Category Archives: ass

I swear, this isn’t a post about being sick…

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Because, oh GOD, do I hate blog posts about being sick. But I gotta say – I’ve been sick. The kind of sick where you have to stop and rest walking from the living room to the kitchen (in a relatively small house). And if there is no furniture en route – like when heading down the hall to the bathroom – you just lay down on the floor and moan. I’m talking crying sick. Yes – I actually cried yesterday because I felt so bad. Don’t worry – no H1N1 or anything like that going on – just the worst cold in the history of colds.

And now I’m done talking about being sick. I only mentioned it because I wanted to use my illness and subsequent medications for the HUGE brain fart I had today. For the past several days of being sick, I kept thinking that I really needed to feel better by today because we had my little cousin’s birthday party at the zoo, plus we were going to be meeting friends afterwards. So I have spent the past week shoving zinc up my nose (zycam, anyone?) and drinking tea and taking approximately 67 different cold remedies to try to get well by today. And although yesterday I felt like I was actually going to die any minute I woke up this morning feeling pretty good. Well, not good exactly, but not sick. More like “leftover” sick. Like when you get run over y a bus and the next day you feel “leftover” injured. Like that.

But I was upright, not completely coughing up a lung, and I didn’t have to stop and rest on a 20-foot walk, so I figured I was good enough to go. So I got out of bed at 7:30 am, showered and got ready. Then I took any cold medicine that wouldn’t make me drive off a bridge, woke up the kids, got them fed and ready and we took off on the hour-long drive. We got to the zoo, parked, walked, and fought 200 rude Amish people to get up the stairs to the gates (not that Amish people are generally rude – just this group).

I told the girl at the gate that we were there for a birthday party and she looked at me like I was speaking in tongues and said. “Do you have tickets?” “No – we just got an invitation that said to tell them at the gate.” “But you still need to pay admission.” “Um..no – it’s included in the birthday party.” “I don’t think so.” “Yes. We don’t have to pay. It’s part of the party.” “Hold on.”

And I waited. And waited. And waited, while she talked to the other twit in the box. And just as I was thinking about what a complete idiot this chick was, she came back and said, “You’re right – you don’t need a ticket.” But before I got to bask I the glory of my RIGHTNESS, she said, “But…um…that party is tomorrow.

DOH!!!

I blame the meds.

Old Men and Red Pants and Pink What?

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Boy, I suck at the blogging lately. And as usual, I will make my “busy, oh so busy” defense. But I really am.

I am in the process of trying to get the house and yard ready for a birthday party for mr b, which is easier said than done, given that a) we’re busy – duh, b) we live like big fat pigs and there is a TON of cleaning or organizing to do, and c) mr b is the king of 80% done projects, so there are a lot of unfinished projects around the house. So it’s been a delightful time for one and all in our household.

Notice how I didn’t mention mr b’s age. See, I was all ready to tell you but lately, I have been reading the blogs of some of my friends and they are also having birthday celebrations for people at or around mr b’s age. And those people are THEIR FATHERS!!!! OK, fine! He’s 50! And even though he robbed the cradle with me, I am close enough behind to feel it breathing on me. So if your mom or dad or grandma is 50, don’t tell me. Let me remain blissfully deluded that I am the same age as all of you and not enough older that I was in college when you were all watching Sesame Street. Kthx!!

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I think I mentioned that the girl joined baton. She loves it, and I am glad. I joined when I was about her age, too (and actually – Lord – stayed with it through two years of college – Titan Twirler – woo!). Anyhoo, when the girls march in parades, there are “marching moms” that walk along the parade route with them. Not so much my bag – I’m content to sit on the curb and cheer and take photos, but I am willing if they need me. Or at least I was until this Friday’s homecoming parade (the new girls didn’t march), when I discovered that the “marching moms” have uniforms. Oh yes. They have nice little white golf-style shorts with the team logo on it. Not so bad, right? Until you look down and see that they also wear red pants. No – they aren’t even pants. They’re slacks. RED SLACKS. Which appeared to have an elastic waist. DANGER DANGER DANGER!!!!!

I’m sorry, but there is no way that this ass is going onto those pants. No, never, NOOOOOO. The woman who runs it is the same that was running it back in 1974 when I first joined and her style hasn’t changed since. I take that back – she updated her style when she was the high school majorette sponsor and she discovered headbands. Sequined headbands. Worn not like a cute hairband, but like a dorky sweatband. Sometimes with poufy things on them. She still loves those – they are part of the uniforms, from the little ones up to the high school. Of course, now that I think about it, I’d rather wear a sequined headband than red slacks, but the likelihood of me wearing either is somewhere between “Um…no” and “HAHAHAHAHAHAHA…no.”

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Finally, I need to share with you what I saw today. Prepare yourself because it’s a horrible crime against humanity. Are you ready?

Are you sure? Because it’s bad!

OK, then…

I KNOW!!!!!!!!!!!

Asscam

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I’m having that My Brain Is A Day Ahead Syndrome today. You know – when you keep thinking that it’s Friday, but then you come to your senses and realize, “Damn! It’s only Thursday!” And despite that, you keep doing it over and over and a little piece of you dies inside every time you do it, but you keep doing it over and over because you are old and clearly burned off too many brain cells back in college and you keep thinking more and more about maybe calling off tomorrow, since you can’t possibly come in after such a big letdown as “Damn! It’s only Thursday!” even thought you know you wont because you’re a working mom and you know you have to save up your days for more important things like sick kids and doctor’s appointments and hangovers.

Don’t you hate that?

Speaking of doctor’s appointments, I had to take mr b to get the ol’ asscam yesterday. You know what the best part mr b’s colonoscopy is? The fact that it’s his colon getting -oscopied and not mine. He was all loopy from the drugs afterwards and was “joking” around with everyone. Note the quotes. At one point, he slurred to the doctor, “Have you ever found, say, a 2-foot tapeworm in someone?” The doctor said that he hadn’t, but his colleagues had. Then he said, “Thank goodness. I would throw up on the spot.” Now, don’t get me wrong – I would, too. I came near it when the cat got worms (there are few things more disgusting than a still-writhing worm hanging from a cat’s asshole). But it struck me as funny that a man who spends 10-12 hours a day up to his elbows in asshole couldn’t handle the sight of a tapeworm. I’m sure he sees grosser things daily.

Well, now that I’ve induced nausea in at least three of you, I think I’ll take my leave.

Oh – in case you were wondering, mr b’s ass is fine.