Saying yes...

Really?? Or Alternate Title: Truckling to the Low Brow Tastes of Readers

A new-fangled nighttime bra that erases those pesky cleavage wrinkles?? I don't know about you, but I think I'll take the wrinkles over wearing this thing... and if I did have to wear it, I'd probably rip it off in my sleep ala Von and her night guard.

I have to say, I found this part kind of amusing...

Before using La Decollette, please make sure that you moisturize your cleavage with your regular nightcream.

Following these directions is a photo of a lovely woman wearing a pearl necklace. I guess we know we know what kind of night cream we should be using while ironing out those rascally wrinkles...

On the Road Observation

While on the road last week, the lamblets and I spied a line of dump trucks leaving a construction site and merging into traffic. They were all so evenly spaced, all going the same speed, one after the other. "They look like ducklings!" I said. We decided they were trucklings. I think that's the first time I've ever thought dumptrucks looked cute.

Not Really Fair...

This weekend, while cranking up a song I love, EL reminded me it was about being a man... and I thought about it. There are two songs I really like, about being a man... and what two songs came to mind about being a woman?? They're not really comparable are they... even if one is a classic anthem of sorts, it still sounds like it could be used for a tampon commercial.

I know there are good ones out there... there have to be... I just can't get the last one out of my head... it's like my music palate has been blown.

 

Until you show your birth certificate proving that you're God, you don't get to decide... OK???

EL recieves a monthly newsletter from a program she's in at school... a program for kids who scored on the upper edges of testing and who might benefit from extra activities and connections... so far the newsletters and the program has been hit or miss, but it's early. If anything, she'll be able to say she was in the program which will benefit her when trying to get into colleges.

Today's newsletter had an interview with an admissions professional at a noted university. I won't name it, but I believe Mr. Thundra went there... (Mr. Thundra will be thankful he went there then... and not now...)

In said article, the admissions person said something to the effect that she looked at all social networking when deciding if and when a person would be accepted. I'm not worried about EL. As I've often said, she was 50 when she was born and probably has more sense than most. What EL did say though was, "That's not really fair. I'm guessing that the admissions person did even more than most people do now (EL has heard rumor about freer days), but had the benefit of it not being documented!"

She had a point...

She went on to say how in this day and age, you're expected to share everything... which made me realize my generation had something over the teenagers of today. We had the safety of discretion by default. We also have failing memories on our side. I know I was more poorly behaved than EL when in high school (while still receiving stellar grades!!)... Grizzled was FAR WORSE! We just have no public record... only hazy memories which can be denied when the need arises. "Mom! So and so was an asshole!! I never did that! I mean, really! Come ON!!!"

It also had me thinking though... if Ms. Admissions did have a sketchier past, why not be more forgiving of those coming in who are too open and honest about their activities?? There's got to be a tipping point when we accept that almost anyone had a sketchier past and we get past it...  Of course, there's always one person who was more lily white, and this person is most likely your admissions officer...

So... if she did not have a sketchier past and was truly one of those few who walked the straight and narrow every time, don't you think she's probably in the minority?? And when will the minority stop getting to decide what's right for the majority?? Frankly, I'm kind of tired of it. I'm kind of tired of having what are really normal experiences and then being told I am denied access to the real world due to those experiences. Frankly, I think I live in the real world... everyone else? I'm not so sure. I think they might be living in a fairytale and they're the ogre.

Calm before the storm??

Some work found its way to me... not a lot, but something... and something with the promise of more. I learned that long ago... sometimes it just takes a little to prime the pump and pretty soon, voila, you're swimming in it. 

One can hope.

It's been a long, dry season... or five...

Thunder Orbs are Everywhere!

I even found mini-orbs infiltrating my car. I think they're thundra's spies... and put subliminal messages in our heads. Right after I spied this herd of orbs, I had a strange craving for mango fries...

I wish we still had this...

... rediscovered while unearthing another post...repost from April, 2007... And I think I have even reposted before, but wtf...

We would have died

My eldest lamblet has always been interested in history. Since both Grizzled and I are as well, we've always been happy to help her explore the past. A number of years ago she was really curious about pioneers. I had a couple of good books, with lots of photos that showed the bizarre meshing of lifestyles that was part of the pioneer life. It was not uncommon to see men and women in full dress standing next to their sod house which may or may not have had something grazing on it.

My eldest lamblet was having a hard time grasping the concept of the sod house. Yes, she saw pictures, yes we explained, but it was apparent she was going to need more. It was just the beginning of the gardening season and we were enlarging a couple of beds so we figured we'd build a sod house replica! How hard could it be???

Oh. My. God.

Our little sod house (as you can see in progress) was only about 36 inches wide and 22 inches deep. I think it only reached a height of about 18-20 inches. The digging up and cutting of the sod, the hauling and arranging of the *bricks* was brutal and it wasn't like Grizzled or I were wimps.

And... this wasn't even virgin, prairie sod. When I had mentioned in passing to my father that we were going to build a mini-sod house, he went off on the lack of integrity of our root structure... blah, blah, blah. Yes, Dad, I know, but like I said, it's a MINI-sod house. Geeze!

We were lucky it wasn't virgin, prairie sod. We were lucky it wasn't a full-size house. It became glaringly apparent to Grizzled and me (eldest lamblet quit early in the day, I can't blame her) that had we had to build a true sod house, we would have died. Either the building of it would have killed us or the elements, whichever got to us first.

I have to say though, I loved that little sod house.We tossed a makeshift roof on it and it stayed with us through the season. I had had intentions of putting some oiled newsprint on the window frame that Grizzled and the eldest lamblet made and whitewashing the inside, but decided it was fabulous just the say it was. Besides, I was exhausted and didn't feel up to a lesson in crushing down lime...

All summer long, that house looked like it was waiting for someone. My eldest lamblet thought maybe some prairie fairies would show up. I kind of expected to see a little horse and wagon rig going across the backyard, but I never did. If I had, I don't think I would have owned up to it anyhow. Our neighbors were curious enough as to why we were wasting precious time making a sod house. It was fun, but I'm glad we didn't have to make a real one.

We would have died.

 

 

More Snow

 

:(

 

 

March is like...

...the 5 or so minutes during your workout where you are past the novelty, but have not yet gotten to the blessed relief of breaking a good sweat, and with it, a better outlook on life.

March is like... that moment in childbirth where you're ready to have someone use power tools to remove this thing... you're sniveling and weak, but have not yet gotten to the "Fuck this! I'm getting this over with! Let's push till 20!

March is like... the trip up the stairs, just trying to make it to the bathroom, after a long ride at the end of a vacation where your father refused to stop for a pee break and you had a large lemonade just before leaving...

March is like... the yawn that just won't complete itself, thus causing you to panic, thinking you'll never, ever have a deep breath again...

March is like... ripping a Band-Aid off, although more painful and not as quick...

March is like... that itch you can't reach on your back...

March seems like an eternity. Fortunately, it's NOT!

 

On the Road: Filler Edition

One of my nieces said:

"Tim Gunn is the Chuck Norris of gay men!"

Kathleen suggested we needed to embellish with rules... feel free.