WeiRD

It's not the glittery snow, frolicking children or festive music that really tickle my fancy this time of year.  Come to think of it I'm not sure I even know what my fancy IS let alone whether it's ever been tickled - that's probably for the best.  Anyway, what really accelerates my heart rate during the Christmas season is THIS:

Whoa, I stand corrected.  I just felt my fancy tickle.  I would bathe by candlelight in this stuff if not for the cold factor, so I have to be careful not to buy it very often or the likes of my thighs might find themselves expanding to the outer limits.  The main struggle, however, is that my kids love it too.  I bought a 1/2 gallon a few days ago and after helping himself to some of Cory's birthday pie Drew asked for an additional serving of ice cream.  I said, "No, you just had pie.  Too many sweets isn't good for you."  What I really meant was, "No, because you leave for school tomorrow at precisely 8:30 am at which point the Dreyer's, a spoon and I have some bonding to do."  I know I'm a hypocrite, but at least I'm not alone.  Who sends a stronger mixed message, me or Marlboro?

Or Heineken?

Or Dove?

Oops.  How did this get in here?  Hi Carter. I love you, and not just because you're practically the only heterosexual male on HGTV and can whip out crown molding in an afternoon but because you're just...so...pretty.

Here's another picture that's not entirely relevant that I took in the Bahamas last week.  For some reason it reminded me of Dooce.

And what do you think is weirder, hypocrisy from Marlboro in ENGLISH or mixed messages from Camel in GERMAN?

I don't know what it is about German but it just seems like an angry language to me.  As I read that message on the cigarettes I don't even see the camel, I just envision a stocky woman with a braid wound too tightly around her head yelling at me while spit flings everywhere.  I bet that's why they picked a Camel for the packaging and not a German lady.

What's my point again?

Dude, What's With My Car?

Monday I drove my car.

When I got home I smelled burning rubber.

Tuesday I drove my car.

When I got home I smelled burning rubber.

Wednesday I drove my car.

My brakes made funny noises and when I got home I smelled burning rubber.

Thursday I didn’t drive my car because I was busy lathering butter on my thighs under the guise of gravy and potatoes and giving thanks.

Friday I popped the hood before driving my car.

I may as well have been Charlie Sheen walking into abstinence class.  Now what?

Saturday morning I called the mechanic.  “I think I need new brakes and something smells like burning rubber.”

Saturday afternoon the mechanic called back.  “You’re right, you need new brakes.”  “And the burning rubber smell?” I asked.  “Well ma’am, that was probably from the shopping back we found stuck to your muffler.”

Oh.

14,600 Days Old

It’s official.

I am 40 today.

Unlike the first day of my birth I won’t cite my height and weight or how well I’m adjusting to the outside world. Suffice it to say that I’m tall enough for all the rides at Disneyland, small enough for one seat on an airplane, and while I continue to lament my inability to sustain any kind of a tan I am proud to say I am at least successfully weaned from nursing. You might assume this accomplishment goes without saying, but I guarantee there’s a Navajo Indian out there somewhere who just gasped and exclaimed, “Already?!” Still, it’s comforting to know that there was at least one moment in my 40 years where my weight was announced with joyous acclaim. Eight pounds, and the “smallest” of my parents’ 7 children.

I’ve also decided to declare it as pure coincidence that I’m somewhat feverish and constipated today, neither of which is likely to improve with the bacon cheeseburger and frosty I had from Wendy’s for dinner. One might think that a birthday spent preparing for Thanksgiving while battling an oncoming bug and monitoring my NyQuil stash would be a major downer, but that’s been the brilliant part of my day. It hasn’t.

I woke up to my husband nuzzling my neck on his way out to work as he whispered birthday wishes and was met a while later by Drew, who descended the stairs and promptly launched into the Happy Birthday song and greeted me with a hug. Friends have been ridiculously incredible, and my siblings and parents have rocked my world.

It’s not the first time I’ve felt like the luckiest girl in the world.

And I hope it’s not the last.

What I Know For Sure - Bahamas Edition

We're back.  I feel whole again.  All it took was a week at the beach with no cell phones or computers and built in entertainment for the kids where the only decision I had to make was whether all that time in the pool qualified as a shower.  I have so much to talk about and so many pictures to show you but I'm worried it will feel like I am rubbing it in your face.  I probably am, but I love you anyway.  It's supposed to be one of the benefits of getting older, that you care less and less about what other people think of you.  No time like the present to test that theory!  So here we go - the top 10 things I know for sure about the Bahamas.

1.  Supposedly Bahamians speak English.  I beg to differ.
2.  Speedos.  Why?  Why?!  WHY?!!
3.  I learned on one of the aquarium tours that Groupers have a life span of only 40 years.  Which means if I was a grouper I would only have three more days to live.  I think if I was a grouper and had a last request it would be, "Hey stupid little boy, stop knocking on the glass already.  I SEE YOU."  It's pretty obvious that groupers don't have a good sense of humor.  You can just...tell.  

4.  It doesn't do a whole lot of good to arrive at the Bahamas airport two hours early when your flight is at 6:30 AM.  It was just like hoping for a date with the boy of  my dreams on my 16th birthday - lots of places to get in line but not a soul in sight.
5.  The sign in our taxi read, "No Drinking!  No Smoking!  No Cursing!  No Sex!  No Drugs!"  In other words, if your name is Courtney Love you'd better arrange your own transportation.
6.  Triscuits are $9.00.
7.  Sunscreen is $26.00.  That's like twenty dollars, and then another six dollars, making twenty-six dollars.  Most people would bring their own from home to avoid such island robbery, but most people don't forget to put their sunblock in their checked baggage rather than the carry on with a 3 oz. limit where such products are thrown in the trash with reckless abandon.  It's okay, I wasn't mad.  I mean, what's the TSA supposed to do what with all those incessant rumors flying around about the Banana Boat company using sunscreen to camouflage all of their explosives?  I totally get it.
8.  Sometimes when you get up at 5:30am to see the sunrise you might notice the swirls of salmon and lavender blossoming and congregating on the "wrong" side, only to realize you're not exactly facing east.  The best thing to do in this situation is get a donut and go back to bed.
9.  My Dad struggles making a human "R" when playing charades in a hotel room, but at least my children are forever aware of the order of the fork. 
10.  From now on when I am stressed and need to close my eyes and go to my happy place, this is what it will look like:

Vacation Haikus

ON HOW I FEEL ABOUT THIS TRIP:

The "Rabbit" is off,
beaches and palm trees await.
Better than Calgon.

CORY'S PACKING STRATEGY:

Hm.  How many bags?
For four people, ONE suitcase.
What does Vern say?  NOT.

HOW BLOGGING WILL GO:

In a word, it won't. 
Daiquiri by pool comes first.
I suck at haikus.

Strengths & Weaknesses

One of my strengths is that I’m always learning stuff.

Unfortunately, one of my weaknesses is that I’m always forgetting stuff.

My problem is that I only learn what I need to for the moment and then I promptly forget it. For example, last year I organized a holiday service project that we have decided to repeat during these holidays. When discussing how to organize it this year one gentleman suggested, “Just do it like you did last year – it was very organized and efficient.”

Doh.

It didn’t seem like the appropriate time to explain that there’s a little man who comes in my sleep and robs me of my memories. I don’t think he’d understand. Why do you think I write this blog, anyway? Contrary to popular belief, it’s not solely for the amusement of having someone look at me quizzically and inquire, “Soooo…a blog, huh? What kind of stuff do you write about?” and have me answer, “Nachos, farting and Hugh Jackman.” No, it’s so one day when Drew comes to me with an assignment to interview me about his childhood I can say, “Check the July 2007 archives.”

On the one hand I suppose it’s good to know that I am capable of “organized” and “efficient”. On the other hand, it would also be nice to remember how to do fractions and who Harriet Tubman is.

I have so many other examples of this problem.

I sure wish I could remember what they are.

"No, I Need 'TUCKS' Not a 'Tux'"

What would you think if I told you I was going to an accounting conference to celebrate my 40th birthday?

Uh-huh.

Right.

Okay.

Now, what if I told you that the accounting conference was in the Bahamas?

And you didn't think there were perks to being married to an accountant.  Technically my birthday falls after we get back, but since the conference fell the week before I decided it was a sacrifice worth making.  I've told you, I'm a giver.  A giver who can't wait for someone else to make her bed already.

In other news, elections are finally over so I can watch "The Biggest Loser" without having to consider the irony of the ticker tape updates flashing at the bottom of the screen.  What is ticker tape anyway?  Am I even using it in the right context?  I'm sorta hoping it's something only old people know about and that by referencing my ignorance I can retain a portion of my youth.  Unlike the time I was listening to my retro iTunes and I said, "Turn it up!  It's by OMD!"  And my kids were like, "OMG?!"  And I said, "No,  O...M...nevermind."  Not to worry, one day they'll be raising their own kids and be all, "Remember Snookie and the Bump It?" and their kids will roll their eyes and go, "As if."

Besides, what do I care?  I'm going to the Bahamas!

Tidbits From Dix: On Sewage Envy

Sorry, are you guys sick of me talking about my Dad?  I can't help myself.  When I wake up to emails like this, what's a girl with a Dad without a blog to do?

"You know how sometimes you just feel inadequate, or you just wish you had something really cool to show off to everybody else but you just don't?  Well, today in the paper I saw an article that made me feel like...well...maybe I'm not such a loser after all.  There is a picture (and I am not making this up) with the following caption: 'Sewage treatment plant operator Joe Polzin shows off a bucket of dried sludge.'"

I try not to be a prideful person, so I asked myself....If I had a bucket of dried sludge, would I show it off?  Would people with bigger or nicer buckets try to show me up?  Would their sludge be drier than mine?  Should I smile or look presidential next to the sludge?

Is there a possible reality show here..."Dancing In The Sludge"or "American Sludge"....So many questions!!  But, I have to hand it to Joe Polzin.  If ever anybody deserved to have his picture in the paper with a bucket of dried sludge, Joe is the man!!  Fair Warning Joe...Pride Goeth Before The Fall!!" ~Dad

 I was curious and googled the article.  Here is the picture of Joe with his sludge:

Sadly, he chose not to smile OR look Presidential.  He seems more like, "Who knew I'd have to muddle through so much crap just to get my picture in the paper?"  Or maybe he was silently chanting, "Only 2 more years 'til retirement.  Only 2 more years 'til retirement."  Uh oh, has anyone told Joe that his 401K is probably full of crap too?!