Feet of the World

I was driving my offspring to school yesterday, singing along with the incessant Christmas music on the radio, when that wonderful, uplifting Christmas classic, "Feed the World...Do They Know It's Christmas" came on. Nothing like a pleasant little ditty about starving kids in Africa to make the holidays complete.

So I'm singing along, and suddenly, from behind me, I hear the angelic voice of FrogBoy. Very loud, but very sweet. And he's singing about "Feet of the World." Perfect.

It got me to thinking about how we often totally screw up song lyrics. And we're convinced that we have the right words, so we belt them out loud and strong. There are websites devoted to the phenomenon.

This immediately led me down another path. My brother, the professor, has a nice little trick he pulls out whenever he's singing and doesn't know the words: He starts up a conversation. Just out of nowhere. He'll be singing, "If you're happy and you know it" and suddenly, "So! How 'bout those Mavericks?" It's great.

Spanky does something similar: he sings loud and proud on the parts he knows, and when he gets to parts he doesn't know, he just starts mumbling. Then he smiles. He knows he's still cute so he can get away with this. The Professor doesn't even try this one.

So all this is going through my head yesterday and The Professor calls me. He has a list of Christmas songs to share. I will include it here because (1) it is funny and (2) I have made fun of him and it's 2 days before Christmas.

Psychiatrist's Christmas Carols
Narcissistic - Hark! The Herald Angels Sing...about Me
Manic - Decks the Halls and Walls and House and Lawn and Street and Stores and Office and Town and Cars and Buses and Trucks and Trees and Fire Hydrants and...
Paranoid - Santa Claus is Coming to Get Me
Obsessive Compulsive Disorder - Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells...
ADHD -- Hark the herald angels sing ba-rum-pa-pum-pum in the little town of Bethlehem up on the housetop in a winter wonderland one foggy Christmas Eve hey how bout them Bears no I don't want to switch to Sprint but thank you for shopping at K-Mart.

Okay, that's really funny, but not very nice. Point being, I can say this, because 2 of these live in my house (bonus points if you guess which ones!) and I'm related to all the others.

Have yourself a merry little Christmas.

Up on the Rooftop

Yesterday we had a visit from one of my most favorite people in the world: Tim, the pest control guy. While it may sound odd to enjoy the company of your exterminator, if you understand and appreciate my complete dislike of pests (of any and every kind), this will make perfect sense.

I've been telling SuperHubby that I'm hearing things in the attic, which I have jokingly begun calling the rattic, but since he's mostly deaf, I end up trying to mimic the sounds (much to his amusement). And, of course, I have no proof there' s anything up there. So I asked my buddy Tim to check things out.

The news was not good. In fact, it was horrible. Apparently, we have a rat. Gross. But Tim, in his very sweet manner, told me the good news is that it's a roof rat. Wow, that makes me feel much better. He assured me that the rat didn't want to come be with me, that they were called roof rats because they like the attic and the trees. I assured Tim the rat and I were of like minds; I don't really want him to come be with me either. He also tried to make me feel better by telling me it looked like there was only one. It didn't work.

I had to leave the house for an extended period of time last night. I told SuperHubby I wanted to move. I am so creeped out it isn't even funny.

Then today I did the dumbest thing ever. I looked up "roof rat" on the internet. Don't know what I thought I'd see...maybe a picture of Mickey waving and smiling? Well, let me just share, that's not what I had staring back at me. Now my problem is compounded by actually knowing what's up there.

Tim swears the stupid thing can't get downstairs and visit. I just hope it doesn't get confused and decide to take up residency in the Christmas tree.

What a Ride

I'm a pretty groovy chick. I listen to a good mix of 80s tunes and classic rock. I have excellent hair. I own fabulous purses and am extremely organized (thanks, in part, to my many, many daytimers). I actually use the word "groovy" frequently, and not just in describing myself. I am terribly humble.

And yet I drive an extremely un-groovy van. A lot of people would think driving a mini-van immediately pushes you into the un-groovy realm, but that isn't the case. A Chrysler Town and Country is a very cool ride. A giant golden suppository, not so much.

This past weekend, our family took a little road trip. We met a friend of mine in Columbia. She lives in Greenville so it was halfway for both of us and we got to spend the day together. Our husbands were both very good boys and came along for the ride, even though I'm sure they both would have much preferred watching football or going to a hockey game or cleaning the garage. Not only did they not complain, they actually acted like they enjoyed themselves, which was a wonderful perk.

Since we have 2 terrible, awful, beat up, run down cars, we decide to rent something reliable for the day. I was going to go for a mid-size but my friend Doodles pointed out I could rent a Jeep Cherokee for only $10 more. Sold!

The dumb people didn't have a Cherokee, but they did have a Toyota Highlander. Now I have issues with Toyotas, simply because they are the ones that thought the suppository was a good design, but we went with it. And this was a SWEET little SUV.

I'm sure part of it was that we don't have to put gas in it 2-3 times a week. And part of it was that we don't have to make a car or insurance payment on it. Factor in that it was exceptionally clean (I guess that happens with some people, not so much with us) and I was in love! Plus, the radio worked (it actually worked very well, but working period is a bonus for us) and the ride was only bumpy when you went over bumps (another novel idea). This is what I call a luxury car.

The suppository didn't speak to me for a couple of days. She was ticked. I don't blame her. I betrayed her and then bragged about it.

On the way to school this week, I spotted my Jeep Cherokee. I pointed it out the boys. Told them it was my dream car, didn't they love it, etc. And Spanky informed me that he thought it was ugly. UGLY. I was shocked. Appalled. Bowled over --- when he informed me he much preferred the suppository, since it has more room.

Whatever. I do love the suppository. She gets me where I'm going. But she doesn't fit my hip image. We've gotta work on that.

The 12 Irritants of Christmas

Contraray to popular opinion, based mostly on a previous blog about Christmas beginning in early October, I am not a scrooge. I love Christmas. I love the decorations, I love the music, I love the sentiment, I love just about everything about this time of year. Just about.

There are a few things that drive me completely insane. Twelve actually. How convenient.

1. Decorated automobiles. Why are people putting wreaths and ribbons and bows and fake snow on their cars? I don't understand this. Decorate your house; drive your car.
2. Bad outdoor lights. If you're going to decorate the trees in your yard, do a good job. Otherwise, don't do it at all. These people that decorate only the bottom half of the tree don't realize that that's just a lighted version of whitewashing your trees. Very redneck.
3. Poor lawn decor. Closely related to #2 above. You should not have a manger scene complete with Santa and the Grinch. You should not have plastic glowing candy canes sprinkled randomly around the walkways. You most definitely should not have anything homemade in your yard.
4. Crowds. I don't like crowds the other 11 months of the year, but come Christmas, I can't hardly leave my house. I have to stock up on toilet paper around mid-September just so I don't have to stand in line for 30 minutes to buy a roll when we're desperate and have no other choice. This after being mauled by the crazies "just in the holiday spirit."
5. Finding a Christmas tree. First, let me ask, why are we cutting down a living tree and setting it up inside our house, only to have to make sure it doesn't die for a month, and then throwing it on the curb to be hauled away like it doesn't deserve to live? My dogs are totally confused about this tree in the house. Why can't they pee on it? It's fine when they're outside. Could we not find a better alternative? This year I proposed clearing a wall, painting on a tree, and letting the boys go nuts with paints to decorate it. After Christmas, I get a new paint job. SuperHubby was less than appreciative of this ingenious idea. We have a real tree.
6. Toilet paper gifts. A note comes home from school the other day asking that we send in empty toilet paper rolls. "We have some exciting crafts for the children, they will be making gifts for the parents, we need as many rolls as possible." Do I really want a gift made out of a used toilet paper roll? I guess it's better than used toilet paper. But I have a thought: why not let me send in $10 and you have a nice little store with nice little gifts that my child could buy me something. Preferrably something that didn't formerly take up residency in the bathroom.
7. Food. I love some holiday food. But I draw the line at anything that includes candied fruit. And a lot of holiday food has candied fruit hidden inside. It looks good, you take a nibble, you think you're home free, you take a bite, and suddenly you have a mouthful of candied pineapple. And the person who made it is standing right there. Crud.
8. Christmas colors. What's up with the red and green? These don't match. I'm thinking of a pink and black Christmas, baby!
9. Location, location, location. It's not so convenient to have Christmas in December. First, it's cold, and I don't like cold weather. I think we should work on this. Second, daytimers end in December (unless you have a 16-month calendar, but that's another story). So you have tons of notes and appointments to write down, but no room, because you've already used your calendar for 11 months and you're barely holding on until the new one can be used.
10. Mean, bratty kids. A nasty little girl in FrogBoy's class told him there was no such thing as Santa Claus. We told her she was ugly.
11. Media issues. It's not so wonderful to have holiday specials on all the time. Sometimes you just want to watch Law & Order and see someone get murdered. And the 24/7 Christmas music on the radio is really stale by now. AND just because the technology is available, that doesn't mean Cyndi Lauper and Frank Sinatra should EVER sing together.
12. Middle-of-the-mall vendors. These people annoy me. There's not enough room to walk anyway because of all the people in the mall, but some rocket scientist felt compelled to add more vendors by setting up keosks in the middle of the street. So you have to walk around. But you can't walk around, because there's too many people. Which is just what they want. Then they corner you. I actually had a woman ask me the other day if my hair was naturally curly. Being stupid, I answered her. When I said yes, she tried to sell me a hair straightener. Does that mean my hair looks awful and I need help? That's a bad sales gimmick, no matter how you slice it.

BONUS IRRITANT: Free gift with purchase. Ever notice how the free gift with purchase is really good, but not great, but something you'd like to maybe have? But they don't sell it on it's own, you can only get it free with purchase. But you have to spend some crazy amount on an item that (1) you really don't want and (2) really isn't worth what you're paying -- but you do it because you want the FREE gift.

I'm not anti-Christmas, really. I could go for some changes to the routine though. I don't think everything on the planet should close down (what if I need to buy something?). It is all about me, after all.

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.

Too Much of a Good Thing

So this weekend I was in Target. No real surprise there. And I happened to be frequenting the Target in North Chuck. This is close to my house ... and all Targets are the same anyway ... so I was okay with it.

The problem started when I walked through those glorious Target doors. I was immediately accosted by an employee in a red Target shirt, asking "Can I help you find something?" Seriously? This is Target, right? I mumbled, "No, I'm just looking" and ran away. Yeah, that sounded intelligent.

I hadn't gotten much further inside the door when yet another employee felt compelled to ask "Can I help you find something today?" I thought about saying "No, but try again tomorrow" but I didn't want to engage her in conversation. I happily replied "I know just what I'm looking for!" (lie) and ran away.

I rounded a corner and that same darned employee was standing there. She yelled "Can I help you find anything?" (although I'm pretty sure she was laughing by this point) and I said "Nope, got it!" and held up a box of Depends. I wasn't going to be stalked any further.

This got me to thinking. What's up with Target??? Do they not realize they are Target? I mean, when I go to a NICE store, like Carolina Girls, and I'm looking to buy a Vera Bradley purse, I expect them to ask if they can help me. We're talking bucks here. Not that I'm going to let them help me, but I expect them to ask. But not at Target. That's like Publix or Taco Bell asking if you're looking for something specific.... Obviously you are, or you wouldn't be there.

I applaud Target for trying to step it up in the customer service department. I just think they've gone overboard. Maybe just hand out gift cards at the front door. That, to me, says "We appreciate your business."

Forever Young

I am a child of the 80s. I love everything about the 80s. The clothes, the hair, the music, you name it. I'm not even embarrassed by it anymore...not since VH-1 decided to air 3, count 'em, 3 shows about this wonderful, marvelous decade.

So this weekend I was driving around with the boys in the car. It's an all 80s weekend on the radio. And suddenly I realized something very startling...when I'm listening to 80s music, I am transformed. I'm not driving the Suppository; I'm driving my fire-engine red 89 Sundance. I've got long, flowing, curly hair. Awesome hair. (Okay, nothing's changed there...it's still awesome). I'm belting out Air Supply and Night Ranger and anything cheesy or hair-bandy. Fabulous. I'm not wearing my frumpy old lady glasses, I've got on my cool snakeskin shades. And I'm skinny.

Say it with me: FANTASY.

I'm 35 now. I don't feel 35. I don't feel like I should have a 10-year old and a 7-year-old. How is that possible? I'm so young. And totally hot.

I was with my sis-in-law this weekend. We were driving with our 2 youngest in the car ... car seats, no less. And this Explorer with 2 VERY young (and cute!) guys pulls up alongside the van and drives next to us for FOREVER. Now, she has her own business, so her name and phone number are on the side of the van, so I'm sure that made them feel a little more confident. But we were thrilled! When they drove off, there was so much high-fiving in the van, we almost went off the road!!!

I'm pretty sure they were drunk. But let me tell you...it was a tremendous boost to my ego.

Trouble in the John

I really hate it when I'm in the bathroom and run into trouble. Not medication-requiring trouble, just inconvient trouble. Like when you finish your shower and drop your fresh, clean towel in the wet tub. When the people you live with feel compelled to flush or start a load of dishes while you're in the shower screaming "HOT! HOT! No, COLD! COLD!" and doing the SuperFreak Dance. When someone "accidentally" turns out the lights while you're showering. (Actually, we do that to Spanky, and it's quite enjoyable).

Some of my most recent situations...

• Sitting down at 3 a.m. and SUDDENLY remembering you live with 3 boys, one of whom has left the lid up, and you are now soaked up to your shoulders.
• Spraying your hairspray and thinking "Wow, that smells good," and not realizing until your neck is all sticky that you've confused the hairspray and the perfume....again.
• Shampooing your hair and - on the rinse cycle - realizing you've used Nair instead of Suave.
• Looking over and noticing there's no paper on the roll. And you're home alone. And the extra rolls are stored in the garage.
• Brushing your teeth and realizing - 3 seconds too late - that your toothbrush was already wet.

Makes the Ice Cubes of Happiness sound better all the time.

Fillin' the Tank

Pastor Greg really knocked it out of the park this weekend. The message was fantastic. Tremendous. Amazing. Man, I hope he reads this.

During the service, we had an incredibly uncomfortable moment...we were supposed to stand up and hug a complete stranger. Somehow this was supposed to make us feel good. I hugged SuperHubby and sat down very quickly. It wasn't bad.

This little display got me to thinking: I really don't hug people enough. Okay, I really don't hug people. But I started Saturday after church. And it wasn't too terrible.

The first person I saw was Doodles. That was easy. I could hug Doodles all day long. The HugFest continued for quite some time ... and I didn't die or barf or anything.

This was becoming a pretty cool "out of the box" experience. At dinner, I went outside the comfort zone and grabbed SuperHubby's hand. For no reason. And then he comes out with, "You know, that's my love language...physical touch." (Yeah, like I needed that update)

I've been thinking about the 5 love languages a lot this weekend. For those living under a rock, the 5 love languages are: Food, Jewelry, Football, Sex and The "Hey Baby" Principal (also known as "You're so sweet, I'm gettin' a toothache just lookin' at you!").

SuperHubby's LL is physical touch (sex). Mine are acts of service (food) and words of affirmation (Hey, Baby). And if you can't figure it out, the other 2 are gifts (jewelry) and quality time (football). Those don't factor high on my list.

So I've been thinking about how we stack up differently around our house. SuperHubby likes touch. I don't touch anyone or anything I don't have to. At least I didn't before Saturday. How is it that I've missed this important tidbit for 16 years? And the odd thing is...SuperHubby is the ONE person I love holding hands with, hugging, patting on the butt, high fiving, whatever.

What says love to me? Mowing the lawn. Doing the dishes. Cooking me dinner. Rubbing my back (sounds contradictory, but it's true). Telling me "Well done" or "Good job" or "You're the best assistant ever."

I've read the book a million times. I've practically got it memorized. But I wasn't following through. And not just with SuperHubby, but with my friends, too. Both of them. I tend to send cards to let them know I'm thinking of them, but is that speaking in their Love Langauge, or mine? Should I be doing things differently?

If you see a maniac running around hugging people, it might be me. It might not. I'm not going to hug people I don't like. That's just not honest. But I will make a conscious effort not to shudder with disgust each and every time someone wraps their arms around me.

The Week-est Link

Yesterday I had a terrible week. Indeed, after many, many tremendous Lori Weeks, Monday was a terrible, horrible, not-so-good day. Bummer.

My incredibly intelligent friend Doodles pointed out this morning that - as God told her at 4 a.m. - this was Satan pulling out the file of everything that had worked in the past on me and putting them all together - IN ONE DAY! What a butthead (Satan, not Doodles!).

I guess it actually started last week. I realized that out of 5 women in my office, 4 of them are blonde, beautiful and skinny. For the 3 people reading this who haven't met me, picture Roseanne...but only slightly nicer...but a lot less Yankee. Is there a reason I must be surrounded with ladies like this? I love them all, but honestly...my ego can't take this. I'm used to being the cutest one around (of course, that was when I was in insurance, and I worked with all guys, but I WAS the cutest).

Now last weekend SuperHubby killed his car. He revived it for a day, then it went kaput in our driveway. Not only does that mean sharing a car - which means he's driving the suppository, because I don't get to drive unless I'm taking him to the hospital - but on top of that, instead of pushing it to the front of the driveway, SH decided it would be a good idea to push it into the middle of the yard. We now have the most ghettolicious house on our street.

Lots of other junk has happened since then, but to make our home situation even worse, SuperHubby has now injured the suppository. It happened at school; he went over a speed bump going a little too fast (90) and bottomed out and now the muffler is making an odd sound. Idaho called and asked us to keep it down. So on top of the car in the yard, we have the suppository making a sound like a huge fart - which is NOT a good combination. And we live in North Chuck. Ghettolicious.

I'm hoping my week will get better. At least I know what's behind it now. And while I'm thankful my friend listened when God woke her up this morning, I can't help but thinking I could've gotten the same information if I had been paying attention when He woke ME up at 4:00. Praise God for good friends.

Meet the Parents

My parents are both having surgery in the next couple of weeks. They're high maintenance types. I'm trying to convince them to have their procedures at the same time.

My parents aren't exactly best friends. They have been divorced for 15 years. They haven't had a kind word for each other in 20. But they have 2 incredibly amazing children together (okay, one, but The Professor would get his feelings hurt if I didn't pretend he was wonderful, too).

My dad has to have all his teeth pulled. All his real teeth, that is. He already had half of them pulled last year. My mother has to have a pain management pump removed from her gut. Have I mentioned how FUN my family is?

Here's my thought: they're already both scheduled at the same hospital. If they go on the same day, they can ride together. Dad won't be able to talk, so he can't irritate Mom, and she's going to be given some lovely medicine which makes you forget everything (vodka, anyone?) so she won't remember being around him anyway. This could be the first time they were cordial to each other in over 20 years!

Dad could stay with my mother and her hubby at their condo (they have an extra room). This would make things a lot easier on me and my brother...only one place to visit the sickies. It's not like they haven't lived in the same house before, even after they were separated. (Yes, they are really THAT abnormal).

They could come out of the whole experience much more thankful for the state of SC and it's wonderful divorce provisions. Judges would be getting fruit baskets. It would be a beautiful thing.

Neither of them is inclined to help me out here. Apparently it's fine and dandy for them to make my life a living you-know-what with all their divorce nonsense, but let me ask one small favor, and I get zippo from them.

We're stopping by Olan Mills on the way home from the hospital. Webster's needs a new photo of my family to put next to the definition of "dysfunctional."

Tis the Season

I love this time of year. The holidays are right around the corner, the air is cool and crisp (somewhere) and I get to wear red and orange and brown. It's really superb.

This weekend I got started on my Christmas cards. Actually, that's not true. I started last weekend. Last weekend I made my list. This weekend I checked it twice. Seriously.

I have my cards ready to be addressed, I've got my final list, and I've decided the photo of Spanky and FrogBoy in front of the Statue of Liberty will be this year's insert. Life is good.

I absolutely love the holidays. I love Thanksgiving ... good food without the stress of presents and parties ... and I love Christmas ... because sometimes a little stress is good for the soul. I love the whole family thing. I love the weather and time off and holiday sales and no snow.

And the best part? Pumpkin Cheesecake. Oh. My. Goodness. If you haven't had pumpkin cheesecake, you haven't lived yet. Go to Barnes and Noble and get a slice or 6.

Pumpkin Cheesecake is like running barefoot through a meadow of daisies toward your beloved. It's like the 4th of July inside your mouth. It's like saying "I do." It's like finding a really great purse - on sale. You hear angels sing the Hallelujah Chorus when you have a bite of pumpkin cheesecake.

If someone were to choose you as their 40 Days of Community project, the best thing they could do would be to give you Pumpkin Cheesecake. Okay, that was shameless, but I don't care. This is The Stuff.

Try it. Get some to go, bring me a slice, and I'll share the joy with you. I'll sacrifice my non-existent diet just to get more people on the PC bandwagon. It's just that good.