So, my uncle's funeral was yesterday--it was...what? Nice? Lovely? Okay.
Funerals are for us-the living-and I never really know what sort of adjective to apply.
But it was nice to see family members (the circumstances sucked, but you know, after awhile there are some parts of the family that you only see at weddings and funerals)...to be reunited with old playmates that one hasn't seen for 25 years...to resurrect old memories, tell the stories, share the laughter and the tears...
But I sat there, not even with the family, I sat in there in the very back row near the door because I've had experience, you see, with this sort of thing.
My son, God love him, has no volume control, and he do love to make some noise, some verbalization, with a special affinity for preachers.
He did it at my great-grandma's funeral too--but there I was in my own little church with my own minister and it was cause for laughter all around...my preacher-man just said "Hey, I LOVE competition!"
But this guy, this minister that hardly knew my uncle...well, I could see The Look--not just from him, but a few of the mourners who were my uncle's contemporaries, people whom I didn't know and who didn't know me.
Oh, I know, I should have said "PISH POSH!" and let my guy just verbalize and not be embarrassed and all that. These things I know. I know.
But knowing doesn't stop my face from turning red when heads turn.
I shouldn't care. I'm NOT embarrassed for my son...not for me either, really...but for THEM. I go out of my way to put people at ease, because I know that many folks are uncomfortable around people-kids or adults, even-with disabilities.
Fact of life.
I'm okay with it. I was probably like that myself at one time, so I won't judge THEM for it.
But I'm getting far away from where I was going. This wasn't to be about how I felt or my son or even the rubber-necking mourners.
It's about my final wishes.
See, as I listened to this minister go ON and ON and ON...even after he himself told us that he promised my uncle to be brief...this man who hardly knew my uncle at all just kept going...
When my boy got loud, I eventually slipped out the back door and he and I sat in the lobby and listened to what was going on in the chapel...and naturally, my mind drifted away to thoughts of my uncle, then thoughts of funerals, and before I knew it I was composing this post.
I don't think Uncle Kenneth would have minded.
Sitting there, I made a few decisions as to what my funeral would entail and I am hereby publicly posting them and MY WISHES WILL BE ADHERED TO. Because don't think I won't know if you screw it up and THEN you'll be sorry.
1. I said to Jeckles the night before the funeral that my uppermost thought was "I HAVE NOTHING TO WEAR!!"
I wonder how many other people had to go buy some funeral-type clothes like I did--I mean, for me it was either going to have to be jeans or sweatpants and I knew my mother would frown at me alot.
So for my funeral, I want it to be COME AS YOU ARE. Flip-flops, shorts, tee shirts, jeans, sweats, whatever. DO NOT BUY NEW CLOTHES. You can wear black if that's what you've got, but if you show up in acid green or screamin' red I'll be ever so happy.
2. The minister? 10 MINUTES MAX. That's it. Not one single second longer. Seriously, 10 minutes is way more than enough for a prayer and a scripture verse and a couple o' Monty stories saying how groovy I was. In fact, I want someone to have a stopwatch and stand up and yell "TIME!"
3. While the minister is speaking, I want Amazing Grace in the background. I LOOOVE that song, and it has a lot of special meanings for me. After the 10 minute ministry...well, I'm making an awesome mixed CD and I want that played in the background. The Guess Who, John Lee Hooker, Peter Gabriel, Bon Jovi, Janis Joplin, Paul McCartney...oh, all my favorite songs.
4. While my groovin' cd is playing, everyone needs to just sit around in a circle and tell Monty stories. As a tribute to me, people should interrupt each other and talk over each other and generally be loud and obnoxious, much like me.
5. People should bring their kids, if they want to. Or if, like me, they HAVE to if they want to attend. If the kids are noisy, that's okay. Except if you have spoiled little ill-behaved bratty kids who control the parents rather than the other way around. Because them I don't like--and the parents of kids like that need a slap upside the head.
6. I want to start a new game called "Dirty Casket". It will be played like the classic "Dirty Santa" game, you know, where you can steal someone else's if you want and everything gets mixed all around.
So instead of flowers (I mean hell, none of us will really get to enjoy the flowers, really, except to look at them for a half-hour or so)...bring PRESENTS.
7. And really? There should be party favors. Like the little plastic caskets & skeletons you find at Halloween. I want those put in little bags with candy & stuff. What the hell, it's a party, right?
And that, my friends, is the perfect funeral. No solemnity, no hushed & whispery voices, plenty of loud, raucous laughter to mix with the tears. Most excellent music (and dancing, if you want). Plus PRESENTS and CANDY.
That's what I want.
And I damn well better get it.
OR someone's ass is gonna get the worst haunting ever.
I will haunt them in ways that the Hollywood movie people haven't even thunk up yet.
I'm not even kidding.
Thursday, January 25, 2007
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
Just some stuff
Random Confession #1: Paul Shaffer and his pointed little gremlin teeth scare me.
Random Confession #2: Some days I feel like a matte lipstick in a world full of glosses.
Did you ever feel a hair tickle your bare arm and then you look down to pluck the hair off and find that it wasn't a hair at all...
...it was a big, hairy SPIDER?!?.
I was just wondering. Is all.
Don't forget to...you know.
Click here to get your own player.
Random Confession #2: Some days I feel like a matte lipstick in a world full of glosses.
Did you ever feel a hair tickle your bare arm and then you look down to pluck the hair off and find that it wasn't a hair at all...
...it was a big, hairy SPIDER?!?.
I was just wondering. Is all.
Don't forget to...you know.
Click here to get your own player.
Friday, January 19, 2007
My Friends.
That's the thing about death; for the rest of us, Obladi Oblada, life goes on.
*sigh*
Though the words themselves are sadly inadequate, I have to tell you all THANK YOU very, very much for your kind words, warm emails, and condolence cards.
Like Sara McLachlan says, your love is better than ice cream.
And if you had any inkling how much I really, really love ice cream...well, you get the picture.
Thanks.
I love you too.
and now the portion of the program where I become completely, utterly selfish and bitchy:
Dear Friend,
You know how you always go on about how caring you are...you say that sometimes you care too much. You say how you're always so giving, sometimes too much.
Then why is it, friend, that whenever I really need for you to come through for me, I have to prompt you? You know how I dislike asking for help or being needy--so it's doubly distasteful for me.
I'll bet a hundred bucks that if I had a penis, you'd never ever make me ask, even obliquely, for help.
And I really hate to be the one to break it to you (okay, I'm lying. I DON'T hate it--in my current mood I'm actually a tad gleeful about it)...but that guy you always make such a big to-do about? Much like you, he likes to drive a stick.
If you know what I mean.
Have a great day.
Love,
Me
Dear Other Friend,
The above letter was not directed at you, in case you were wondering.
And I know that you were.
:)
Have a great day.
Love,
Me
Man, I'm such a bitch.
*sigh*
Though the words themselves are sadly inadequate, I have to tell you all THANK YOU very, very much for your kind words, warm emails, and condolence cards.
Like Sara McLachlan says, your love is better than ice cream.
And if you had any inkling how much I really, really love ice cream...well, you get the picture.
Thanks.
I love you too.
and now the portion of the program where I become completely, utterly selfish and bitchy:
Dear Friend,
You know how you always go on about how caring you are...you say that sometimes you care too much. You say how you're always so giving, sometimes too much.
Then why is it, friend, that whenever I really need for you to come through for me, I have to prompt you? You know how I dislike asking for help or being needy--so it's doubly distasteful for me.
I'll bet a hundred bucks that if I had a penis, you'd never ever make me ask, even obliquely, for help.
And I really hate to be the one to break it to you (okay, I'm lying. I DON'T hate it--in my current mood I'm actually a tad gleeful about it)...but that guy you always make such a big to-do about? Much like you, he likes to drive a stick.
If you know what I mean.
Have a great day.
Love,
Me
Dear Other Friend,
The above letter was not directed at you, in case you were wondering.
And I know that you were.
:)
Have a great day.
Love,
Me
Man, I'm such a bitch.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Remembrance
Did you know? I spent most of my growing-up years in a tiny town about 18 miles east of Edmond, OK. For a large part of that time, we lived outside of town on about 20 acres of land.
Two houses about a football field length apart, separated by a hog pen, a chicken coop, and the "Skunk Shed"(a skunk sprayed in there once, the scent lingered for years). My dad's brother's family lived in one house: my Uncle Kenneth, Aunt Dona, and cousins Diane and Paul. My family lived in the other.
Time spent in one house was the same as time spent in another-in and out, summer and winter, with the nearest (non-family) neighbor about a half-mile away.
A small creek (or "crick", as we called it) ran behind the houses-just right for splashing hot, dusty feet on a hot, dusty day. It was small enough to straddle at certain points, and we would stand as still as statues, dangling our fingers in the water in hopes that a curious crawdad would poke its head out so that we could grab it and chase each other around with it.
I loved this summertime activity, until a water moccasin swam up between where my feet were planted, just as casual as you please.
I screamed. I almost walked on the water. I know I jumped three feet in the air.
We had to watch out for those cottonmouths and copperheads, but mostly we ran tame, riding our bikes up and down the hardtop road, playing touch football, barefoot, in the chicken yard with the neighbor boys. About half of our acreage was wooded, so we would explore the dark, verdant woods, carrying sack lunches because we had found a huge flat-top red rock that came to be known as "Picnic Rock". When you stood on top of the rock, you could see halfway into town. We would climb trees and sit quietly (as quietly as kids can, anyway), waiting to see the rabbits, squirrels, and the occasional armadillo. We were adventurers, big game hunters, explorers.
My aunt Dona is the type that knows how to can veggies, make preserves & jams, and homemade ice-cream. I loved the summertime, so I could help crank out the ice cream.
Uncle Kenneth taught me to drive the little tractor--as the eldest of the children, it was my God-given right to be in the driver's seat.
I would drive the little tractor over the wood-slat bridge that spanned our little creek, heading toward the acre or so of vegetable garden, where we would plant the seeds or pick the fruits of our labors, depending on the season.
Corn, okra, peas, carrots, onions, snap beans, tomatoes...yum. Hard work, but well worth it (or so I think now--I can't imagine that I thought that when I was 10 or 12 or even 14 years old).
Oh, Uncle Kenneth, the character. He was born on April 1 and always said that he was an April Fool and a Monkey's Uncle (the monkey being me, of course). I remember one time I went into his house and he asked me if I wanted a pop. Well, of course I did!
So he came back into the living room with a little whiffle-ball bat and smacked me (lightly!) on the legs and butt, whilst I was giggling madly and screaming, "NO! Not THAT kind of pop!"
Then he said how about a cold pop, and my little girl brain couldn't find any trick with that question, so I said yes once again.
Uncle Kenneth took the bat, held it in front of the window unit air conditioner, and then came back with an evil grin and said, "Well, YOU'RE the one who asked for a cold pop!"
I know, it's silly. But to a little girl it was great fun.
One year we had a big tall stand of grass that covered a couple-three acres, so Uncle Kenneth drove the little tractor over and made us a maze. The grass was taller than we children were, so it was great fun (and so mysterious! and a little scary!) to hide out in the maze, to try to find each other, or just have a quiet, peaceful moment of 'thinking time'.
Uncle Kenneth was also the resident "Tick-puller". Back then getting ticks in your head was a common occurence, and Uncle Kenneth would light up his cigarette and get it close my head and inhale, making the tick back out with the heat. Then Aunt Dona would dab it with alcohol, and then we would all have a look at the tick, say "EEEW, GROSS!" a few times, and then send the tick off with a royal flush of the toilet.
Oh stop it, ticks weren't as big a worry back then, and you stuck with what worked for the removal. :)
Nowadays my cousin Diane has a daughter a couple of years younger than my own daughter, and Uncle Kenneth and Aunt Dona would take both girls for a few days, a week, whatever, during the summers. They would do chores, and play little-girl games, and follow Uncle Kenneth around asking all sorts of questions about all sorts of things.
My daughter always had an utter blast, and so did her cousin.
Those were certainly the days.
That's where I learned the value of hard work, how to be responsible, how to stand on my own feet.
Between my family and Uncle Kenneth and his family, we kids all learned those lessons.
My Uncle Kenneth died at 5 o'clock this morning.
Oh dear God, I miss him so.
Two houses about a football field length apart, separated by a hog pen, a chicken coop, and the "Skunk Shed"(a skunk sprayed in there once, the scent lingered for years). My dad's brother's family lived in one house: my Uncle Kenneth, Aunt Dona, and cousins Diane and Paul. My family lived in the other.
Time spent in one house was the same as time spent in another-in and out, summer and winter, with the nearest (non-family) neighbor about a half-mile away.
A small creek (or "crick", as we called it) ran behind the houses-just right for splashing hot, dusty feet on a hot, dusty day. It was small enough to straddle at certain points, and we would stand as still as statues, dangling our fingers in the water in hopes that a curious crawdad would poke its head out so that we could grab it and chase each other around with it.
I loved this summertime activity, until a water moccasin swam up between where my feet were planted, just as casual as you please.
I screamed. I almost walked on the water. I know I jumped three feet in the air.
We had to watch out for those cottonmouths and copperheads, but mostly we ran tame, riding our bikes up and down the hardtop road, playing touch football, barefoot, in the chicken yard with the neighbor boys. About half of our acreage was wooded, so we would explore the dark, verdant woods, carrying sack lunches because we had found a huge flat-top red rock that came to be known as "Picnic Rock". When you stood on top of the rock, you could see halfway into town. We would climb trees and sit quietly (as quietly as kids can, anyway), waiting to see the rabbits, squirrels, and the occasional armadillo. We were adventurers, big game hunters, explorers.
My aunt Dona is the type that knows how to can veggies, make preserves & jams, and homemade ice-cream. I loved the summertime, so I could help crank out the ice cream.
Uncle Kenneth taught me to drive the little tractor--as the eldest of the children, it was my God-given right to be in the driver's seat.
I would drive the little tractor over the wood-slat bridge that spanned our little creek, heading toward the acre or so of vegetable garden, where we would plant the seeds or pick the fruits of our labors, depending on the season.
Corn, okra, peas, carrots, onions, snap beans, tomatoes...yum. Hard work, but well worth it (or so I think now--I can't imagine that I thought that when I was 10 or 12 or even 14 years old).
Oh, Uncle Kenneth, the character. He was born on April 1 and always said that he was an April Fool and a Monkey's Uncle (the monkey being me, of course). I remember one time I went into his house and he asked me if I wanted a pop. Well, of course I did!
So he came back into the living room with a little whiffle-ball bat and smacked me (lightly!) on the legs and butt, whilst I was giggling madly and screaming, "NO! Not THAT kind of pop!"
Then he said how about a cold pop, and my little girl brain couldn't find any trick with that question, so I said yes once again.
Uncle Kenneth took the bat, held it in front of the window unit air conditioner, and then came back with an evil grin and said, "Well, YOU'RE the one who asked for a cold pop!"
I know, it's silly. But to a little girl it was great fun.
One year we had a big tall stand of grass that covered a couple-three acres, so Uncle Kenneth drove the little tractor over and made us a maze. The grass was taller than we children were, so it was great fun (and so mysterious! and a little scary!) to hide out in the maze, to try to find each other, or just have a quiet, peaceful moment of 'thinking time'.
Uncle Kenneth was also the resident "Tick-puller". Back then getting ticks in your head was a common occurence, and Uncle Kenneth would light up his cigarette and get it close my head and inhale, making the tick back out with the heat. Then Aunt Dona would dab it with alcohol, and then we would all have a look at the tick, say "EEEW, GROSS!" a few times, and then send the tick off with a royal flush of the toilet.
Oh stop it, ticks weren't as big a worry back then, and you stuck with what worked for the removal. :)
Nowadays my cousin Diane has a daughter a couple of years younger than my own daughter, and Uncle Kenneth and Aunt Dona would take both girls for a few days, a week, whatever, during the summers. They would do chores, and play little-girl games, and follow Uncle Kenneth around asking all sorts of questions about all sorts of things.
My daughter always had an utter blast, and so did her cousin.
Those were certainly the days.
That's where I learned the value of hard work, how to be responsible, how to stand on my own feet.
Between my family and Uncle Kenneth and his family, we kids all learned those lessons.
My Uncle Kenneth died at 5 o'clock this morning.
Oh dear God, I miss him so.
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
Food For Thought. Without the actual food.
Random Confession: Sometimes late at night, when the kids are asleep and my work is done....
...I sneak out my daughter's GameBoy and play Pokèmon.
Hello, my name is Monty, and I'm a Pokèmon addict.
MommaK has a post up that ends with two questions:
"Is there a part of your life that you purposely keep a secret because you are ashamed of it?
Are you completely honest about who you are on your blog?"
As to the first, I have to admit that there is a chunk of my life that I keep a secret from just about everyone, not because I think you won't like me anymore, but because it still causes my cheeks to flame with embarrassment and shame.
When those memories try to intrude, I have to tell myself not to think of a Big Purple Elephant. With polka-dots.
Because you know that as soon as you try NOT to think of something, that something squeezes all other thoughts out of your head.
As to the second...well, I think I'm pretty honest about myself, here.
Just as in "real-life", I make smart remarks, I am frequently outspoken, I speak (or more accurately, type) before I think, I try to always be truthful, I often phrase things in the wrong way so that they come out completely different than I intended and are misunderstood, I am very emotional, and tend to crack wise to change the subject if said subject makes me uncomfortable.
But I'm not very objective.
What do you think?
Some of you listen to my radio show. Some of us chat on the phone. Some of you have been lucky(?) enough to meet me in person--I think Jules wins the prize on that one, as she has ever so kindly taken me in as a lodger on several weekends.
Would you say that my in-person self is pretty close to what is represented here, in this blog?
Or is this place closer to a split-personality?
Discuss.
...I sneak out my daughter's GameBoy and play Pokèmon.
Hello, my name is Monty, and I'm a Pokèmon addict.
MommaK has a post up that ends with two questions:
Are you completely honest about who you are on your blog?"
As to the first, I have to admit that there is a chunk of my life that I keep a secret from just about everyone, not because I think you won't like me anymore, but because it still causes my cheeks to flame with embarrassment and shame.
When those memories try to intrude, I have to tell myself not to think of a Big Purple Elephant. With polka-dots.
Because you know that as soon as you try NOT to think of something, that something squeezes all other thoughts out of your head.
As to the second...well, I think I'm pretty honest about myself, here.
Just as in "real-life", I make smart remarks, I am frequently outspoken, I speak (or more accurately, type) before I think, I try to always be truthful, I often phrase things in the wrong way so that they come out completely different than I intended and are misunderstood, I am very emotional, and tend to crack wise to change the subject if said subject makes me uncomfortable.
But I'm not very objective.
What do you think?
Some of you listen to my radio show. Some of us chat on the phone. Some of you have been lucky(?) enough to meet me in person--I think Jules wins the prize on that one, as she has ever so kindly taken me in as a lodger on several weekends.
Would you say that my in-person self is pretty close to what is represented here, in this blog?
Or is this place closer to a split-personality?
Discuss.
Monday, January 15, 2007
We Interrupt This Program...
I really, really loathe that Pepto-Bismol Max commercial...you know, where they're going over the symptoms: Heartburn, upset stomach, diarrhea...and they grab each part of their body that correlates with the problem?
Yeah, watching adults turn around and grab their asses whilst they sing about diarrhea is just so classy.
For you that are local to Oklahoma City and surrounding areas...have you seen the Laser Light Skin Clinic commercial? With the lady with the stretched face and 4-inch elongated eyes and wattled, crepey neck?
*shudder*
Would YOU take cosmetic enhancement advice from her?
And WHY would they use her for commercials?
I make an "EEEEEEEEeeeee!" sound every time those commercials appear.
She frightens me.
I am vain and selfish enough to want to be kept alive in memory after I die.
Somebody needs to be in charge of that for me.
I've nearly decided that I might want to get married again...because I'm really tired of taking out the garbage.
And carrying all the groceries in.
Plus batteries are getting way too expensive.
Now, if I could just find somesucker poor fool nice man...
Is all I'm saying.
Oh yeah, and then there's THIS (don't forget to listen to BOTH part ONE and part TWO, or you'll miss half the good stuff):
Click here to get your own player.
That is all.
Have a day.
Yeah, watching adults turn around and grab their asses whilst they sing about diarrhea is just so classy.
For you that are local to Oklahoma City and surrounding areas...have you seen the Laser Light Skin Clinic commercial? With the lady with the stretched face and 4-inch elongated eyes and wattled, crepey neck?
*shudder*
Would YOU take cosmetic enhancement advice from her?
And WHY would they use her for commercials?
I make an "EEEEEEEEeeeee!" sound every time those commercials appear.
She frightens me.
I am vain and selfish enough to want to be kept alive in memory after I die.
Somebody needs to be in charge of that for me.
I've nearly decided that I might want to get married again...because I'm really tired of taking out the garbage.
And carrying all the groceries in.
Plus batteries are getting way too expensive.
Now, if I could just find some
Is all I'm saying.
Oh yeah, and then there's THIS (don't forget to listen to BOTH part ONE and part TWO, or you'll miss half the good stuff):
Click here to get your own player.
That is all.
Have a day.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Swimming With Sharks
Random Quote: "If you're swimming with sharks and you start to bleed...probably you should get out of the water."
Is all I'm saying.
Whenever I watch particular episodes of Nature and Nova on PBS, I sincerely wish I'd have chosen a career in marine biology.
Though living in OkieLand, that may have been a little difficult.
Sometimes I yearn to live on a houseboat, with the waves rocking me to sleep every night.
Speaking of which...
I have seriously bizarre dreams from time to time. Like every other night. Or so.
LAST night was one of the top five all-time mondo bizarro ones.
So, in the dream I was twins (slender, long-legged, and evidently a great swimmer).
There was this big, muddy, brown...lake? pond? tiny ocean? that we had to swim across just to get anywhere.
Hang on, that's not the weird part.
Or even the weirdEST part.
I'm swimming across the *body of water of whatever sort* and I hear me/my twin call out, "FINN!!"
Then I looked out ahead of me and saw a shark pushing (yes, PUSHING) off from the far shore and coming toward us. Evidently I knew that Finn was a good shark (and see how his name is FINN? Don't ask how I know it's spelled with two Ns, I just do), and he was coming to stave off any trouble. See, there was a bad shark named Carl that harrassed us (well, tried to eat us, whatever) every time we swam across.
There was also a bad octopus named Gordo that was in league with Carl.
My sister was ALWAYS the one to call for Finn's help, never me. I turned to her (in the water) and called out, "Is it Carl? Or Gordo? Are you okay?"--I was peering through the murky water to try & see one of them, and was feeling a little scared-- and then I swam with a gorgeous breast stroke (not a single bit out of breath, even!) and Finn nudged me along the last couple-hundred feet to the shore before going after me/my twin.
Then I had to turn back a page in the book because I felt like I'd missed something.
So I was READING the book, and I was IN the book, which wasn't a book at all when I was IN it.
TWO THINGS: I don't even know how to do the breast-stroke, and I don't know anyone named either Carl (or Karl, for that matter) or Gordo.
Anyone want to try to decipher THAT????
Me neither.
No, I didn't watch any programs or read any books about sharks recently (except for SHARK--that show about the lawyers with James Woods, but that was last Thursday). I didn't eat any weird and/or spicy food before going to bed.
I did not have any alcoholic beverages.
Could be I'm just losing it. That actually sounds pretty reasonable.
Randomness for random's sake:
Five musicals to which I know most of (if not ALL) the songs by heart:
1. The Sound Of Music
2. Buffy, The Musical (Buffy The Vampire Slayer)
3. Seven Brides For Seven Brothers
4. Grease (the original, not the crappy sequel)
5. State Fair
Oh yes, there are MORE...lots more...
Is all I'm saying.
Whenever I watch particular episodes of Nature and Nova on PBS, I sincerely wish I'd have chosen a career in marine biology.
Though living in OkieLand, that may have been a little difficult.
Sometimes I yearn to live on a houseboat, with the waves rocking me to sleep every night.
Speaking of which...
I have seriously bizarre dreams from time to time. Like every other night. Or so.
LAST night was one of the top five all-time mondo bizarro ones.
So, in the dream I was twins (slender, long-legged, and evidently a great swimmer).
There was this big, muddy, brown...lake? pond? tiny ocean? that we had to swim across just to get anywhere.
Hang on, that's not the weird part.
Or even the weirdEST part.
I'm swimming across the *body of water of whatever sort* and I hear me/my twin call out, "FINN!!"
Then I looked out ahead of me and saw a shark pushing (yes, PUSHING) off from the far shore and coming toward us. Evidently I knew that Finn was a good shark (and see how his name is FINN? Don't ask how I know it's spelled with two Ns, I just do), and he was coming to stave off any trouble. See, there was a bad shark named Carl that harrassed us (well, tried to eat us, whatever) every time we swam across.
There was also a bad octopus named Gordo that was in league with Carl.
My sister was ALWAYS the one to call for Finn's help, never me. I turned to her (in the water) and called out, "Is it Carl? Or Gordo? Are you okay?"--I was peering through the murky water to try & see one of them, and was feeling a little scared-- and then I swam with a gorgeous breast stroke (not a single bit out of breath, even!) and Finn nudged me along the last couple-hundred feet to the shore before going after me/my twin.
Then I had to turn back a page in the book because I felt like I'd missed something.
So I was READING the book, and I was IN the book, which wasn't a book at all when I was IN it.
TWO THINGS: I don't even know how to do the breast-stroke, and I don't know anyone named either Carl (or Karl, for that matter) or Gordo.
Anyone want to try to decipher THAT????
Me neither.
No, I didn't watch any programs or read any books about sharks recently (except for SHARK--that show about the lawyers with James Woods, but that was last Thursday). I didn't eat any weird and/or spicy food before going to bed.
I did not have any alcoholic beverages.
Could be I'm just losing it. That actually sounds pretty reasonable.
Randomness for random's sake:
Five musicals to which I know most of (if not ALL) the songs by heart:
1. The Sound Of Music
2. Buffy, The Musical (Buffy The Vampire Slayer)
3. Seven Brides For Seven Brothers
4. Grease (the original, not the crappy sequel)
5. State Fair
Oh yes, there are MORE...lots more...
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
Boring is as boring does.
Random quote: "The world is my oyster; unfortunately, I'm allergic to shellfish." ~~me
WINTER BREAK IS OVER.
Thank the sweet little baby Jesus.
My kids went back to school today...so I turned the music to the "Eardrum Shattering" setting, danced around the house, and sang at the top of my lungs for a good long while.
Random trivia:
Did you know that oil alongside of your nose is called squalene? And did you further know that squalene is also found inside shark's livers? And did you know that if you rub your finger on your face squalene, it makes excellent lip balm?
Just in case you were wondering.
Five weird things about me that you couldn't care less about:
1. I sleep with the covers pulled over my head, with only a small circular opening for my face. Ever since Nancy got that moth in her ear that time, I'm struck by a paranoid fear that a spider will crawl in my ear whilst I'm asleep.
2. I like to say the word "quash". Perhaps too frequently.
3. I know what squalene is.
4. Milk, on the Sell By date, might as well be sour because I'm throwing it out. Okay, I'm lying. I tend to throw it out a couple of days (or so) early.
5. After I brush my teeth and rinse, I make a growly noise into the towel when I'm drying my mouth.
Oh yeah, in case you missed my Block Party on Sunday...you can listen now:
Click here to get your own player.
That is all. (and isn't it quite enough, for crap's sake?)
Have a day.
WINTER BREAK IS OVER.
Thank the sweet little baby Jesus.
My kids went back to school today...so I turned the music to the "Eardrum Shattering" setting, danced around the house, and sang at the top of my lungs for a good long while.
Random trivia:
Did you know that oil alongside of your nose is called squalene? And did you further know that squalene is also found inside shark's livers? And did you know that if you rub your finger on your face squalene, it makes excellent lip balm?
Just in case you were wondering.
Five weird things about me that you couldn't care less about:
1. I sleep with the covers pulled over my head, with only a small circular opening for my face. Ever since Nancy got that moth in her ear that time, I'm struck by a paranoid fear that a spider will crawl in my ear whilst I'm asleep.
2. I like to say the word "quash". Perhaps too frequently.
3. I know what squalene is.
4. Milk, on the Sell By date, might as well be sour because I'm throwing it out. Okay, I'm lying. I tend to throw it out a couple of days (or so) early.
5. After I brush my teeth and rinse, I make a growly noise into the towel when I'm drying my mouth.
Oh yeah, in case you missed my Block Party on Sunday...you can listen now:
Click here to get your own player.
That is all. (and isn't it quite enough, for crap's sake?)
Have a day.
Sunday, January 07, 2007
You've obviously forgotten what time it is.
MONTY DOES MOJO: We're having a Block Party!
LISTEN HERE, NOW.
PLUS:
Horoscopes!
Mail bag!
WORST GIFT CONTEST!
and
Special dedication to my favorite newlyweds!
LISTEN HERE, TOMORROW.
Tune it in. TURN IT UP.
Friday, January 05, 2007
You guys are pretty smart.
Random movie quote: "Beef jerky time."
Thanks to all yousmarty-pants smart folks who commented yesterday and answered my questions.
I do want to make clear, and I hope you understand, that there was nothing mocking, skeptical or negative meant in what I said.
That number, ONE in ONE HUNDRED SIXTY-SIX, keeps circling round and round in my brain, and makes my heart ache for those children, and their families.
And your children, and your families.
I had no idea the scope--or as Brian put it, the CONTINUUM--of autism.
The reason I asked the questions is because I was curious, and I wanted to hear from you, who live it, experience it, rather than reading statistics.
So I appreciate the time and the thought you gave to help me understand.
And believe me, I know that ADHD/ADD are also serious conditions, but I also know that it has been used as a convenient label. My daughter, due to excessive bleeding in her head at birth, has some parts of her brain that...don't function exactly as they should. She's smart, but a little backward in some ways.
She can read for hours, she can concentrate on tasks for very long periods of time, she's patient (mostly)...but she's easily frustrated in school, especially trying to figure out logic problems, word problems, and math in any form.
When she gets stuck, she simply chooses to daydream or look out the window or around the room instead of doing the work.
For that reason, her teachers, every.single.one, have implied that she's ADD.
She's not.
Even the doctors agree, but we have to keep proving it to the teachers in her school.
She sometimes mutters to herself under her breath (as do I, in fact), and she used to make noises in class when she was a bit younger.
Then her teachers tried to insist that she had Tourette's Syndrome.
She doesn't.
Even the doctors agree.
Anyway.
That's why I was wondering.
So thanks. :)
Thanks to all you
I do want to make clear, and I hope you understand, that there was nothing mocking, skeptical or negative meant in what I said.
That number, ONE in ONE HUNDRED SIXTY-SIX, keeps circling round and round in my brain, and makes my heart ache for those children, and their families.
And your children, and your families.
I had no idea the scope--or as Brian put it, the CONTINUUM--of autism.
The reason I asked the questions is because I was curious, and I wanted to hear from you, who live it, experience it, rather than reading statistics.
So I appreciate the time and the thought you gave to help me understand.
And believe me, I know that ADHD/ADD are also serious conditions, but I also know that it has been used as a convenient label. My daughter, due to excessive bleeding in her head at birth, has some parts of her brain that...don't function exactly as they should. She's smart, but a little backward in some ways.
She can read for hours, she can concentrate on tasks for very long periods of time, she's patient (mostly)...but she's easily frustrated in school, especially trying to figure out logic problems, word problems, and math in any form.
When she gets stuck, she simply chooses to daydream or look out the window or around the room instead of doing the work.
For that reason, her teachers, every.single.one, have implied that she's ADD.
She's not.
Even the doctors agree, but we have to keep proving it to the teachers in her school.
She sometimes mutters to herself under her breath (as do I, in fact), and she used to make noises in class when she was a bit younger.
Then her teachers tried to insist that she had Tourette's Syndrome.
She doesn't.
Even the doctors agree.
Anyway.
That's why I was wondering.
So thanks. :)
Thursday, January 04, 2007
News To Me
So, I was listening to the radio on the way to work this morning, and a commercial came on and it said that 1 in 166 children are diagnosed with autism in its various forms.
I can't even believe it. My gast was completely flabbered. HOW is that even possible? ONE in ONE HUNDRED SIXTY-SIX. Period.
Seems to me that autism used to be a fairly 'rare' occurence, and it was always pretty severe when you did hear about it.
ONE in ONE HUNDRED SIXTY-SIX. Children.
Wow.
I can't wrap my brain around that.
I know that quite a number of you handle the issues of varying degrees of autism every single day, so what I'm wondering is this:
How is it possible that, up until recently, the signs of autism were overlooked?
Or has it always been this number, only nobody used to talk about it?
Or is the 'measuring stick' in determining whether or not a child is autistic in some way improperly calibrated? Perhaps the "norm" is skewed?
Or is it simply being used more often as one of those 'excuse' diagnoses--you know, like when they have a normal, very energetic kid that is slapped with the ol' ADHD label because Mommy & Daddy don't like disruption in their pretty little lives? Not to mention the fact that Mommy & Daddy feed the kid sugar in all its forms and let him/her stay inside watching TV & video games instead of riding bikes and playing Two-Below football, cupball, and exploring the great outdoors. But that's a-whole-nother rant for another day.
Forgive me, I don't mean to imply one bit that autism isn't a serious issue--I only ask the questions out of ignorance.
What's your take? Educate me.
in other news...
Don't forget to nominate your favorites for The 2007 Bloggies!
I've entered my personal choices...have YOU?
This thought just now popped into my head and made me laugh because it was so stupid:
Geek's Country & Western Song: "She Thinks My Protractor's Sexy"
You don't have to laugh. It's okay. I'm just easily amused and...simple. Yes, simple, that's it.
I can't even believe it. My gast was completely flabbered. HOW is that even possible? ONE in ONE HUNDRED SIXTY-SIX. Period.
Seems to me that autism used to be a fairly 'rare' occurence, and it was always pretty severe when you did hear about it.
ONE in ONE HUNDRED SIXTY-SIX. Children.
Wow.
I can't wrap my brain around that.
I know that quite a number of you handle the issues of varying degrees of autism every single day, so what I'm wondering is this:
How is it possible that, up until recently, the signs of autism were overlooked?
Or has it always been this number, only nobody used to talk about it?
Or is the 'measuring stick' in determining whether or not a child is autistic in some way improperly calibrated? Perhaps the "norm" is skewed?
Or is it simply being used more often as one of those 'excuse' diagnoses--you know, like when they have a normal, very energetic kid that is slapped with the ol' ADHD label because Mommy & Daddy don't like disruption in their pretty little lives? Not to mention the fact that Mommy & Daddy feed the kid sugar in all its forms and let him/her stay inside watching TV & video games instead of riding bikes and playing Two-Below football, cupball, and exploring the great outdoors. But that's a-whole-nother rant for another day.
Forgive me, I don't mean to imply one bit that autism isn't a serious issue--I only ask the questions out of ignorance.
What's your take? Educate me.
in other news...
Don't forget to nominate your favorites for The 2007 Bloggies!
I've entered my personal choices...have YOU?
This thought just now popped into my head and made me laugh because it was so stupid:
Geek's Country & Western Song: "She Thinks My Protractor's Sexy"
You don't have to laugh. It's okay. I'm just easily amused and...simple. Yes, simple, that's it.
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
But why did they cry?
Georgie Porgy, Mr. Puddin' and Pie...was a cowardly perv.
Those other boys should have chased him down & kicked the shit out of him.
in other news...
The 2007 Bloggies
I've put my nominations in...have YOU?
I may have entered you for a category, so go solicit some nominations!
Those other boys should have chased him down & kicked the shit out of him.
in other news...
I've put my nominations in...have YOU?
I may have entered you for a category, so go solicit some nominations!
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
'07, Day Two
I'm much recovered today, thanks for asking.
Now, I offer you a list of...well, not Resolutions, because let's face it--most likely I won't keep them and really? why set myself up for failure?
So without further ado, I give you my
New Year's Suggestions
1. Cut people some slack. Sometimes.
2. Give my house a good spring cleaning. (HAHAHA! I couldn't even type that with a straight face)
3. Try to control my excessive road rage.
4. Leave more comments on your blogs (just as soon as I figure out how to cut a small hole in the time/space continuum so that I canuse my powers for evil re-live a few hours each day visiting you)
5. Drink. More. Booze.
That's as far as I managed to get before I started to work--quite successfully, I might add--on Number Five.
That is all.
Have a day.
Now, I offer you a list of...well, not Resolutions, because let's face it--most likely I won't keep them and really? why set myself up for failure?
So without further ado, I give you my
1. Cut people some slack. Sometimes.
2. Give my house a good spring cleaning. (HAHAHA! I couldn't even type that with a straight face)
3. Try to control my excessive road rage.
4. Leave more comments on your blogs (just as soon as I figure out how to cut a small hole in the time/space continuum so that I can
5. Drink. More. Booze.
That's as far as I managed to get before I started to work--quite successfully, I might add--on Number Five.
That is all.
Have a day.
Monday, January 01, 2007
'07, Day One.
Could someone please turn that damn sun off?
Thanks, that'd be great.
Oh yeah, Happy blah blah blah.
Thanks, that'd be great.
Oh yeah, Happy blah blah blah.
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