I got Nothing

Ok I just keep staring at the screen and it keeps staring back. I think I'm going to take a little hiatus on posting on my blog until I can get my mental juices flowing again and get beck to a normal schedule at work. The good news is that now I will have time to start visiting your blogs again. :) See ya in the funny papers. Love Rick.

Forgiveness redux, Santa's DWI, and things you shouldn't eat.

When I wrote about forgiveness last time I forgot one thing. One of the ways our minds protects us is that as time passes it pushes bad memories and circumstances farther back into our brain. This lessens the pain and dulls the sharpness of what happened. When we don’t forgive, it keeps the memories in the forefront of our minds at all times and doesn’t allow time to do its healing work. You see forgiveness is for us, not them. Don’t know why I wrote that.

So, there is, I am told, a song called “Santa Got a DWI” (driving while intoxicated). As the story goes, my friend, her husband, and their small child were driving home from grandmother’s house and heard this song.

Flashback to earlier that evening, getting ready to GO TO grandmother’s house. Everyone is in the pick-up truck and the father remembers he has forgotten the child’s Christmas present that’s supposed to be from Santa. So he goes back in to get the present and on the way grabs a beer out of the fridge. On his way back to the car he sets the beer down on the TV…Right next to the milk and cookies they left out for Santa.

Upon returning home, the parents come into the living room to find the child staring wide-eyed and pointing at the beer on top of the TV. “What’s Wrong honey?” they asked.

“Mama,” replied the child. “I know why Santa got a DWI. He’s been getting into our refrigerator and drinking Daddy’s beer.”

Remember Mistletoe and Poinsettias are poisonous for pets and kids (you shouldn’t be eating them either). J

A stinky Christmas tradition

My mom and dad have this rather disturbing holiday tradition. Other people have mistletoe, caroling, and, eggnog but not us, noooo. We have Christmas Poo. I don’t know how it all got started, but from what I’ve been able to piece together, it seems that for Christmas one year, one of them received from the other (which one did what is still a matter of dispute), a Christmas Poo. And by Christmas Poo I mean to say that said gift was a very realistic, very lifelike, in the ewww don’t step in it sense, rubber doggie turd.

Now the disturbing part of all this is that, every now and then, this thing keeps turning up in various strategic and surprising, if not always embarrassing, places. It has been known to strangely materialize in peoples’ shoes, gift boxes, shower drains, pockets, hats, etc.

Now my father loves peanut butter pie. My mother knows this. My father, however, rarely gets peanut butter pie because my mother also loves my father and as you can probably tell from the name, peanut butter pie has a tendency to clog up peoples’ arteries and contribute to their becoming, as we say in the business “breathing impaired.” Well, my father, Dad, as I like to call him, and I, are a bit alike in the sense that we both sometimes do things that we like but that are at the same time not always in our best interest. So it happened to be one day that dear ol’ dad was in a restaurant having lunch. And after having eaten his fill and then some, dear ol’ dad discovers that lo and behold, said restaurant’s feature dessert for the day just so happens to be the fabled and ever elusive peanut butter pie. Being full, and not able to eat another bite, and also remembering scenes from Monty Python, dad, in his wisdom, decides to get the peanut butter pie in a to-go box. Upon arriving home he promptly refrigerates the unmarked box on the lowest shelf under the pizza box, just behind the three day old casserole dish and well out of mom’s sight.

Fast forward to 3a.m. that night. Dad quietly sneaks down the stairs and into the kitchen. Salivating like crazy, he opens the little Styrofoam box, anticipating peanut butter pie but finding instead, that’s right, rubber doggie poo. It was widely reported that the sound of sobbing could be heard coming from the kitchen.

Another time Dad is at the place he does business with the people with whom he does business. They are all standing around in a circle talking, and when Dad opens up his portfolio, and out falls the very realistic looking poo. Finding my mothers new hiding place mildly amusing and thinking nothing more about it, right in the middle of conversation, Dad bends down, picks up the poo, and puts it in his pocket. In his own words, “Come to think of it now, they were all looking at me kind of funny.”

No, I'm not dead. :)

My Last Day Off Work Was:October 28. The higher ups, in their infinite wisdom, have now increased my hours. No time for little things like eating, sleeping, housework. Much less Important things like blogging. I'll be back around next week. Love Ya'll miss ya'll.

Justice

A taste of life

One time I was at the bakery in a grocery store. There were these two little kids, a boy and his little sister, standing there,pressing their little faces against the glass, looking at the cookies. They couldn’t have been more than five or six.

The lady behind the counter asked if they wanted some cookies. You could tell they did by the longing in their eyes, but the little boy said “No ma'am, we don’t have any money.” It was the saddest most pitiful little puppy dog face I’d ever seen on a kid. It made me smile.

Without missing a beat the lady gave them a big cheerful smile (I selfishly grabbed a piece of it for myself) and said, “Money? That’s ok sweetie you don’t need any money, I made these two just for you.” (yes she actually talked about money as if it was it was something to be disdained. Another wonderful gift. I stole some of that one too.) And she gave two cookies to the little boy.

That made me happy. It also made me happy when he gave a cookie to his little sister first, before he hungrily devoured his own. Just a little glimpse of the man I hope the little boy will become. I walked off with a big smile and a distant look, forgetting what I had come for in the first place, but taking with me the two stolen gifts from the baker, cheerfulness and generosity. And one from the kid, hope. It tasted way better than any cookie.

Is this A Normal Conversation?

ME: Mmm, hey, that air freshener smells good.

MONICA: You know I read somewhere that a new restaurant just opened up somewhere around here, and they serve calf fries.

ME: You would get an air freshener that smells like sugar cookies when we’re on a diet.

MONICA: I don’t understand how anybody eats those things.

ME: It smells like vanilla. Next time I make sugar cookies I’m going to use extra vanilla.

MONICA: I mean just thinking about it makes me sick. Ewww.

ME: Cause that would make them smell like…What?! What are you talking about?

MONICA: Calf fries. You know fried calf testicles. Who would want to eat them? Why? What are you talking about?

ME: Sugar cookies…Well, YOU eat snails.

MONICA: You mean Escargot? But that’s different.

ME: They're snails!

MONICA: Yeah but at least they're not testicles. I don’t see how guys eat them. I mean biting one in half,(Makes biting motion with her teeth) doesn’t that just make you cringe?

ME: (Me getting uncomfortable look on my face) well it does NOW. Look, I don’t want to talk about this anymore.

MONICA: OK… Besides, we can’t have sugar cookies anyway. We’re on a diet.

I would just like to add that Monica is being a "Kiss Nazi" today. I keep chasing her around the house trying to get a kiss, but she has a little cold and says that she's afraid that she'll give it to me, But I don't get sick very often so I don't care. I've gotten close a couple of times but she's too quick. I go in for the lips and I get the cheek. It's so sad. :(

Go ahead, say something about the picture. You know you want to. :) It's ok she gave me permission to post it. (besided I don't need permission, I'm the boss in my house. Isn't that right Honey?)