The Queen's New Ride

Due to my lack of automotive knowledge, and the subsequent near-death experience of the suppository resulting from my neglect, I have had much time this week to ponder my life without the Giant Golden Suppository as my primary mode of transportation. While such a thought makes me quite sad (not), I have given it much thought and have narrowed down my list of dream replacements for the GGS:

• The Oscar Mayer Weinermobile: I actually saw the Weinermobile on I-26 earlier this week. What an amazing vehicle. Driving the Weinermobile would greatly cut down on that pesky issue of locating my car in the Wal-Mart parking lot.
• A tow truck: I could park anywhere I wanted. Not like anyone would tow me.
• An EMS/Rescue truck: They don't really do anything special. They just show up at accidents so there'll be more emergency vehicles blocking the road and things will look worse than they are. Which means less responsibility, but I still get to drive through red lights and sound the siren.
• The Batmobile: No explanation necessary.
• An ice cream truck: Not because I like kids. But because the thought of people chasing me through the streets feeds my ego just enough to make it worthwhile.
• A hearse: People in Charleston are so polite, as SuperHubby is prone to pointing out, that they pull over to the side of the road every time a funeral procession drives by. Which means I would NEVER have to fight with traffic again.

Of course, my ultimate desire is to skip all the automotive nastiness and just pull an "I Dream of Jeannie" whenever I'd like to go somewhere. Cuts out the hassle of driving. Until that happens, I'll be driving around in the GGS with a case of latex gloves in the back. (I'm not kidding - it just gets more and more embarrassing, doesn't it?)

When It Rains, It Pours

Can I gripe for a minute? (Would it matter if you said "no"?)

Yesterday it monsooned. Lots and lots of water. From the sky. I love rain...when I'm inside and don't have anywhere to go and can crawl in bed with a candle going and the radio on and my cross-stitch by my side. But I had to take the boys to school. Calling in wet wasn't an option.

Typical of the day starting off with a downpour, my attitude was not the best. I managed to break 4 - count 'em, 4! - nails just trying to get into the suppository without messing up my 'do. Didn't work, and I lost 4 nails in the process.

Somewhere along Whipple Road, I hit a tremendous about of water puddling on the road. It would appear, from what happened afterwards, that this is not a good thing. The suppository sputtered. She shook. Then she stalled.

Comments from the backseat (FrogBoy) included: "Oh great, now I'm going to be late!" He the proceeded to ask me if my radio was working. How about the wipers? Maybe you need to call Daddy. The sad thing is, I actually was listening to the kid and checking the radio and the wipers.

Spanky was frantic. He's on Safety Patrol, and he's been promoted to top grade, meaning he has car duty. This is high class for 5th grade. And now I was making him late. (How did this turn into me against them?)

SuperHubby's on his way. I try the suppository again. She cranks. She doesn't want to go, but she putters to the school. We manage to get everyone where they need to be, and SH follows me to church.

SH then decides to start asking questions. Always a bad sign. And I learned something very valuable. Apparently, when the oil light comes on in the car, that's not merely a suggestion. The car really needs oil.

I sat around and fretted most of the morning about killing the suppository. Don't get me wrong, I want her to die, just not until I have my red Jeep Grand Cherokee. Or something very similar.

To top it all off, we had major commitments last night, none of which could be rescheduled, and we really needed 2 cars. I was a little cranky. I yelled at my boss.

In the end, everyone got to school on time, my nails and hair aren't as bad as some people's (I won't mention any names, you know who you are), my boss didn't fire me (yet - MAP at 1:30) and the suppository is still chugging along. That was one prayed for suppository yesterday!

Cocky

This should have been written sooner, but I've been studying for a social studies test this week. I suddenly have recalled why I didn't enjoy 5th grade so much. I'm okay with learning the states (okay, I already knew them, in alphabetical order, because I am Rain Woman) and their capitals. Locating them on a map isn't so easy for me - especially those in the midwest. This hasn't been much fun. No wonder my brother is the history teacher and I'm the cute and personable one.

Anyway, this past weekend I was delighted to join my brother and my father for the final quarter of the USC/FL game. I understand and enjoy football, so all you men can just stop rolling your eyes. Partaking of the game with my dad and The Professor is quite enjoyable, for a couple of reasons: (1) My father transforms into Crazy Football Dad, (2) both my father and brother become very aggressive (they're both about 110 lbs. so this is humorous in and of itself) and boisterous, and (3) they begin speaking some sort of secret language that I'm not sure normal people understand. SuperHubby -- thankfully -- sits on the sofa and smirks at them. Of course, he pulls for the Detroit Lions, so he's not really used to seeing a good game. But I digress.

So we're watching them game. And I'm actually watching, because, after years of pulling for USC, I'm mostly used to being disappointed. Let's face it, they're going to mess it up somewhere along the way, and someone (usually my dad) is going to get ticked. But this was a good game. And they won. Even better.

The best part of the game for me, though, was learning about a USC player called "Pops" Frisby. They call him "Pops" because he's 40 years old. And he's on the football team. Seems he served in the military (I don't know which branch, it doesn't matter) from the time he got out of high school, retired, and decided he wanted a college education. Nevermind that he was old. Nevermind that he has several kids. He wanted to play football. So he tried out. And made the team. How cool is that?

I don't know if Pops gets to play - I was too busy being impressed by the fact that he decided he wanted to do something and didn't let the definition of "normal" get in his way. How many people do you know who say "I wish I would have..."? I have several "I wish" items on my list. I wish I would have learned how to play piano. I wish I would have stayed in college. I wish I would have been more sensible when Spanky was born and not put the gigundo hospital bill on our credit card (hello - still paying for that mistake!). I wish I would have taken my dad up on his offer and eloped and pocketed the cash.

I can't go back and change most of my "I wishes" - although I guess I could learn to play piano if I were so inclined. I just think it's really cool that Pops Frisby is doing what he wants to do - no matter what anyone else may think.

'Tis the Season

It took me some time to find a radio station that I really liked. I have rather odd taste in music. Mostly 80s, but an occasional current tune, if it's good enough...which isn't often.

I found my station about this time last year. The morning show was clean, so I could listen in the car, and the tunes were adequate. At the end of January, they changed everything up and totally removed my morning show. Turned out okay; they replaced it with another show, equally as humorous, equally as clean, still played the awesome 80s tunes.

All was happy in QueenLand. And then it happened. About a month ago, I happily sang along on the way to work and school. Got in the suppository at lunch and lo and behold, they were playing some terrible, awful, not-very-good music. Okay. Minor programming glitch. I can forgive that.

But it happened the next day. And again the next. Something was fishy here. I checked their website and found that the station had been sold. Just like that. No phone call, no note, nothing. Just sold off my favorite station and started playing crappy music. Bummer.

I had to find another station. Fast. So I went back to an old favorite. I won't mention any names, but this station has been around town forEVER and they're very clean and slightly funny so I figured they'd do. I listened for about a week.

Then they did something horrible. Terrible. Ridiculous. They started playing Christmas music. On November 5th.

Now I'm all for Christmas music. In December. But hello, it's the beginning of November and we're playing 24/7 Christmas music. Give me a break.

I've learned a few things in the past couple of weeks. Like the worst things about 24/7 Christmas music:

• If you listen for an hour, you'll start hearing the same songs all over again. Oh, they may be sung by different artists, but there just aren't that many holiday songs to be sung, so you're going to get repeats.
• Old Christmas songs aren't that bad, but the newer ones are pretty much depressing. I cite "Feed the World" as my example and leave it at that.
• No one should ever, I repeat EVER, be subjected to Alvin and the Chipmunks singing anything on the radio.

And the best things about 24/7 Christmas music:

• Christmas songs do put me in a holiday kind of mood. They're festive, and I like that. Sometimes.
• They play a lot of religious songs (go figure), so Jesus gets some pretty good plugs that normally don't get put out there on, say, Groundhog Day.
• If you listen long enough, you may hear Neil Diamond. He still doesn't get as much airplay as he deserves, but it is increased during the holidays.
• If you're really lucky, you'll hear Adam Sandler's "The Hannakuh Song." That makes it all worthwhile.

Turn Out the Lights, The Party's Over

Thursday was a pretty good day. Until I got home. Flipped the light switch, nothing. Flipped a few more, still nothing. Proceeded to flip my lid. Is this for real?

I called the electric company. These people are not the smartest. Long story short, they screwed up my account and, although I've paid them exactly what I was supposed to pay them for the past 3 months, and they were able to verify that, they felt compelled to turn off my power. Nice.

It was 3:30. Okay, it's not cold and it's not dark. I can handle this. FrogBoy is getting anxious but it's all good. We start homework. They said they'd be by in 2 hours or less. Not a problem.

Precisely 2 hours later, FrogBoy is frantic and I'm quickly losing patience. I call back. Oh yeah, the day man goes off the clock at 4:00 and it switches to a new guy. Pray tell, when might I expect my lights to come back on? Oh, they assured me it would be before the Night Guy goes off duty... AT 11:00!

Now I'm not too happy. I begin to speak a little louder than before. I start explaining to every single person I get on the phone that, hello, my son is autistic and he's jonesing over here and I need help. They were all very sympathetic, but oddly enough, couldn't promise me anything before 11:00. After speaking to 5 different people (my favorite being Dana, who just hung up on me), I decided to do something drastic: we went shopping.

Here's the thing: I was now 6:00. And very dark. And we were hungry. SuperHubby met us and we had dinner, then he took FrogBoy and I took Spanky and we went our separate ways. By the time SuperHubby and the Frogster returned home, we had power. So I guess it worked out.

I have a couple of issues with this whole thing:
1. The first lady I talked to, very nice, but not so bright. Told me since it was a "mutual" misunderstanding, she wouldn't charge me a re-connection fee. Hello, how does their mistake become "mutual"?
2. No one responded to the trouble I was having because of FrogBoy. I don't usually play the autism card, but when I do, I do it because I want results. This did not work out so well for me.
3. There's only one company I can use for electric service, so regardless of what happens, I'm stuck.

Because my power was out all day Thursday, my phones didn't charge and were out all day Friday and Saturday. This meant no blogging...which was upsetting, considering I had STUFF to say. Anyway, I'm back, and I'm in rare form!

The Suppository

It really does exist

Why is it that a hoity-toity town like Mt. Pleasant always smells like a gigantic poofer?

He Went There

SuperHubby is in the Super Pooper. That's right, my friends, he went there. Counseling, anyone?

It started a couple of weeks ago when a friend of his called to ridicule him about the Detroit Lions. That's nothing unusual. When SuperHubby went to return the call, he found this particular friend had moved. That meant the information in my address book was wrong.

A few days later, I casually mentioned to SH that I hoped he had written down the correct address (gotta make sure they get their Christmas card). And this man, the love of my life, the man I have lived with for almost 14 years, says, "Yeah, I wrote it down. In the address book."

EXCUSE ME?!?! He wrote it in the address book. Has the lost his mind? I held it together pretty well...not. I went totally Rain Man on him.

I began to shake. I couldn't form a sentence. (The shaking has happened before, and I take medication for that, so I knew that was directly related to the affront that had been committed against me and my beloved addy book. The fact that I couldn't speak, well, that was just scary.)

I asked if he was kidding. He wasn't. I begged him to tell me he was kidding. He couldn't. I immediately started thinking, "Great, I spend 4 years finding the perfect address book, and now I have to replace the stupid thing because this bozo has written in it." You see, it's ours to look at, but mine to write in.

Fortunately, it's a loose leaf book. I had to go that route because I can't stand having scratched out information in my addy book and my friend Cindy moves every 6-8 months. (Remember, I admitted to Rain Man syndrome already). So it looks like I'll be rewriting the "N" page tonight.

Sometimes I think he does these things just to irritate me. He came in the room the following morning and saw me putting together my new daytimer. His comment? "Is that my fault too?" If he ever touches my daytimer, blood will be shed.

Freaky Freebies

Met my brother and my mother for coffee a couple of nights ago. Technically, that's not 100% accurate: he had coffee; she had a hot chocolate and I had a vanilla steamer.

Anyway, we sat in Books-a-Million for a bit, processing some super-heavy stuff, and somehow, I walked away with a new bedroom suite (from The Professor) and a Louis Vitton purse (from her). HELLO!

I started thinking about some of the other really cool things SuperHubby and I have been blessed with for free. Now see, that's the kicker....my little list had to be comprised of items that were completely no-cost (to us).

We've been given SuperHubby's first hearing aids (actually, the money for them, but close enough). Dinners and gas money out the wazzoo when SuperHubby's been in the hospital. Friends cleaning up the house after the dog exploded during one such hospital episode. (I'm not sure if the 2 people who cleaned my house think of ME as a friend, but they're high on my list!). And, of course, The Giant Golden Suppository.

The suppository is one of my most favorite freebies. She came to us at a time when we only had one car, and not a very good one at that. We still have that car. Anyway, we worked different schedules and had the boys to ferry to and from school, not to mention the regular "life" stuff, and we were given this wonderful van. Shortly thereafter, I realized I was driving around town in a suppository, but I didn't care...I had transportation!

The suppository is slowing nearing the end of her life. I'm sure of it. Spanky touched the tailgate a couple of weeks ago and the word "Previa" fell off. Just fell off. The windshield wipers need to be replaced, but as we found out the last time we needed new ones, they don't make 'em anymore. The muffler sounds terrible (gracias, SuperHubby!) and the thing doesn't crank on cold mornings. The a/c only works during the winter and the heat only works during the summer. And there's that little issue we have in the winter with the window sticking in the "down" position. Unfortunately, the windshield fogs so much that you HAVE to put the window down to merge into traffic...and then it doesn't go up until you have icicles on your nose hairs.

So I'm wondering why there wasn't someone at our coffee party with a Jeep Cherokee (red, please) to give away. I know it's coming. In the meantime, I'm enjoying the dickens out of my Sweet Golden Suppository.