So, there I was, driving around the other day, when I pulled behind a van with like a thousand bumper stickers on it and I thought to myself, "Dude! This van is like Twitter and PinINterest rolled into one!* How awesome is that!?! It's like totally old school! Oooo.... I wonder if it has a turntable for a stereo!"
Because it was a real thing once!
And then, because it was double stamp day at my favorite coffee drive-thru, which meant I had no choice but to buy 16 more ounces of caffeine, I came up with my own bumper stickers!
Because a girl has to have dreams. That don't involve 54 inches of rain each year.
Because this is what Katie and Ellie have named our car. Jon is thrilled. Obviously.
See, Jon, in his quest to become the World's Geekiest Computer Person (Note: This may not be his actual job title, but, in my defense, I don't know what his actual job title is, so, it totally could be. Plus, I used the word computer at least once, so my chance of being right is at least 88%, or 3 out of 4, you know, which ever's better.) accidentally bought an iPad, which is odd, because, obviously, in computer circles, Linux users and espresso sipping barefoot running shoe wearing Mac users don't mix. And, since I'm currently the only one in the house with a pair of barefoot running shoes and an overwhelming need to caffinate myself at all hours of the day, I figured I was the one that was supposed to use the iPhone on steroids it. But everything looks weird on this blogging ap Jon downloaded, and this disconnected keyboard is kinda freaking me out because HOW DO THE LETTERS TRAVEL FROM THE KEYBOARD BUTTONS TO THE SCREEN WITHOUT THE SAFETY OF THEIR CABLE SLIDE!?!
Skydiving?
Hang gliding?
Parkour?
(Picks up keyboardand looks underneath.) Rabbit holes?
Dude. I am not eating anything this iPad puts in front of me, especially if it has an "Eat Me" sign on it. (sips coffee) Totally not falling for that one! (nods and waves to hookah smoking caterpillar sitting on a mushroom in the corner of the room)
Anyway, when Jon downloaded the ap he wanted to make sure I could do all the blog-type things I normally do. You know, like type words, link to videos and download pictures. Which, I guess was kind of a boring job, because when I opened up the iPad blogging ap there was a picture of a drunk kangaroo holding a bottle of beer. He may have also been wearing a pirate hat. Or, I only wish he was wearing a pirate hat. (It's hard to tell sometimes.) Aaaaannnnndddd, I didn't know how to delete it, so, that's kinda where the warning comes in.
*WARNING*WARNING*WARNING*WARNING*
(Points to text above.)Hey! Look! There is is again!
This post may contain an unintentional drunk kangaroo wearing a pirate hat. Or not. (Again, it's hard to tell sometimes.) But just a picture of one. Not a real one. Because that'd be insane! I mean, how in the world would a real unintentional drunk kangaroo wearing a pirate hat (or not) even get onto your computer without a direct cable slide anyway? Exactly.
And, come to think about it, this whole warning thing was probably way overblown. I blame Micheal Bolton's hair. (Which, in retrospect, is kind of unfair, since it's really his 90s hair that should be blamed, not his current hair. So, maybe I should rephrase my blame. "I blame Michael Bolton's 90s hair." Which, technically, is correct, but is kind of awkward to say.) I mean, seriously, what's the chance of a photo of a drunk kangaroo wearing a wishful pirate hat showing up in this post anyway?
This last weekend my friend Mabel, her husband Clive and I ran the Rhody Run 12K. There were impromptu water stations set up on people's front lawns, there were drum circles, bubbles, a really steep and long down hill where you could actually feel the wind blowing through your hair (or in my case a rain and sweat soaked pony tail), there was the guy who runs the race every year and makes up his own Marine chants every 1/2 mile or so, ocean views and free beer and massages at the end off the race. And, while this year lacked the bagpiper and free champagne at mile six, we all knocked something like seven minutes off of last year's time. WHICH WAS AWESOME!
Until we looked at the professional photos online today.
Oh.
My.
Goodness.
Seriously.
They were so bad that they prompted this conversation on Facebook less than 16 hours ago:
Mabel: Did you change your profile pic because you're getting psyched for the half marathon? Less than 5 months!!
Me: That and I wanted to remind myself how much I liked to run! Plus, it looks waaaaay better than the pics from the Rhody Run this last weekend. :)
Mabel: That photographer should be fired!
Me: Or start to work seriously on their airbrushing technique!
Mabel: For sure! I want him to make me look like Zooey Deschanel skipping through the finish line with a big happy smile on my face. I would totally buy that picture!
Me: You'd make a perfect Zooey Deschanel! Can I be Myrna Loy? Because a classic never goes out of style, and it would make complete sense considering they gave out free beer at the end of the race*!
Mabel: Sure....
Know what? Turns out, airbrushing skills aren't that hard Race Photographer Man. I mean, all I had to use was a pair of scissors, a stick of glue, a sharpie and some paper dolls from Katie's craft cupboard and KAPOW! We look ten times awesomer!
You look AMAZING Zooey/Mabel!
Keep the intensity Edward/Clive!
Look! It's Myrna/Me! Run Myrna/Me! Run!
I mean, I even managed to figure out how to take our finish photos and paste them all in the same photo so it looks like we finished the race at the same time! Look! I even got Edward/Clive and Zooey/Mabel to hold hands!
My GOSH but we're GORGEOUS!
Airbrushing? Totally not hard.
And, like always, I'll take my payment in coffee, Mabel!
*This joke makes way more sense if you've seen The Thin Man movies.
B. A psychology experiment to see how long parent approved graffiti will be tolerated at the local playground.
C. Super Secret Spy Code for "The TURKEY! travels at twilight". Because, as everyone knows, all the super spies speak in alliteration at aach and avery awportunity.
D. A refreshing change from the demonic poetry written by some guy at the park last week. (In his defense, he did write it in pink and green chalk. Which, apparently, were the most demonic colors he could find.)
Thirteenbazenteentilishous points and this picture (points below) if you know the answer!
Note: This is not a picture of Vanilla Ice. Or of Jon dressed in a rapper outfit. But those are his shoes.
*Now, don't get me wrong, I totally appreciate the fact that the lyrics to Vanilla Ice's "Go Ninja! Go Ninja! Go!" are squeaky clean. I mean, dude, they're even clean enough to be used while teaching Sunday School, to, you know, set the musical tone for the morning before Jon raps the story from Acts 12 for the kids. Which he didn't do. Because he has "self respect", or because he's a stick in the mud. One of the two. Which forced me to use this video instead. And, yes, this is how lazy people teach Sunday School. (waves hand. points to self.) With YouTube.
Because it's Mother's Day weekend, I got my traditional gift of 15 minutes of yard work from Jon and the girls today*. And, while they were digging the dandelions from under the lilac bush, and I sipped (OK, gulped) my expertly crafted plain latte, my phone and I serenaded them with The V.I.P.'s "Ninja Rap" because, Dude! Vanilla Ice has his own TV show! Like, a This Old House type of TV show! But with less beards and more tattoos! And Jon found it for me last night on the Internet! And I got to see Vanilla Ice pull a palm tree out of the ground! The ground people! Just like the dandelions from under the lilac bush! (Kinda. I mean, Vanilla Ice used a huge tractor, and, well, Katie and Ellie didn't. But, basically the same thing!)
Now, first, when Twitter told me about Vanilla Ice having his own TV show, I was a little upset, because, DUDE! Vanilla Ice has his own TV show! I shouldn't have to find out about these things from Twitter! I mean, sure, when everyone was bustin' a move to "Ice Ice Baby" and sitting in dark theaters watching the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles battle Shredder for the last canister of mutant making ooze I was singing along to my "Chipmunks Go Hollywood" tape and memorizing "Boil Them Cabbage Down" so I could perform with the Junior High Fiddling Club**. So, yeah, sure, technically, I wasn't his target audience. But, just because I could sing "Eye of the Tiger" in a falsetto chipmunk voice didn't mean everyone in the Fiddling Club was as clueless about popular music as I was. I mean, I think some of them even wore fanny packs! So, it's not like I didn't know who Vanilla Ice was, I just, didn't, you know, find his music interesting enough to not change the radio station when "Ice Ice Baby" came on. (Maybe he should have added a singing chipmunk to his act. Or a duck. Or a chicken. Really, any kind of singing animal would have probably livened it up for me. And a banjo. Because there is nothing not awesome about the banjo when you are 14 years old.)
Obviously, someone should have told me about this sooner. Because, guys, his show is fly! Seriously, it's all that AND a bag of chips! I watched two episodes of it and not only did he pull a palm tree out of the ground, he planted other plants, drained a pool, swept up raccoon poo, laid pavers around the pool and battled a six-foot long alligator! (OK. Kinda.) The only thing that could have made the show better was if Vanilla Ice and the alligator had broken into a duet remix of "Fame".
Because cute singing animals never go out of style.
Unlike fanny packs.
*Which I plan to exploit One Grain of Rice style in the Mother's Days to come. Because literature can give people dangerous ideas. Or, rather, mathematically sound ones that will land them on the deck in 7 to 8 years, with their feet up for the whole weekend, as the yard is mowed, weeded, trimmed, barked, planted, etc. As long as I don't teach the children to count. Or add. Or multiply. Or...read.... Aw, crud puddles. Well, at least I don't electrocute myself with the mower anymore.
Not too long ago my mom fell and broke her leg. In two places. Not too long ago, I flew down to Arizona with a suitcase filled with my knitting* and all the summer clothes I could find in my dresser (i.e. two pairs of shorts) in order to sit with my house-bound mother.
Yeah. I don't know what I was thinking either.
Things You Do With Your Mom When She Has A Titanium Rod Newly Attached To Her Femur
1. You drive her to each and every doctor visit she can think up, because, she's only allowed out of the house for doctor visits and church. (Hahahahahaha! You crazy doctors! It's like you don't even know my mother!)
2. You go to church, and then on the way home she says something like, "Hey! Aren't we close to the 'Vettes and Bombers show? Maybe we should drive by? Or get out and walk around for an hour or two? Might be fun for you! Don't worry, I'll find a nice shaded place to sit down with my walker when I get tired and visit with people. I just thought it'd be fun for you!" (FYI, she never sits down.)
3. You go to the 'Vettes and Bombers show. And, you stand and watch as she debates with herself whether they will let a woman with a broken leg take a ride in this airplane:
4. While at the 'Vettes and Bombers show, you visit with her corvette buddies and they ask you questions like, "What kind of car do you drive?" And you watch, as both your parent's chairs are suddenly 2 inches further away from yours, as you answer, "An '03 Honda Civic. It's a, um, a four cylinder...."
5. You walk the mall early in the morning with her, while she wears this hat:
Because it's an awesome hat.
6. She gives you a ridiculously long spoon to stir your coffee with each and every morning. Because she doesn't drink coffee. And because she thinks it's funny. Which it is, after the first cup Mom, ONLY AFTER THE FIRST CUP!
7. You have to sneak out of the house each morning before 6am (just like in high school!) to go running by yourself. Otherwise, she'd probably figure out a way to ride her bicycle with a broken leg so she could go with you (just like in high school!). Also, as a bonus, you score these photos of springtime in your old neighborhood:
8. You do yoga amongst the orange trees in the backyard after your run in the morning, just to see if she'll come out and join you. She doesn't. Yoga is too weird.
9. Because your sister and nephew come to visit for the weekend she thinks it would be fun if we all drove up to Payson "just for the day." For a 4-wheel drive trip.
10. While sitting in camp, you talk with some of her 4-wheeler friends, and they ask you questions like, "How much 4-wheeling do you do up in Washington?" (Uh, none.) and "So, what do you drive?" And, you watch, as both your parent's chairs are, once again, two inches further away from yours, as you answer, again, "Um, we drive an '03 Honda Civic...."
11. You finally head home, back to the misty Puget Sound area you live in, and hope against hope that she didn't see this at the Bombers and 'Vettes show:
Because one broken leg is enough, Mom!
*Look, knitting has become really popular, people. I mean, everywhere you look someone with tattoos and a vintage flare to their wardrobe is purling out stuff like this:
People who can do that are awesome! And, because I'm a wuss who will never get a tattoo in real life (Because it would hurt. Plus I'd get something really cool tattooed on me, like the word TURKEY! or maybe just a replica of my awesome TURKEY! poster or something, and then I'd be a senile 102 year old woman stuck in some nursing home and the nurses would see my tattoo and they'd immediately think that turkey was my favorite thing to eat and they'd start serving me turkey sandwiches for every meal, and I wouldn't be able to tell them that I'd been a vegetarian for 80 some odd years and all those turkey's would needlessly die to feed my senile 102 year old self, and that's a lot to have on a person's conscience. And yeah, mostly because it would hurt.) and also being someone whose wardrobe will not be moving from a jeans and t-shirt theme into a more vintage-y look anytime soon (thank you small children), taking up knitting was the only way I could think of to make myself more culturally relevant, or, just, you know, kinda cool..... Hip. Hunky-dory! Boss! Wicked! Meritorious!
Unfortunately, after almost a years worth of work, my knitting looks like this:
And, once I look at it juxtapositionally, with my mother who spends her free time racing corvettes, 4-wheeling, and wearing groundbreaking fashionable duck hats on one side and me who has spent almost a year knitting a dishcloth.... Yeah....I may really need to get that tattoo after all. Thanks, Mom.
Something like a month ago, I joined a blog group. The idea was that the monitor would give out a prompt every week and then I'd, you know, write a post based on the topic. But the topics always seemed to be words like "simplicity" or "confrontation" or "some-other-deep-sounding-word-that-intimidates-my-coffee-powered-typing-fingers-right-into-another-inappropriate-butt-reference". But last week, last week the topic was "a list". Seriously! That's it! I read that and I was all, "I can totally do that one! Especially since I just changed the sheets on Katie's bed this morning!" (Hold on. We'll get to that.) Gleefully I skipped over to my computer, joyfully I hit the power button and THERE WAS NO INTERNET! (Go ahead and play some random eerie horror movie music in your brain. I did.)
After doing everything I knew how to do to fix the problem (read: picked my computer up and shook it like a Magic 8 Ball) I asked Jon to fix it. He did everything he knew how to do to fix the problem (read: sat on the couch for a long time and typed random looking strings of symbols like fu:/&apt>%fixinternet1$67%&(32)ff1+>) and then blamed the problem on the cable company. Which, since I've lived with a computer genius for over a decade and have gotten really good at deciphering geek speak secret computer code talk, obviously what Jon really meant was "George Lucas turned off our Internet because he was jealous of my version of the Star Wars story with the popcorn."
But, since I'm not one to be intimidated by sci-fi movie mongols (or their ability to wield a sharp pair of cable cutters, George) and because due to my lack of Internet availability I could no longer read other people's blogs, download books to read on my Kindle or watch old episodes of 21 Jumpstreet on Hulu, I simply wrote down my list on a scrappy piece of paper and went to the library. And, for awhile all was well because I found a DVD set of Emily of New Moon! "A story about friendship, family and finding your passion!" "A story by the author of Anne of Green Gables!" "The complete first season!" "Produced by Canada!"
And, in the first episode, Emily's mother dies, she then gets beaten by the school teacher for standing up for another kid, her father looses his job and they begin to sell off their belongings book by book, her father is secretly dying, then her father dies in front of her, their maid tries to steal what little money they have left, she's sent to live with her strict aunts and told to leave her beloved cat behind, she tries to smuggle the cat in the buggy but is found out and so her aunt throws the cat out in the middle of the woods to die. Oh, and she talks to dead people. Yeah, apparently George owns Canada too. However, since I still had that little piece of paper with my list on it, I continued to watch more episodes of Emily of New Moon. Then, just when the show was starting to get more upbeat (read: her cat came back and, after her aunt tried to kill it three times, she got to keep the cat in the barn) George intervened again. And this time he broke my mother's leg. Yeah. Because apparently with George, The Force is just like that. OK, sure... I don't actually have any, you know, real proof that George Lucas turned off my Internet, forced me to check a horrifically depressing DVD out from the library and broke my mother's leg, but, um, hello, this is the Internet, I'm pretty sure I don't need one. Oh, and by the way George, a piece of paper and I have something for you:
Extraordinary Stories Behind the Invention of Ordinary Things by Don L. Wulffson*
Mr. Popper's Penguins by Richard & Florence Atwater*
Geronimo Stilton: Lost Treasures of the Emerald Eye*
Heathcliff: Wanted by George Gately*
Uncle Wiggly Stories by Howard R. Garis*
Henry and Beezus by Beverly Cleary*
Jigsaw Jones: The Case of the Best Pet Ever by James Preller*
Fantastic Mr. Fox by Roald Dahl*
Dora the Explorer: Let's Explore! by Quinlan B. Lee*
Geronimo Stilton: A Cheese-Colored Camper*
Geronimo Stilton: Mighty Mount Kilimanjaro*
Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle's Magic by Betty MacDonald*
Thea Stilton: Big Trouble in the Big Apple*
Jigsaw Jones: The Case of the Detective in Disguise by James Preller*
Geronimo Stilton: The Karate Mouse*
Stories from the Peterkin Papers by Lucretia P. Hale*
Geronimo Stilton: Singing Sensation*
Proving once again, you can't keep a scrappy band of rebels down. Especially once you've gone over to the Dark Side, George.
*Katie is absolutely loving the squirreling capacity of her upper bunk:
Obviously. And, because Ellie refuses to be left out:
The Baby Duck Stories by Amy Hest
The Friendly Beasts: An Old English Christmas Carol illustrated by Tomie dePaola
