I Blame Twitter

Once again, I find myself going weeks at a time without posting. I think part of it is being crazy busy all the time, but I've come to another conclusion: It's Twitter's and Facebook's fault. No really - I have something to say, I condense it down to 140 characters, I put it out there, and then it's gone. I knew no good could come of me jumping on those bandwagons.

Anyway, what's going on in my life? Let's see...nothing there...not much about that...not really anything there. Fuck - my life is boring. I still ride everyone's ass to practices and parties and games. I still don't get enough sleep. I still have 183,472,965 stink bugs in my house. I still pray for lots of snow every day so I can legitimately stay home (which may not be worse, since if it's that bad, my kids can't go to school, either, and then we're all cooped up in the house while I try to work - that's a barrel of monkeys.

You know - who ever came up with that term and decided it meant fun: A barrel of monkeys? Meanwhile, a barrel of mokeys is nothing but trouble and pain and destruction. Because monkeys are badass motherfuckers. And if you shove a bunch of them into a barrel? You're going to end up with a barrel full of pissed off, stinky, badass motherfuckers And those pissed off badass motherfuckers are not going to be happy when you finally let them out of the barrel. They are going to come flying out and tear your face off. Then they'll destroy everything they can get their little foot-hands on. Then they'll finish it off with a big poop-fight. I don't know, but that doens't sound like fun to me.

Personally, I can think of a ton of things that would be more fun than a barrel of monkeys. Like a barrel of money. Or a barrel of rum. Or a barrel of My Kids Are Sleeping At Grandma's Tonight. I almost said a barrel of puppies, but then I rememberewd that I have a puppy and despite the fact that puppies are cute and soft and (seemingly) fun, it turns out that puppies are dicks. They poop on your floor. They pee on your carpet. They eat your coffee table. And your shoes. And entire rolls of paper towels. And cat litter. And cat poop. And the cat.

And the particular puppy that I am referring to also stinks. He gets baths more frequently than the adult dog, and yet he stinks more. At first I couldn't figure out how something so sweet and (previously) tiny, and cute could stink so bad. But then I remembered that his day goes pretty much like this:

I'm a puppy! YAY! Hey - there's a cat! YAY! I'm gonna chase him! YAY! Now I have to pee! I think I'll pee here on the carpet! YAY! And now I'll run and slide through it for fun! Wheee! YAY! A dog! His BUTT!! YAY! Stinkbug! YAY! Poop! YAY! Dead thing! YAY! Rotten leaves! YAY! Someone peed here! YAY! Snow! YAY! The toilet! YAY! Garbage! OMGYAY!

Hmmm...now that I think about it, maybe a barrel of monkeys isn't so bad.















































.


Don't let the cuteness fool you


.

Snow & Siblings

The kids had a great time playing in the snow on Tuesday.

Of course right after these were taken, he threw snow in her face. And then she screamed. And he laughed and laughed. Until she picked up a handful of snow, blew her nose into it and threw it at him. Then she laughed and laughed.

And don't tell anyone, but I may have laughed a little, too.

Movie Night at My House

We watched several movies yesterday. Each one made me more convinced that I should never watch movies with my family. Why, you ask? Let me give you a tiny glimpse into the day:

Me: Intently watching movie(s)

The Boy: Who is that?

The Girl: You’d know if you were paying attention.

Me: Shhh

The Boy: Why is he doing that?

Me: Shhh

The Girl: SHHHHHHHH

The Boy: Sor-RY!

The Dog with a squeaky toy: Squeak!

Me: Oh my God.

The Boy: Why is that black?

The Girl: Shhh

The Boy: What happened?

Me: Pay attention and you’d know!

The Boy: Who is she?

The Dog with a squeaky toy: Squeak! Squeak! Squeak!

The Boy: Can’t they change it back?

Me: sigh

The Boy: What happened to that last guy?

The Girl: lalalalalalala!

The Boy: Is he still alive?

Me: Shush

The Boy: What’s that one spell? You know, that spell?

The Girl: Brother – Shush!

The Boy: You shush!

The Boy: Watch this!

Me: Both of you shush!

The Boy: Wait, who is that?

The Girl: baby, baby, baby…oohhh…baby

The Dog with a squeaky toy: Squeak! Squeak! SqueakSqueakSqueakSqueak!

The Boy: Is that her boyfriend?

The Girl: He can be my boyfriend.

The Boy: What’s a Tesla Coil?

The Girl: Team Jacob! Woooo!

The Boy: What happened?

Me: SIGH

The Boy: Can’t they just change it back?

The Girl: I love my scooter!

The Boy: Where did it go?

Me: Pay attention. And youstop riding that scooter!

The Dog with a squeaky toy: SqueakSqueakSqueakSqueakSqueak!

The Dog without a squeaky toy: Grrrrrrrr

The Boy: What’s intuition?

The Girl: scoot…scoot…crash

The Boy: Is he in college?

Me: I’m begging you…

The Boy: Can you use Sprite in a Shirley Temple?

The Girl: I want a Shirley Temple! Can you make me a Shirley Temple?

Me: Not right now. I’m trying to watch the movie!

The Boy: What’s Dumbledore’s first name?

The Girl: Albus. DUH!

The Boy: nyahnyahnyah

The Girl: STOP IT!

Me: BOTH OF YOU stop it!

The Boy: What’s he going to do?

Me: JUST WATCH!

The Boy: Is that thing dead?

The Dog with a squeaky toy: SqueakSqueakSqueakSqueakSqueak!

The Dog without a squeaky toy: GRRRR

The Dog previously with a squeaky toy: GRRRR

The Dog who never had a squeaky toy: GRRRR

Both Dogs: BARK BARK BARK BARK BARKBARKBARK

The Boy: That’s a cool car. What kind of car is that?

Me: Oh. My. GOD! PLEASE!?!?!?

The Boy: What’s with those birds?

Both Dogs: BARK BARK BARK BARK BARKBARKBARKWRESTLEGROWLBARK…CRASH!

Me: I will KILL A DOG!

The Girl: Shhhh…I can’t hear!

Me: sigh

The Boy: Why is it blue? Isn’t it supposed to be green?

Me: Please! Stop! Talking!

The Girl: Listen – HEHEHEHEHEHEHE. Do I Sound like a mental patient?

The Boy: What happened? What’s he going to do?

Me: Would you all please STOP???

Mr. B: What’s a horcrux?

Me: SOB! I am never watching movies with you people again.

The Boy, The Girl, Mr B: Sor-RY!

The Dogs: Grrr…fart.

Me: SIGH

Commemorative, My Ass

There is a commercial I keep seeing more and more lately that is really bothering me. Or actually – it’s not the commercial that’s bothering me; it’s the product that is being advertised. It’s an ad for a commemorative September 11 coin.

Admittedly, I’m not really into collectibles or “commemorative” items, but even if I were, I think I would still be bothered by this particular one. It’s a gold(ish) coin with little silver(ish) cutout pieces that can be pulled out and “stood up” on the gold coin base. And supposedly, it is made from silver recovered from ground zero. WTF? Why would I want that? First off – where did that silver come from? Or actually, never mind – I don’t even want to know. Regardless of where it came from, I really don’t want a piece of anything pulled out from the site of thousands of horrible deaths.

And all this “commemorative” shit. I’m sure I’d be called unpatriotic by those behind this (or actually, not so much those behind it – they are just insensitive money grubbers, but by those who are actually buying this stuff), but I just don’t feel the need to commemorate 9/11. Or not commemorate it exactly, but commemorate it in this way. I believe that tragedies like this one should be commemorated with meditation or prayer. Or through education, so new generations can learn our country’s history. Or by kindness and good will for our fellow man, so we can move on and be a better human race for it. NOT by opening our wallets and spending money on some bullshit commemorative product. A product possibly made from materials that were looted ”recovered” from the very place where nearly 3,000 human beings were brutally murdered. And if you’re falling for the “approved” and “official” FBI insignia line, then have I ever got a bridge to sell you.

I don’t need a coin to commemorate 9/11. I even watched it all from the safety of my own office and home, 350 miles away and yet almost 10 years later, I can close my eyes and still see those planes crashing into the towers. I can still see the impossible happening and they collapsed in on themselves. I can see the people hanging out the windows in terror.

I can hear it, too. I can still hear the screaming, the crying, the groaning of burning, melting steel getting ready to give in. I can still hear the horrible, unthinkable sound of bodies hitting against nearby rooftops and pavement.

But mostly, I can still feel it. I can feel the way my pulse raced and my stomach churned and my heart broke. I don’t need a coin.

I think the most offensive part of it is that it is a fully “for profit” venture. None of the money is helping families of victims, or memorial funds, or the rescue workers who are suffering with medical problems after giving their time, their blood, their strength, their tears, and now their health to try to save as many lives as they could. No, instead, the company behind this crap is happily fleecing anyone willing to pay $20 for “a piece of history”. Meanwhile, people are carrying on about how building a Muslim-based community center near (not on as the misinformed are wont to believe) Ground Zero is a sacrilege, while this sacrilege is going on right before our eyes. Wake up, America.