Bored is as Bored Does

Do you ever just get really bored? Like really really super duper bored? And then when you're bored, in a self preserving effort to become un-bored your mind just starts going from one thing to the next until you find yourself somewhere where you wish you'd never gone because it is a really dumb place?


Well, today I watched Family Feud. Let me preface with I'm not much of a Family Feuder, but today I was vulnerable because of the boredom. Plus I was at someone else's house...so I became a Feuder. I'm good at fitting in. And I kind of liked being a Feuder today because today was Celebrity Look Alike Day on the Feud. SO COOL. David Letterman, but not really David Letterman was on, and Jennifer Anniston, and Martha Stewart, and Nicole Kidman. The Jennifer Anniston was a dead ringer. And It got me thinking. Are there people running around that look like me out there? Chances are there are. There's a fake Mommacita out there walking around, probably wearing really bad outfits just to embarrass me. And she's probably skinny without even trying. But before you think ha ha ha Mommacita, just think about it for a minute...if there's a fake me out there, then chances are there's a fake you as well. So ha ha right back at you.

After becoming a Feuder that fits in with others, I went on line to look for a visual for a Celebrity Look Alike Family Feud themed blog, and that was the beginning of the deterioration of my well being. People. There are not only people out there who look and act just like us, but I learned that there are animals that look like us as well. Doesn't sit so well, does it?

Keep going. There's proof. You've always got to have some proof if you want to make yourself nuts.

This one is supposed to look like Paris Hilton. I don't think this one would ever make it on the Pets Who Look Like Celebrities Edition of Family Feud. It's just not close enough for me.

And because you really really love kittie pictures:

This one is supposed to look like Yoda. Are those horn thingies real? You never know with Photo shop and stuff. I think pet people can become weird sometimes if they let themselves. Just a friendly little heads up to you pet folks out there.


So Yah. Today I wasted some time. And now I've done it to you.

Now that I think about it, It was sort of fun wasting your time. All the pleasure, none of the guilt. Kind of like spending other peoples money. And just for visual effect, I think I'll waste some space at the bottom of this blog.

See you next time.

An Annoying Song is Stuck in My Head

This morning I had a dream when I think I was supposed to be waking up. This just goes to show you, when you're supposed to be doing things like waking up, you have no business laying there in bed floating back into dreamland.

In my dream that I had no business having, I had just finished a delicious meal at Original House of Pancakes, not to be confused with an IHOP that serves that Rootie Tootie Fresh and Fruitie business. I was leaving the restaurant, and I somehow picked up on the fact that I was mentally ill. Being mentally ill, I tried to bum a ride home from two couples who , were complete strangers. This is how I knew I was mentally ill because I thought "Mommacita you are crazy to ask strangers for a ride." They said no, because their car was full. I totally got that they wouldn't want me in the car with them, (for a myriad of reasons including I had not showered) so I talked them into letting me ride on the hood of the car which turned out to be quite comfortable. I'd ABSOLUTELY do it again under the same set of circumstances.

It's been 7 hours since I woke up and I still can't stop thinking about the Original House of Pancakes.

I order the pecan pancakes alot when I go there. If I have to think of this all day then so do you. And yes. I totally own that I am deeply flawed.

Song For a Beautiful Day

Right after Tim had his kidney removed. at the beginning of the cancer saga, and after they told me he had a 99% chance of surviving his little bout with cancer, they wheeled him into his hospital room all reved up on painkillers. I was with my friend Miss Kitty, (thank you again for spending that day with me) and there he was, tubes coming out of everywhere, however Tim was lucid enough to have a conversation. It was a Tim torked up on painkiller conversation but never the less a conversation. Miss Kitty and I kept giggling at him, because he was pretty drunk, and since we had never seen him thus, we were enjoying his ridiculous-ness. He inquired about the weather, to which we replied: " It was a beautiful sunny day today, with blue skies and no clouds."

He sat there and thought a minute, and, unprovoked he slurred out a reply: "I married a beeeeeeeautiful girrrrrrl on a beeeeeeeautiful day like tooooooooday." We laughed until our sides hurt at him, and whenever Miss Kitty and I are together on a pretty day, and we notice the beauty of the day, one of us pretty much always repeats Tim's drunken quote.

The thing is, even though I laughed that day, I had an instant thought come to my mind and this was it:

Here is a man who has been told he has cancer, is looped out on drugs, has just been though major surgery, has lost a kidney, and even in the state he is in, his instinct is to make me feel loved and beautiful. And that is pretty much the way my life was everyday. And it was bliss.

I know some people don't understand why I am still so connected to my deceased husband. It's true, I am. But in my belief system, my religion, we believe, that love and marriage are eternal...and I can't reconcile putting my memories in a box and taping the lid shut. I want to remember him, because he was worth remembering, and I know that at some point in time we will resume counting our anniversarys again.

On February 17, 1977, Tim and I started a life together. We created a family out of thin air, we loved, we laughed, we disagreed, I got mad, he acted perplexed, we made up, we had babies, we raised them, we slept, we ate, we traveled, we stayed home, we worked, we discussed and discussed and we decided how we wanted things to be for our little corner. We had fun. And we created a life for 4 other people. Which has turned into 5 more people. Is it me, or is this not all worth staying connected to?

All of that leaves me on this note, which is a note I sing, loud and unashamed, for the world wide web to hear:

Happy Anniversary my Timmers. 32 years ago today was the most beeeeeeeeeeeeeeautiful day of my life.
(sorry about the cancer.)




PS. Happy Anniversary Schneeberwitz and Willie. Love you both!

PSS Happy Birthday Miss Kitty! You know they say that 50 is nifty.

Who Throws Away a Bowling Ball?

I've decided to take this opportunity to discuss my neurosis with you, my captive audience.

(However, judging from the number of comments from the last two posts, I'm not so sure I have an audience....especially since the comment on the VERY last post was from my daughter, and it was clearly a pity comment, one that I appreciate, yet a pity comment just the same.)

So back to my neurosis. I have a couple thousand of them, but I can't flood you with them all at once, because then I won't even get a pity comment. And goodness knows I'm all about the comment.

I was having a conversation with some people last night...OK, family members.... and I was accused of throwing away their stuff, and when I tried to defend my actions I was told (and I quote) "It's just so hard to have a couple of extra things around." Did you catch the sarcastic edge there? Yah. Me too.

Let's get something straight here before I really get going. This post, could in reality go on for eternity if I let it. When I went in and repainted my kid's rooms after they left home, and threw away their treasures, (absolute crap....and trust me, I don't use the word crap lightly because I know people who are squeemish with the word crap and I don't want to offend, but it really IS the only word that can be used here..), I threw and threw and threw and threw. And I didn't feel guilty. In fact I felt free. I FELT FREE, YES FREE my fellow brothers and sisters of the human race. And it was then that I discovered that I have an aversion to other people's stuff. It stifles me. It makes me feel closed in and worried, and cantankerous. I love walking into a hotel room and knowing that no body's stuff is in there. I love opening a closet door and having it be empty. Especially if it is in my house. I don't have a problem if I go into someone else's home and it is full of their stuff...That's not the problem. The crux of the matter is that I just don't want to be responsible for a lot of stuff. I don't want stuff. Yet I continue to buy stuff, which accounts for my worriedness and cantankerousness. I hate that I buy stuff. But I have fun doing it. I just don't have fun living with it. You see the neurosis here? Yep. I'm a case

But before you judge too harshly, here's a glimpse of a VERY small portion of the junk that I have been know to throw away, to not "keep around because it is just too hard."

First, I might have thrown away candles from Chile

Yeah, I know, seems pretty heinous. but let me just let you know that they were in coconut shells cut in half and stunk like 3rd world country. Or mold. You decide.

Second, I definitely threw away a shopping bag full of tags

You think I'm kidding. I'm not. You think there were only a couple of tags in there. THERE WERE MILLIONS. Case closed.

Third, I might have thrown away a CD of Russian Music, In Russian, That sounded like Nothing

I just have nothing more to say about the CD. I refrain from gratuitous use of the C-R-A-P word.

Fourth, a Bowling Ball. Yes. You heard right. I threw away a bowling ball.

I'll be honest. This is the item that elicited the "It's too much trouble to keep crap" comment. It was a present, to a child, from someone who probably was hoping that their wildest dreams would come true and she would marry them because of the bowling ball. I knew the minute I saw that thing being carried through the front door that it was going to be trouble. I saw that child go on a mission for our church. 18 months I kept the bowling ball. I saw her go back to college. Still the bowling ball at my house. I saw her date lots more boys. Still the ball was rolling around in my spare room. I saw her get married. At each step I would say, "do you want this bowling ball?" Only by the time I said it for the last time I probably put a stupid in front of the bowling ball. I couldn't see that ball going anywhere but with me to the grave. I gave it to Good Will. So arrest me.

Fifth: You might dub this the "shoe portion" of this event. I most assuradly threw away Red platform sandals that were never worn, never will be worn, except for a talent show where someone (one of my kids) might be trying to look really stupid.

Guess what? I think these originally came from Good Will and they went right back to the mother ship for more non good times

And Last, I tearfully thew away a pair of Homer Simpson Slippers.

These were a Christmas gift to my youngest who had size 13 feet and these were only a size 12. He stuffed his foot into them anyway and shuffled around on Christmas. Yep. He put his foot in Homer's mouth and we all laughed wildly as you do on Christmas when something ridiculous turns up. Despite the sentimental value, the warm and fuzzy memories, what am I supposed to do with a pair of Homie slippers the rest of my life? Look at them and cry? Look at them and wish they had a little spot in them I could push that said "doh"? I don't think so.

In conclusion, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I submit that my neurosis is one that I am comfortable with for now. I embrace it with the arms of the universe, and shout loudly and clearly, for all to hear and witness:

I, yes I, am someone who throws away a bowling ball.

Bring on the Government Intervention

When we were dating, the Tim-o-tee used to say that when people got old, their blood was brown.

Really? Is this what you say to a beautiful girl to get her to marry you? Really?

He loved my horrified reaction. So he tried to think of more horrifying things to reel me in. Like this: I think the government should withhold food and medication from the elderly. I would giggle and then he would nod his head and then hold his mouth all serious and not blink. It was all a ruse to get me to touch him. I would give him a little push and then he would grab my hand and not give it back. Then he would say: Think of all the money that would save. BILLIONS!! He'd always say billions like it really was going to happen.

Really? I'm trying to get to know you, and now I know you want the government to kill old people? Really?

This last weekend I spent with Tim's siblings and his mother at the sibling rivalry reunion. The mother is getting old. The siblings are getting old. The one and only non sibling (me) is getting old. I noticed bad backs and gray hairs and bottles of pills. And I think I saw brown blood when I had a hangnail go bad on me.

It's so like Tim to go before his blood got brown.

I need to go sit on the couch now.



PS IF any of you out there are a future employer, please know the writer of this blog does not, nor ever will condone withholding food or medication from the elderly at the hands of the government of the United States of America or at the hands of anyone else including yourself. This blog has never been political, and never will be because I'm only about stupid things(exceot for the posts about my grankids, those are FAR from stupid). But, I just started thinking about that title up there, and then I started thinking about all you wackies out there who might read this thing and then I started thinking about how people might get the wrong idea and not know it's supposed to be a joke, A JOKE and now I find myself in the middle of this here big ol' disclaimer. Oh boy, now I'm just making myself even more tired and now I'm going to REALLY sit on the couch, and fall asleep with the remote in my hand and I'm going to cradle it in my arms like it is a little tiny baby with bright happy red blood.

hummmph.

Sawyer Timothy....Why Yes, He IS a Delicious Morsel. Thank You for Noticing

Yep. That's me. And SoyBean. On Sunday, his blessing day. It was right after the event actually. In this shot, I was asking him if he had seen Grandpa Tim. (In heaven, or, ten minutes ago, I wasn't picky) He looked right into my eyes and smiled and then concentrated real hard and during the concentrating those little lips actually said "whao". Which we all know means: Yes most beloved grandmother.

And since we're on the subject of SoyBoy, today I saw the little Mister again. After he was fed, and burped and changed, I looked into his sweet face, and in an effort to entertain, I stuck my tongue in and out and in and out again. He looked right into my eyes, smiled, he concentrated real hard, and then lo and behold during the concentrating I saw that little tongue go in and out and in and out again.

Seriously. Be still my beating heart.

So Yeah. I'm totally clued into his learning patterns. And Yeah. Tim and SoyBean are definitely buddies.

A Sunday Evening Email from a Dear Friend AND a Bob Costas Update

Dear Mommacita:

I think that is it time for you to move on and find a new boyfriend

Sorry about your luck.

Carol

Oh boy.

PS (this ps is not part of the email, it is merely me trying to make the world a better place.)

I didn't watch the Superbowl. This is my privilege as a widow. However, when I flipped on the TV this morning to catch my FAVORITE SINGING GROUP THE MORMON TABERNACLE CHOIR, the TV happened to be on the Pre Pre Pre Pre Pre a million times Pre Game show with Bob Costas. I said Duh-aaaaaaaaaang when I saw him..... ...even though

1. It was the Sabbath,

and

2. I was alone and it takes a lot for me to speak out loud to my own lil' self.

The Costas' hair was clearly 5 times as dark as it was during the Olympic Games. IT WAS. Holy Grecian Formula Batman. Did any of you notice that? Did you? Huh?

Then tonight while I was at Dubers and Lars', He was on the Post Post Post Game Show. His hair had lightened during the Superbowl. I had to stop myself from snorting.


I SWEAR to you this is true. And truth always makes the world a better place. It does. And you know it. And I'm talking to you, Mr. Michael Phelps. And you too Bob Ridiculously Fakey Hair.