The Looky-Loo in my Loo

Bathrooms are a curious place.

Mine has unexpectedly become a magazine library, though I've never myself understood this peculiar bathroom trend or found the time to peruse any of them.  The library built up gradually.  Years ago periodicals just suddenly appeared on the back of the toilet tank.  First one, then another, and finally a small stack.  In the event I removed them, they would soon quietly re-appear.

After a while I gave up on my bid to eradicate this disturbing embellishment.  Then, later, in a gesture of peace, I legitimized the small library, giving it official status by housing them in a basket.  What I didn't expect to have happen, as a result of my surrender,  was the unforeseen dilemma created by their upright-ness.

Laying a magazine on its backside makes it just that, a magazine on its backside.  But when you turn it upright, well, it becomes a poster.  Be it a travel poster like a National Geographic,
an adventure poster, like a sailing magazine,
or in this case,an AWKWARD poster of someone staring at you while you are otherwise preoccupied IN YOUR LOO.

A nameless person who resides here in the house often gets complimentary magazine subscriptions when he signs up to compete in a race.  These sort of magazines have now found their way into the basket in a most disagreeable upright display .  And now every month there seems to be a man-of-the-month staring at me in my own bathroom.

This month's cover was especially AWKWARD don't you agree?

I think someone's gonna get a subscription to travel and leisure.  Heaven knows I could use a reprieve from these bathroom beefcakes.

Mission Accomplished?

Just got back from THE wedding...and I'm posting to report that operation "Road Runner Revenge" was carried out.

First, for any of you who may have developed a bizarre fondness for the unsightly road runner starring in my previous post and therefore might be contemplating smuggling such an item across state boarders to your next wedding destination via the friendly skies, I must warn you that bypassing security with a colorful metal bird in your carry-on will be extremely problematic.  Apparently gaudy metal road runners are mentioned on the notorious no-fly list at checkpoint charlie, as, I can only assume, it just might be used to bludgeon annoying passengers or perhaps be used to threaten crew members and overtake an aircraft.  But such hazards can usually be avoided by the universal solution...CASH.  I promptly paid $35 and checked in my "hazardous" luggage, but not before warning the lady at the counter that my suitcase contained a "very dear and sentimental" yet admittedly loathsome "family heirloom" and that I hoped she could reassure me that extreme care would be taken with my precious cargo.

Once I arrived, I had to keep the enormous thing under wraps for an entire week.  My friends wondered why I often wore the same clothes day after day and I was reluctant to explain that the long lost road runner from Dave's now infamous prank had staked claim to most of the confines of my suitcase leaving little space to pack clothes.

Finally, after a week of secrecy the wedding reception officially began and so did my Road Runner Revenge.

The Road Runner's long awaited "outing" finally occurred while official family photos were being taken.  Sensing the moment of unveiling was at hand, I dislodged the monstrosity from my case and rushed to the scene so it could have it's photo taken with the now shocked and horrified couple.  Though thankfully, once the dear bird from last year's reception was recognized, it was met with laughs and good humor.

I managed to take a few photos here and there to document the whole melodious though slightly scandalous affair...

Here's the road runner signing the guest book...

Enhancing the centerpiece...

At one of the food tables...

A closer view. It makes a nice skewer holder don't you think??

Near the cupcake stand as it snacks on a raspberry...

At the cake table...

Tripping the light fantastic with the crowd...

Flirting with the ladies...

Hijacking the slide show screen...

And finally, our road runner partied so hard it fell asleep with the little people...

Thankfully the bride and groom were good sports and posed with the darn thing not only for a few official photos but even for part of the cake cutting, unfortunately those pictures are still safely lodged inside the photographer's memory card.

Somehow, the frightful bird became the hit of the party-be it an often confusing and somewhat hideous hit of the party.  Ultimately the whole plan may have backfired since now both the bride's siblings and my children have all requested the bird be gently packed away for the next family wedding.  So much for horrifying Dave's posterity.

And so much Road Runner Revenge...I was hoping to be rid of the awful thing once and for all...not to mention the fact that I was also hoping to list it on ebay and recoup my $35 check-in fee.

I guess Dave has the final laugh.  Sadly, it now looks like I'll never be rid of the thing.

Road Runner Revenge!

Oh I love a good payday!  As this auto-posts, I am on a plane, bags packed, plan in place, and ready for road runner revenge.  And this little fellow you see pictured here has been stored up collecting dust waiting for this day to arrive, and he/she/it is about to rear its ugly head.  At this sad point in my premeditated scheme, I must offer an apology to a certain bride to be, however weak my apology may be.  

"Sorry Sarah, but your father made me do it."

I've been waiting to exact sweet harmonious revenge since the dreaded "Road Runner Ruckus" of 2009.  That would be the summer my daughter's wedding took place.  The year of destiny when she not only picked a man to spend the rest of her life with, but, more importantly, she picked the wedding colors that would seal her fate.

Picking your wedding colors doesn't seem like a big deal.  Unless you happen to pick Red, Orange, and Yellow which, in my frank opinion, would freak any mother out, especially if that mother is ME.  Once the colors were chosen it was then my job to host a garden reception using said colors while perilously trying hard not to have it all look like Halloween-though I did think of running with the idea as it is a sadly underused wedding theme.

After breathing in a paper bag and sharing my plight with many an understanding friend I finally decided I could pull off such a challenge.  My idea was to use baskets and baskets of potted flowers and go with a country vineyard sort of wishful notion.

As the day approached my good friends Dave and Sharie arrived on the scene a week early to lend a generous helping hand.  Sharie was an unsung hero who worked tirelessly behind the scenes. Dave was a miracle worker too; he lifted, carried, set things up, took things down, all with very little complaining (that's the miracle part).

Then an unexpected public offering of generosity was presented...

A very thoughtful someone, upon hearing details of the wedding colors, offered up a lovely accoutrement that contained all the perfect hues.  She offered up this beauty that defies description:

In my shock and horror, my "No, but thank you for your very kind offer" belched out a little more harsh and spewed out without any polite mask of contempt like, "NO THANK YOU!"  A little awkward but that was the end of the affair, or so I thought.  Dave, upon hearing the unfortunate yet unbridled disdain in my reply simply waited for me to leave so that he could abduct the offending object and display it at the wedding without my knowledge.

Not only did he display it, but he told the photographer it was a very "special family heirloom" and encouraged her to take lots of pictures of it as the loathsome creature made its rounds at the reception.

It made it's first appearance on one of the food tables 

(in front of the tiered basket) as it was being laid out. 

Until it became overcrowded with more baskets of food.

Next Dave put it on another table up food being set up,

luckily that too got overcrowded...

So then it spent some time greeting guests

as they sought for refreshment...

Then off to spend some time at the BBQ...

until the popular bird starting making its way

through the guest tables.

Dave had all the guests posing for pictures with the bird!

Finally it graced the Bride and Groom's table:

Where it apparently spent the rest of the evening...

I was completely unaware until the photos came back from the wedding.

And now, thanks to Dave, our little road runner--or seriously, it could be a rooster, or a molting chicken perhaps--whatever it is, it has indeed become a very "special family heirloom" that is now safely packed in my luggage as I head off to help DAVE and Sharie with their daughter's wedding.

Sweet Road Runner Revenge!

Two Sisters on Holiday

Last year, due to a wedding reception, our yard looked like it could grace the cover of a garden magazine.  This year however, it wouldn't even find itself eligible for even the back cover of "Wilderness Weekly", if a magazine such as that exists.

The day before my birthday I decided that I'd been ignoring the yard for too long.  I was determined to enjoy a care-free summer birthday on a weed-free lawn so I donned my garden gloves and got to work.  Unfortunately the sun went down before I finished eradicating all evidence of the jungle theme that had long overtaken the yard.  I had managed everything but a small stretch in the very front of the house, which was naturally the place where the hardest most aggravating weeds were lodged.  This meant only one thing--
cussing my way to the finish line...on my birthday.

All night I dreamed of pulling noxious weeds.  And when morning broke I was exhausted.  Suddenly my eyes opened with great alarm sensing that my sister, who was in town for a visit,  had gotten up and finished the weeding.  THE REALLY HARD NOXIOUS WEEDING.

I sprang from my bed and looked out the window and indeed the weeds were gone!  I quickly got dressed and headed down the stairs and out the front door to scold her...she was supposed to be on vacation!  Not weeding the hardest part of my lawn!

As I stood on the grass and inspected her incredible handiwork I suddenly realized the wrong sister had weeded my yard.  The telltale signs of my SISTER-IN-LAW'S peculiarities revealed the true identity of the birthday weeder.

All the weeds had been eradicated except for a small untouched patch of rapscallions.  A little "weed holiday" I call it.

You see my sister-in-law has this peculiar habit [I call it a disorder].  Whatever project she's in the middle of, be it painting a wall, or sewing, or cleaning, or whatever venture she's aptly engaged in, she suddenly skips a spot in a highly noticeable place and then keeps going as if nothing was wrong.  In the painting industry they actually refer to this as a "holiday", I call it "perplexing", while she considers it "amusing".

As you can see below, there in my FRONT yard, she'd weeded everything but a little spot.  She completely skipped it over and continued weeding.

Now I'm not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, or judge a birthday weeder's good intentions, that is unless I'm trying to discover just who to thank for weeding PART of my lawn, but not all of it.

Then, I couldn't resist adding a little  yard sign...

Then I went and thanked her for a job almost well done!

Meanwhile, my real sister, the one on vacation, was doing just that...sleeping in on her much needed summer break.  Apparently they're both good at enjoying a nice holiday.

Technical Difficulties

During a long road trip our video player stopped working.  This may have been a epic tragedy seeing that we had 6 very bored teenagers in the car with us.  Sensing impending doom, we improvised with our stealthy McGyver skills:

Using two rubber bands, a non-skid mat, an FM tuner, and an i-pod touch--we were back in business.

Not pretty but it did the job.  On with the show.

Bottom Feeders

Mitchell and his friend recently discovered a new way to make a quick and easy buck: become bottom feeders.  This, by definition, is one that feeds low on the food chain; a scavenger.  And that, by no coincidence, would be the exact methodology for Mitchell's newest enterprise.

Due to my advanced motherly-radar-system [MRS], Mitchell's exploitations were uncovered before the whole ordeal could be officially classified as a major scam.  Thankfully this mommy gig
has helped me develop a keen sense of awareness-what I call "parental paranoia".  This basically means I can spot a little white lie as soon as it's uttered by any of my offspring, I know when unbrushed teeth are being falsely passed off as brushed from a mile away, and I've developed a keen eye which enables me to discern when a flagrant case of boxer fraud has been committed-which is when a child claims to have changed their underwear after being sent up for a shower when indeed the boy is clean and the underthings are not.  But most important of all, I can hear the sound of a scam a mile away.  Which is exactly the sound I heard over the weekend.

And what exactly does a scam sound like you ask?  Well, in this particular case it's the sound of a ten-year old boy rummaging repeatedly in his penny bank.  The third time I heard Connor run upstairs followed by the rattle of change, I officially raised our personal homeland security threat level to orange and launched a full-blown investigation.

After a quick minute of motherly detective work this is what I uncovered:

Connor has a Wii but spends most of his life dreaming of the day his brother Mitchell will let him get on his X-box.

On this particular day, the day of the incident,  when Connor had his friend Severin over, they spent a good part of the morning begging and pleading with Mitchell to let them play a game on his x-box.  And of course Mitchell spent a good part of the day repeatedly telling them NO.

Then MItchell was suddenly seized with the thought that here was an opportunity to make a few bucks.  So Mitch and his friend came up with the big idea to start charging the boys by the hour for the privilege of playing the x-box, which the two naive 10-year olds were more than happy to pay. 

 

Every hour on the hour you'd hear them bound up the stairs and raid Connors penny bank..

 

At first I thought it was so nice of the older boys to finally let the younger ones have a crack at the x-box.  Until I soon realized that the older boys were in another room unusually content with video games made "for babies".  The kind of video games that collect dust and are only played by young girls and small uncoordinated children, games like "Mario Party" and "Disney Princess; Enchanted Forest".  Meanwhile the younger boys were playing war on the x-box.   Hmmmmm...something wasn't adding up.

 

Then at the sound of change rattling from upstairs, it suddenly clicked...I was hearing...A SCAM.

In all, Mitch had made about 10 bucks before I figured it all out.
TEN BUCKS! A small price to pay for being a gullible little brother.

And now...as for Mitch...next time he wants to eat I think I'll charge him ten bucks for a fork and perhaps another ten for the plate.  We'll see who's the bottom feeder now!

The Tricky Business of UNfriending

I've gotten myself into another pickle.  Seems to be my forté--dubious incidents of  awkwardness. And in this particular episode,  I've found myself befriending a neighbor who happens to be a complete stranger.  Sounds harmless right?  Not so.

It all started when a REAL friend sold their home in town and decided to move out to the country.  They bought a house not far from ours and moved in right before school got out.  Once they moved in, I started seeing their cars pass mine on the highway.  And of course I always wave to my friends.

As I started giving friendly waves I began to notice that the husband, who happens to drive a silver Chevy truck sporting with a giant roof-top tool rack, seems to be driving back and forth from home to town quite excessively.  In fact, way way too much.  It took me several weeks of waving to finally notice that sometimes it was my friend and sometimes it was not.  Though it was always the same truck, same color, same tool rack, but sometimes not my friend behind the wheel.

To my alarm, I realized there's TWO silver Chevy trucks both featuring identical tool racks driving back and forth on the SAME stinkin' road!  This means that half the time I've been waving to some guy I totally don't even know.  Seriously AWKWARD.  Even more so since he's now waving BACK as if we've been buddies for years!

I can imagine that my new nameless friend, when he first saw me wave, began wondering why some lady was eagerly waving at him every day as I passed him on the road.  It probably confused the poor guy at first but then, curiously,  he decided that he'd give me a wave back.  And nowadays, when I pass him, he's often the first to start the waving rituals.

This is altogether eerily like Facebook. 

Like when you hastily pressed the "Add Friend" button and then suddenly had second thoughts and you realized you really should have hit the "Cancel" button instead.  TOO LATE.   Now we're friends-irrevocably.  The you-wave-at-me-and-I'll-wave-at-you kinda friends.

Then I began to wonder...did he befriend me out of politeness or out of pity? Perhaps I confused the poor fellow.  Or did he think my hair looked particularly nice one day (the rare day I didn't have it back in my horrid looking pony tail) so he thought he'd give in and wave back at the friendly chick with the flowing long hair?  The possibilities are endless.

So then I felt bad if I didn't keep waving.  After all, he'd wave to me first...or did I??

Then with horror I realized he was about my very age.  That's when I finally decided I'd better not wave at him any more so as not to give him any misguided impressions.  Yikes! Could he have thought I was flirting?  or that I'm desperate?  or insane? And what, in heaven's name, would I do should we accidentally run into each other filling up at a gas station?  That would be, well, triple awkward-if there is such a thing.  So I just stopped waving.

But "waver-dude" as I call him, keeps waving to me even though I started giving him the cold shoulder.  But this hasn't stopped him.  And now I'm feeling like a jerk.  A big -un-neighborly jerk.

I starting thinking about how secretive and easy it is to un-friend someone on Facebook.  I need some sort of button to click because

I'm paranoid about running into the guy and having to explain what a total idiot I am for waving at him the first place and then having to give him that "It's not you, it's me" breakup speech.

The terrible thing of all is that now that I'm so paranoid, I rarely even wave to my REAL friend!  I just duck/hide/ swerve off onto another road at any sign of any silver Chevy pick-up! 

In the meantime, I've been avoiding driving into town altogether.