don’t know)! Oooh, I wonder if they shot it. And where.  Was it home stuffed or professionally done?  I hope they didn’t stuff it lookin’ like that because that was a waste of money. 

This is way too much to process this early in the morning without coffee.  But I couldn’t take my eyes off it.

 Butter Face, on the other hand, was FREAKED!  He was yankin’ at his leash, he couldn’t get away fast enough.  He would have dug to China through the sidewalk if I had stood there too much longer.

Then my mind went to what the conversation was when contemplating throwing this little gem into the trash….

“Hattie!  You seen my bobcat?  It was right here…. HATTIE!  Woman, where’s m’ bobcat??!!.”

“Willard, it was time. That ol’ ratty thing had to go, sitting in here collecting dust and such. I put him out in the trash this morning.”

“You did what, woman? That was my daddy’s bobcat!”

“You’re absolutely right, Willard.  So, I sent it to be with your daddy.  May they both rest in peace.”

Boy, I really did need coffee.

And Butter Face needed a tranquilizer.

-Routinous Interruptus at the Edge

Boy Logic…..

March 31, 2011

MiniMe in the MiniMan Cave

My 13 year-old son, MiniMe, has recently taken to spouting boy logic, his twist on things.  His utterings seem perfectly rational to him. Me, not so much.  Is  boy logic the definition of oxymoron? Absolutely. So, here was today’s little tidbit, after I told him his efforts at cleaning his room were less than stellar.  “But Mom,” he starts–I had to ask him to wait until I swallowed my coffee before sharing so that the coffee wouldn’t come out of my nose.  I start backing up in the kitchen as he’s walking up on me…..

Mom, it’s like a new car getting dirty for the first time. He smiles a wicked little grin, the wheels in that head turning…..

“Really, how’s that son?”

A new car is shiny, the wood grain dash is buffed and glowing, the carpet pristine.  Then the kids get in.  Juice boxes, baby puke, Cheerios, ice cream, muddy shoes, french fries, you know, kid gunk.

“uh,hunh.” I’m still backing up, nostrils flaring, trying not to laugh.

And then you get the car cleaned.  But is every really the same?  I mean REALLY? No more new car smell, the carpet’s forever stained, the windows are forever smudged with boogers and fingerprints. Clean as you might, there’s still dirt and french fries EVERYWHERE-“

“And soooooo….” The laughing has started and I can see where it’s going. 

Why bother?  I’m mean really, Mom!  That room’s had two other kids in there BEFORE me.  And me and Number1Son together at some point too! The new room smell is long gone.  Soooooooo looooong gone.

 Still laughing, tears welling.

He’s grinning like the Cheshire Cat, all proud of himself, “hunh, hunh, right? Right?  You know I’m right mom.”

Hmmmm. Well, he does have a point.  Boy logic might have some validity after all.  But I’ll never tell him that because his room looks and smells like a  dead goat exploded in there.  He’s 13, ‘nough said.

“Thank you son, for that morsel of wisdom.  Clean up your room, and for God’s sake and everyone else’s, open the windows. Yes, I know it’s 40 degrees outside, put some socks on, you’ll be alright.”

Mommy Logic wins out EVERY time.

-Logically Speaking at the Edge

Pinkified……..

March 30, 2011

Glamour Rayz is the essence of girly.  The pinker, shinier, the frillier, or sparklier(making up words, yes.), THE better. Whirling Dervish was once like her sister, and in fact started out über pinky with pink undies, pink socks, pink shoes, pink shirt, you get the idea. But now WD is girly in a funky sort of way, tom boy with pizzazz.  I, having been a tom boy growing up, and still am in a lot of ways, have had to get in touch with my inner Pink. Woo.

Believing that everyone should embrace pink the way she does, from time to time Glamour will strike, catching her victims unaware, inflicting her pinkness on anyone or anything in her path…..

The poor blue M&M had done nothing to deserve this. He didn’t stand a chance.

Last Sunday, she caught Butter Face.  He didn’t know what hit him.  After the carnage wrought by Glamour’s birthday party last weekend (see 8 Year Olds post, please), Big Daddy and I had parked it in the livingroom to continue our marathon of March Madness viewing.  Glamour skips by, down the hall to her room, then shoots back by on her way downstairs.  She gives me a quick, “Doot, duh, doot, doot, doo, hey Mom,” in her Mini Mouse voice. “Hey, chicken” I shoot back, not taking my eyes off the TV.

A few minutes later, Butter Face the Wonder Dog, comes sauntering down the hallway. I see a flash of pink out of the corner of my eye,  and my mouth drops open.  Big Daddy looks over, “No she didn’t.”

My poor dog.  The look on his face was one of utter disgust. He walked in and laid down as if to say, “WHY, why does she treat me so? Please put me out of my misery.”

So watch yourself, she may be lurking.  She might bat those eyelashes to draw you near. and Wham! You’ve been pinkified….

To Cuss or not to cuss…

March 29, 2011

That is the question.  I swear sometimes, okay a lot. The F bomb is my fave.  It just sums everything up, so succinctly. 

I have been debating about swearing in my blog posts, worried that I might offend the other reader.  And we’re not talking about every single post, but now again, when deemed necessary.  I’ve heard the saying, “Cussing is an indication of the small vocabulary.”  Hmmmm……I’m thinking that was said by someone who just couldn’t come back with a witty retort when getting cussed out himself. Ass.

Growing up, I heard my mother say “shit” and that was only when she forgot something, which didn’t happen very often.  My dad didn’t cuss.  At home.  Craziest thing.  He would not swear at home, but in his office, he would cuss like a sailor. Shitdamnhellfuck was one word.  I think he forgot we were in the conference room when we visited him at work. Damn.

I don’t walk around my house just dropping F bombs or other such homophones (SAT word of the day. Eat that Mr. Small Vocabulary!).  On the occasion that the superheroes are in earshot, I explain to that those are “adult” words and not to be shared amongst friends.

Some folks make up words that they use in place of a swear word, which, really, is lame.  Just say a damn curse word already.  It’s like when cuss words are bleeped out in movies on TV.  We can see their lips moving and know exactly what is being said; so why bother with the bleep?  What’s the point? What the hell???!!!! 

Just go with it. You’ll feel much better.  I bleeping swear.

-Dropping the bomb at the Edge

Live…….

March 28, 2011

I was looking at my wall on Facebook.  I usually don’t pay attention to “Sponsored” widget on the right side of the screen, since I’m usually not interested in who’s sponsoring and what’s being offered. But this time, I happened to glance over at the ad. “Tim McGraw Coming to Jiffy Lube Live!”

Clearly, I was tired because here’s how my thoughts went as I stared at the ad with my eyebrows crinkled up……

Cool, Tim McGraw’s doing a concert.  But at Jiffy Lube???? Tim is kinda big to be appearing at a Jiffy Lube.  Wasn’t he in Vegas last year? He can’t be doin’ all that bad, damn.  And Faith’s workin’, they couldn’t be hard up for money, could they? Oh, maybe it’s one of those local charity concert things. Well, they can’t fit very many people in a Jiffy Lube.  They’re not going to make very much money, what the heck?

After staring at it for a while, It dawns on me.

Ooooooooh Duuuuuuuuh, Jiffy Lube Live is the areeeeena.

Well whomever thought of that name should have thought that name through more, should not have been paid, and should have read, “Eats, Shoots, and Leaves.”

Stupid sponsorship opportunities.

-Lubed the wrong way at the Edge


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