tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10666200037069034782024-03-13T15:09:45.927-04:00The Transmogrifier FilesRandom crankiness, amused musings and poop.CalvinsMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09588343333464923577noreply@blogger.comBlogger191125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1066620003706903478.post-16442735009330470112013-04-16T21:03:00.002-04:002013-04-16T21:03:53.903-04:00In which the S mother returns with a fucking BANGI shouldn't have answered the door.<br />
<br />
When I DID, I was confronted by a tall dude in a dark suit, with some seriously '80's aviators, surrounded by a cloud of Drakkar Noir and sporting a serious case of "I am very Important."<br />
<br />
Said Legend in His Own Mind asked for the wee ginger midget by name. Full, legal name.<br />
<br />
"What. The fucking. Fuck?" (I actually said this to the man.) <br />
<br />
He flashed a badge and indicated that he was investigating a massive case of ID theft and credit fraud, and he wanted to interview his suspect right away, or I would be facing some serious obstruction of justice and accessory charges. Blah blah blah blah.<br />
<br />
OK. Settle down there, Beretta. Let me see that ID again. I called the husband, who made a few inquiring phone calls and determined that the guy was a legit Fed.<br />
<br />
I examined the badge again, and stepped out on to the front porch to politely explain that he was seriously off on a goose chase, and needed to go investigate his own ass off my property. Cue minor puffery and sputtering.<br />
<br />
I leaned in the door and collared OctoBoy, and told him to fetch his sister.<br />
<br />
"Ah! She IS here!" he crowed triumphantly. <br />
<br />
Out skipped Herself, red ponytail, red glitter shoes and red princess flamenco dance dress, to ask what we needed. Douchebag visibly deflated.<br />
<br />
"This is wee Ginger Midget. Say Hi, honey!'<br />
<br />
"Hi! I am playing Sasquatch-hunting dancing princess. OctoBoy is being the dragon and Fierce GSD is my pony. Bitey is being the Sasquatch....."on she went.<br />
<br />
He politely asked her name, which she gave. He asked her how old she was. She beamed, "FIVE!" and held up the requisite number of fingers. He asked her whet grade she was in, and she babbled about her various Kindergarten adventures without taking a breath for three straight minutes.<br />
<br />
She was then free to go Squatchin' with her brother.<br />
<br />
He was clearly disappointed and frustrated. I went up to my office and retrieved the Smother File, which has various copies and records, going back at least 20 years, detailing the breadth and depth of my biological mom's financial fuckery, and all the various times she had used SnarkGirl's SSN and mine to obtain credit. The folder is about three inches thick thus far, and I suspect it will be gaining at least another ream of papers soon.<br />
<br />
Well, now she's been using Ginger Midget's. To the tune of about ten grand.<br />
<br />
I sent him off with a folder of contact numbers, previous investigators we have worked with, attorneys and other types, and told him we'd be happy to cooperate.<br />
<br />
God fucking damn it.CalvinsMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09588343333464923577noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1066620003706903478.post-4113027801236258702013-03-10T20:52:00.000-04:002013-03-10T20:52:09.319-04:00People watching...I spent the last weekend in Atlantic City, NJ. <i>Voluntarily.</i><br />
<br />
See, the Step-gator has her own business, and there was some sort of Expo at the AC Convention Center, and she wanted to go...but she is a nervous driver. She didn't want to go alone, and Dad didn't want to go with her, so she lured me in with promises of a massage at the Red Door Spa and a weekend with no kids.<br />
<br />
I am a sucker for these things, so we headed out on Friday. plus, it's nice to just get away and have some mommy time. It is nice to hang out with my mom and be able to talk, joke, laugh and otherwise just be together on an adventure.<br />
<br />
The show itself as actually kind of fun (and the vendors gave out a ton of free swag). The buffet food was acceptable, the mojitos were cheap, potent and tasty and the room was nice..<br />
<br />
The people watching was the best part, though. Oh. My. Lord. I saw things that made me pray for the meteors to strike the Earth as soon as possible.<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>There was a lot of mutton trussed as lamb. If you're over 50, spandex push-up bustiers and micro-miniskirts are not your friend. I don't care how many lifts, nips, tucks, fat vacuumings or botox injections you've had, you are still going to look like the Crypt-Keeper in drag.</li>
<li>Some maxi-dresses are exactly that. If the label (tastefully sticking out of the back of the dress) reads "Omar's House of Circus Tents," don't wear it.</li>
<li>Strapless dressed should not be worn with bras that DO have straps.</li>
<li>If you're over an A-cup, elastic-bandeau dresses are Not For You. especially if you're drunk enough to step on the leading edge of the dress and pull the front down to your waist. Those were not pink-nosed puppies we saw, they were goddamned pitbulls -- who had obviously been used for dog-fighting.</li>
<li>Five-inch heels and cheap alcohol do not mix. All that expensive dental work doesn't stand a chance when you're drunk and trying to walk in your stripper shoes. </li>
<li>Gentlemen: skinny jeans look fucking ridiculous. If I can tell whether you dress left or dress right, and as a bonus, can tell if you're a turtle-neck or crew-neck dude below the waist, that's nauseating. If you can['t out your wallet in your pocket, or sit down without causing your dangly bits to be forced back up into your abdominal cavity, your jeans are too tight!</li>
<li>There IS such a thing as too much cologne. I was not winking and hyperventilating due to your overwhelming hotness -- my eyes were watering and I was having an asthma attack.</li>
<li>No white guy in the world has ever or will ever look good in cornrows.</li>
<li>No one wants to see your scrawny pigeon chest, so button up your shirt, Lothario.</li>
</ul>
The humanity on parade was enough to fuel several dozen Bosch paintings.<br />
<br />
It was a wonderful incentive to diet, though!CalvinsMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09588343333464923577noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1066620003706903478.post-49277120527073148842013-03-01T16:01:00.002-05:002013-03-01T16:01:41.994-05:00Burning Ring of FireI am a horrible, mean-spirited, evil wench who delights in the suffering of others -- particularly when it is <i>funny as Hell.</i><br />
<br />
Like, say....someone getting a crotchful of jellyfish sting.<br />
<br />
Oh, yeah, baby. Try keeping a straight face and a mellow disposition when someone tells you a story like that. I guarantee you will pop a hernia trying to stifle the from-your-toes belly guffaws that desperately want to erupt. <br />
<br />
So, late last summer, the in-laws took their annual month long boating vacation, and toodled on down the Chesapeake until they hit the salt line. They pulled into hole-in-the-wall marinas, ate crabs, and generally enjoyed being in the middle of nowhere, with nothing to do and no schedule to keep. (As an aside, that sounds great to me, as well -- though minus the boat action. I fucking hate boats.)<br />
<br />
On the last day of their sail south, they tossed out the anchor and went for a swim. Unfortunately, there were jellyfish. Lots and lots of jellyfish.<br />
<br />
As my MIL was climbing the boat ladder -- an awkward procedure involving hiking your legs up on to the bottom rung while allowing your ass to dangle freely in the water -- she looked between her legs to see, drifting ominously close to her personal regions....a jellyfish.<br />
<br />
She panicked and tried to climb faster, but was a bit ungainly and couldn't hoist herself up fast enough as the jellyfish drifted, as git gently puffed by the hand of God Himself, right into her nethers.<br />
<br />
The carnage was impressive. Just take a moment to consider all the things you do that involve your sit-upon area, every single day. The area was swollen enough to make pants painful to wear, personal cleansing after potty to be downright tortuous and sitting, walking, standing -- basically anything that cause friction in the groin area -- to be intolerable.<br />
<br />
DO you know how sore my whole body was, trying to suppress the hilarity when I heard the story? <br />
DO you think I did so successfully?<br />
<br />
Hell, no. I did not. I still laugh until I cry every time I think about it.CalvinsMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09588343333464923577noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1066620003706903478.post-75603168223332514592013-02-09T14:28:00.002-05:002013-02-09T14:28:34.343-05:00Paranoia and SuspicionSomething is afoot.<br />
<br />
Given that I am about to suffer a "milestone birthday event," I suspect that the husband and various family members are plotting. The nature of said event is of issue: Dad is a notorious prankster and several family members owe me for things I've inflicted upon them.<br />
<br />
Let's face it: I've dished out a lot of pranky crap to those around me -- whether on their birthday or no -- and I know that payback is probably a bigger bitch than I am.<br />
<br />
God forbid it involves clowns. *shudder* <br />
<br />
There have been surreptitious emails and phone calls. Various people have let snippets of info drop.<br />
<br />
I'm developing a twitch. CalvinsMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09588343333464923577noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1066620003706903478.post-22925142348657391112013-02-09T10:41:00.004-05:002013-02-09T10:41:53.327-05:00Tripling down on stupid.Pediem is a prognosticator par excellence. Two days after Miss Drunken Hot Mess got herself bounced from class for shameful inebriation, I got a call from her advisor.<br />
<br />
"She wants to drop the class. I looked at her grades; she's got a high B. What gives?"<br />
<br />
I related the tale, including the call I made to her ResLife rep*, recommending a spot of alcohol education.<br />
<br />
"Ah. That changes things. I'm not signing the slip, then."<br />
<br />
Twenty minutes later, the phone rang again.<br />
<br />
"She claims none of that happened, and you are lying to cover up the fact that you've been harassing her and making her life Hell. She's gotten her parents involved, as well."<br />
<br />
"Fine! I'm formally requesting an Honor Court. There are 24 other students in the class -- one of them her roommate -- who can testify to her condition and behavior, as well as the fact that she has not been singled out for anything in class. If she wants to go for broke, let her."<br />
<br />
"Honor Court? Really? If they decide against her, she can be kicked out..."<br />
<br />
"Hey, she's damaging my reputation by making baseless accusations to cover up her own misbehavior. I'm not going to bear the consequence for her immaturity and inability to hold her liquor. I'll see her and her parents and everyone else in the auditorium to discuss it."<br />
<br />
A week later, we all sat there - Advisor, Department Chair, Dean, ResLife Counselor, Roommate and 23 students -- waiting for the circus to start. The clowns finally straggled in with Miss DHM trailing her parents. She looked like a bus had hit her, and her parents looked a fearsome combination of rage, indignation and bewilderment.<br />
<br />
The proceedings opened, and her father led with, "My daughter is innocent, this is a ridiculous endeavor, she did nothing wrong, the professor is picking on her..."<br />
<br />
The peanut gallery of students engaged in giggling, indignant gestures and eye-rolling. Coughs of "bullshit!" were heard. Even her roommate was seen to mouth, "Are you really going through with this?" to her.<br />
<br />
One by one, we all gave our versions of the event in question. Unsurprisingly, 25 of the 26 of us who were present gave an overwhelmingly similar description. Some of them filled in details from the party itself, but everyone agreed: she was drunk and disruptive in class and had been asked to leave politely.<br />
<br />
As the hearing continued, Miss DHM sank lower in her seat. As she sank, you could see her parents' blood pressure rise. The anger shifted from me to her, and it was clear that someone was going to Get It when we left that room.<br />
<br />
The Dean had had enough of the bullshit, and called everyone to order. Judgement was rendered: she was full of shit, I was clear, and all the witnesses (myself, the students, Department Head) were dismissed. As the door swing shut, it was her, her parents, the Advisor, the ResLife Rep and the Dean.<br />
<br />
Nothing good was going to come of that. The roomie and I hung around in the hall, waiting to see what would shake out, exchanging sympathetic and concerned chatter. Contrary to how she might feel about it, I really did give a shit about her and how she was going to come out of this. Forty-five minutes later, the doors swung open.<br />
<br />
The Dean and Advisor stalked out, both looking steamed. The ResLife Rep came out, shaking her head. "What a friggin' dumbass. Looks like you've got a single from here on out." Miss DHM ran out, sobbing. her parents came out last. Her mother apologized to me, as did her father, and both explained that she would be withdrawing to school to work on her "maturity issues." She just didn't expect that her actions would spiral into such a big deal.<br />
<br />
~!~!~!~!~!~!<br />
<br />
*Dolores, the ResLife Rep, has seen it all. She is a combo of Honey Badger (who doesn't give a shit) and the "Ain't no one got time for that!" lady.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />CalvinsMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09588343333464923577noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1066620003706903478.post-85234777718012864612013-02-07T21:32:00.003-05:002013-02-07T21:32:40.864-05:00Mother Hen says...If you show up to a 9:30 AM class reeking of stale alcohol, smoke and questionable life choices, I am going to give you a Look.<br />
<br />
That Look will cool several degrees if I notice what appears to be either crusted vomit or "gentleman's relish" in your hair. Ditto the smeared eye makeup, missing earring and what appears to be a hell of a hickey on your clavicle.<br />
<br />
If it becomes evident, over the course of the first fifteen minutes of class, that you are still inebriated from the previous night's festivities, due to excessive stumbling, inability to modulate your voice, obnoxious cackling for no apparent reason and falling out of your seat four times in ten minutes, i will not look the other way.;<br />
<br />
Yes, I will embarrass you by calling you out to speak to you in the hall.<br />
<br />
If you can't focus your eyes, stand up straight or speak without slurring, I'm going to ask you to collect your stuff and leave.<br />
<br />
<br />
Jesus Haploid <i>Christ</i>. Have some self-respect. Failing that, have some frickin' common sense.<br />
<br />
(Not being a complete ogre, I let the roommate out of class to escort said student back to the dorm and babysit. Someone is going to be dreadfully embarrassed to come to class next week, I think.)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />CalvinsMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09588343333464923577noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1066620003706903478.post-87680744661697666572013-02-03T13:41:00.002-05:002013-02-03T13:41:37.027-05:00Things have gone Cattywampus.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM6GICUFEFRFiR0DeR8OpenRkPWkI6qcrKh0x3iik-SkdDS_VtDdc89iROz5TjTiQcfUsWgEIOejEVLcOhk84ff6SEXuLmHnoAwKHZncwrHgRQ4B6rW9jhXRfkogjDG19w6khuyjhjY86E/s1600/Cattywampus.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM6GICUFEFRFiR0DeR8OpenRkPWkI6qcrKh0x3iik-SkdDS_VtDdc89iROz5TjTiQcfUsWgEIOejEVLcOhk84ff6SEXuLmHnoAwKHZncwrHgRQ4B6rW9jhXRfkogjDG19w6khuyjhjY86E/s320/Cattywampus.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Her left eye is fogged; as a result her depth perception is for shit. She appears to be part Abyssinian, part tabby and part Dodge Dart.<br />
CalvinsMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09588343333464923577noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1066620003706903478.post-40329252198097652692013-02-03T08:57:00.000-05:002013-02-03T08:57:03.182-05:00Guinness, 1991 - 2012<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdqjpC0qzOnagJVl4BM7k1NQHv3AkMPBbpp-eVaRACWVjN3mdCVGMIapxMwJt3f8ts97e0zFoTh7IaAljf64-hCBX0lSFh1Gi4SYWIwHiyvCC9xS5N4Jw3Bg0ASyAI0LeqvUPw_Nf04uT1/s1600/bill+z+bubba.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdqjpC0qzOnagJVl4BM7k1NQHv3AkMPBbpp-eVaRACWVjN3mdCVGMIapxMwJt3f8ts97e0zFoTh7IaAljf64-hCBX0lSFh1Gi4SYWIwHiyvCC9xS5N4Jw3Bg0ASyAI0LeqvUPw_Nf04uT1/s320/bill+z+bubba.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
It was May 23, 1991. He was a small handful of tabby fur. Poison-green eyes, brick red nose -- both runny due to a massive respiratory infection. He was maybe six weeks old.<br />
<br />
"Look, maybe you can do something for him. We can't keep him. Good luck!"<br />
<br />
He got better. He went to college with me. He weathered heartbreaks and hangovers, family drama of all stripes and disasters. His fur was absorbent and could mop up tears easily. <br />
<br />
He moved to Florida with me, for grad school. He developed a taste for small green lizards, and horked up lizard parts at inopportune moments (often as a form of social commentary, I am convinced). we rode out a hurricane because no shelter in the area would take pets. <br />
<br />
He moved back to PA with me, and was there as I navigated pre-wedding planning and all the drama that goes with it. He stalked the 700 square foot domain of our first shit apartment, and made it clear to the new husband that HE had been in my life first, and as far as he was concerned, the husband was transitory. Shoes were crapped in; butts were placed on pillows. Eventually, detente was achieved, but it took years.<br />
<br />
He inspected the new house carefully, discovered the best nooks and crannies to sun in, and terrorized any mice foolish enough to set paw in the house. The dog we bought was thoroughly cowed within 48 hours, as was the proper order of things. When dog #1 passed, dog #2 was similarly trained quickly.<br />
<br />
He looked on in bemusement as the first baby came home. With resignation as the second one arrived. with indifference as the third one made an appearance.<br />
<br />
As he got older, he spent more time sleeping soundly in the sun, and left the running of the household to the younger cats. As elder statescat, he only weighed in on significant issues, and his judgement was given mighty credence. <br />
<br />
November 6, 2012: I came home to find him at the top of the stairs, struggling to move his back end and crying. Though the vet is literally 2 minutes away, it was the longest drive of my life. The vet kindly told me, with pity in her eyes, that there really was nothing to be done -- there is no cure for old age. Twenty-one is practically Methuselah in cat years.<br />
<br />
He purred in my arms as she gave him his last injection, looking up into my eyes with his poison-green ones. He calmly closed them one last time, and the purring slowed, then stopped.<br />
<br />
I was lost. I sobbed for a few minutes, cradling my cat, and then gently laid his towel-wrapped form on the table. In the waiting room, a woman I had never met before pulled me into her arms and cried with me, and then walked me to my car.<br />
<br />
A week later I picked up a box that was much too small to hold an animal who had been such a large part of my life and my heart. I swore that I would never, ever let an animal get that tied up in my heart again, and that I would never subject myself to that kind of heartbreak.<br />
<br />
January 12, 2013: she was a small bundle of tabby and white fur, one eye permanently clouded white by an untreated infection. Her oine copper eye glared with "fuck you!" as she thrust her paw between the cage bars to grab my upper arm with her claws....CalvinsMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09588343333464923577noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1066620003706903478.post-36396367422722700812013-01-10T14:19:00.004-05:002013-01-10T14:19:48.037-05:00Underwear stickersWe have been lucky in that sibling rivalry has not been a giant issue amongst the three goblins. Each has their own sphere on interest and circle of friends. There are a few overlaps, but for the most part, they all do their own thing. However, with two daughters, that is bound to change.<br />
<br />
About a month ago, the wee ginger beastie howled her way through the living room, tears squirting out of her eyes, snot blowing out her nose...one continuous wail of despair that sounded like all the souls in Hell were being flayed alive, doused in brine and set alight. The noise went right to the base of your skull and wrapped around your brain stem, directing your body to do whatever must be done to shut that Christing noise UP before a blood vessel popped.<br />
<br />
Shocked and alarmed, eldest daughter and I rushed to the source. We checked for blood, broken bones, anything physical that could explain the unholy caterwauling. Finally, she made it clear that the problem was thus:<br />
<br />
Glasses-wearing Snark Girl had received stickers, and the ginger biscuit had gotten none. The humanity! With that nugget of information disclosed, the cacophony started again,<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, eldest daughter and I were gaping at each other.<br />
<br />
"Did I give you any stickers?<br />
"No....not that I remember?"<br />
"Uh, what the heck??"<br />
<br />
We turned back to the wee beastie, denying any inequity in sticker distribution.<br />
<br />
She shot to her feet in righteous anger, stormed up to Snark Girl's room, rummaged around and hurtled herself back down the stairs to hurl the objects of jealousy and contention on the living room floor:<br />
<br />
...a handful of brightly wrapped pantiliners.<br />
<br />
"THESE stickers! UNDERWEAR stickers! She gets pretty underwear stickers and I don't get any and it's not faaaaaiiiiiir!"<br />
<br />
Whereupon the Satanic wailing and waterworks started up again. There was no convincing her that she had not been slighted. <br />
<br />
The next day, I went out and bought several packages of Sandylion stickers, which were accepted as no more than she was due....with a suspicious sniffle and a fierce glare.<br />
<br />
She still has not forgiven us.CalvinsMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09588343333464923577noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1066620003706903478.post-88759888946393353082013-01-01T15:49:00.003-05:002013-01-01T19:53:13.731-05:00Harumpf. (Oh, Hi there! Long time no see...)Balancing 1 husband, 2 jobs, 3 pets (and 3 children) and countless assorted freshmen and douchebags...wait. Freshmen <i>and</i> douchebags? I repeat myself. <br />
<br />
So, I acquired a second job back in late August, which played havoc with scheduling, free time, personal obligations and other such nonsense. Hence the long absence. I am going to try to be a bit more responsible in blogging from here on out. Promise.<br />
<br />
In addition to trying to hammer writing skills into college students who are still in the larval stage, I started working in an elementary school library. k through 8th grade. It's done wonders for helping me come up with creative alternatives to cursing.<br />
<br />
See, the (very elderly and extraordinarily crabby) nun that was running the library hit the unpadded kneelers a few too many times and ended up with a double knee replacement. The Pope himself had to force her into retirement, leaving no one to read stories to children using puppets and goofy voices.<br />
<br />
That simply would not do.<br />
<br />
As I volunteered fairly regularly and subbed for Sister on multiple occasions -- and because I apparently have "SUCKER" tattooed on my forehead in ink that is only visible to nuns -- I was asked to step in. Because the same order runs both the uni and the school, everyone was more than willing to schedule around college classes and elementary obligations and suddenly...BOOM! <br />
<br />
Basically full-to-overflowing commode of commitments, and nary a plunger in sight.The last 7 months in a nutshell:<br />
<br />
"Fuck summer classes. I'm not teaching shit. I may quit altogether!" <i>(Can you say 'burnout?')</i><br />
<br />
"Shit. I am bored. Not bored enough to teach Summer I or II, but...I might miss it a bit."<br />
<br />
"Whoa. Budget's tight." <br />
<br />
"Three overloaded classes for fall? Extra pay? Hell, yes!"<br />
<br />
"Library job? Nah, I have...wait. You talked to the Dean already? Two days on campus, three at the elementary school? Done deal? Both Sisters signed the papers already? Huh?"<br />
<br />
"FUCK THAT MEANS DOUBLE THE FACULTY MEETINGS FUCKFUCKFUCK!"<br />
<br />
"Ugh. I forgod liddle kids gib me germs and I'b had a code for four months."<br />
<br />
"Hi, library supply depot? Lick my 'taint. These are not the book covers I ordered. Also, throw another copy of 'The pout-pout Fish' in our box." <br />
<br />
"The amazing thing is there's little to no difference in teaching kindergarteners and college freshmen."<br />
<br />
"This crop of paper cuts is from research papers. This set is from covering books."<br />
<br />
"NO OVERDUES. Papers or books, doesn't matter."<br />
<br />
"Thank God and Baby Jesus for Christmas break. And booze."<br />
<br />
"Wait. I go back tomorrow? Fuuuuuuck."<br />
<br />
That about covers it. Obviously it was an eventful fall, and I'll play catch-up with more substantial blog posts later.<br />
<br />
Happy new year!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />CalvinsMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09588343333464923577noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1066620003706903478.post-55057919213896368302012-05-27T11:43:00.002-04:002012-05-27T11:43:15.731-04:00Memorial Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPeFJt-pOYdjmHmekUFKcuMso-9G3LrBCM6oIVUm78pZVNbrEqnECQlgMRFfz1yLjYs3LGxkDLW5CAM9VtOBXrxOPLja1jJnFKXJ0SaYo9p6cQ5NZozriaMN3HUbBLfg6q7vPsMGec051X/s1600/valor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPeFJt-pOYdjmHmekUFKcuMso-9G3LrBCM6oIVUm78pZVNbrEqnECQlgMRFfz1yLjYs3LGxkDLW5CAM9VtOBXrxOPLja1jJnFKXJ0SaYo9p6cQ5NZozriaMN3HUbBLfg6q7vPsMGec051X/s320/valor.jpg" width="226" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">The dead soldier's silence sings our national anthem. </span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: large;"><b>-Rev.
Aaron Kilbourn </b></span></i></div>CalvinsMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09588343333464923577noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1066620003706903478.post-50789586977630934682012-05-07T11:12:00.000-04:002012-05-07T11:12:05.169-04:00Incomprehension."But I really want an 'A.' "<br />
<br />
So we go over the printed-out numbers again. Spotty attendance, lack of participation, late papers, missed assignments; no grades above "C."<br />
<br />
Mathematically speaking, she earned a "D." No amount of extra credit, no last-minute work or grace can turn this sow's ear into a silk purse. In fact, it's only grace that has garnered the "D" that currently befuddles her.<br />
<br />
"I feel like I tried really, <i>really</i> hard, and I really think that ought to count towards an 'A.' "<br />
<br />
No. Just....no. Accept the grade that you earned and stop embarrassing yourself (and me). You will have to take it again next semester; perhaps a bit more effort on your part will pay off. Maybe this has been a learning experience: better time management, more research, extra effort...<br />
<br />
"But I've never gotten a grade this bad before. Ever! I tried so hard! Can't you just give me an 'A?' I really, really <i>want</i> one!" (Note: I've seen your college transcripts. This is a lie.Your performance is on par with last semester: abysmal.)<br />
<br />
Across the hall, Dr. Flannel utters a Wookiee-like growl of utter aggravation and frustration, as I -- for the third time -- go over the math.<br />
<br />
It adds up the same. "D." People in Hell want icewater; students want easy/unearned "A's." It's axiomatic.<br />
<br />
She leaves, weeping and railing at my cruelty, my unfairness, the shame of it. Dr. Flannel gives me a sympathetic shrug as I watch her go. He asks her major, and snorts when I say "Counseling Ed."<br />
<br />
God fucking damn the people who fill these kids' heads with unrealistic expectations. The ones who socially promote them, who tell them that everyone deserves a trophy, everyone's a winner...the ones who prop them up, and fudge their numbers in order to pad them from ever experiencing failure on any level whatsoever....and then turn them loose with no coping mechanisms to use when they do fail. They fall farther and harder when they've been cossetted and shielded for all their lives.<br />
<br />
Some people just aren't meant for college. It's not fair to build their dreams, sell them a white elephant, and collect interest on their failure.CalvinsMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09588343333464923577noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1066620003706903478.post-50368503763426831312012-04-20T22:42:00.003-04:002012-04-20T22:42:39.656-04:00Oh, balls.The end of the semester is always ripe with excessive stupidity. Sometimes it's alcohol-fueled, sometimes it's just sheer desperation but mostly it is utter bottom-of-the-barrel stupidity that produces the best stories.<br />
<br />
For instance:<br />
<br />
If you're going to use technological enhancements for an oral presentation, it's best to check your flash drive and be sure that the file name you click is actually your powerpoint, and not a particularly graphic set of clips/stills from your personal stash of raunchy porn. No one needs to see "Midgets Bandage Spank Inferno" on the surround-sound SmartPodium. Yes, we judged, and yes, that shit was all over campus before class was over, thanks to smartphones. And no, you're probably never getting laid by any of the chicks on campusagain, because your taste in cinematic snatch was pretty heinous.<br />
<br />
Also:<br />
<br />
DO all the papers on legalization you want, but feel free to leave your bong at home. as one of your classmates succinctly put it, "You stupid Goddamned dumbass."<br />
<br />
~*~*~*~*~*~<br />
<br />
Finally, a public service announcement, brought to you my my insurance company, which outsources its accident report calls to India:<br />
<br />
Be sure that you --or the deer you hit -- calls the police to generate a report.<br />
<br />
Be sure to exchange insurance information with the deer.<br />
<br />
Be sure that you can give the deer's contact info to the accident tech. <br />
<br />
Do NOT, in a fit of aggravated smartassery, report the other "driver's" name as John Doe. They have no sense of humor.CalvinsMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09588343333464923577noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1066620003706903478.post-66384477064754425592012-03-12T10:52:00.000-04:002012-03-12T10:52:29.136-04:00Embarrassment X2My dignity...:(<br />
<br />
Last Friday, I volunteered to be a Mass driver for SnarkGirl's school. They go every Friday, and uf the weather is nice, they walk. If it rains, they ask parents who can help to ferry kids to and fro.<br />
<br />
I made two trips hauling kids, and made a last pass to grab a couple of the teachers. I ended up with Dr. Beardy (the Headmaster), Dr. Philo (the history and philosophy teacher) and Mr. Mink (the maths and Latin teacher). As we made the five-minute drive, Dr. Beardy decided to turn on the radio to catch something on KYW...<br />
<br />
Of course, at this point, I should mention that I like to play my music loud when I am in the car alone, and that my taste in music is eclectic at best. Frankly, iTunes + blank CDs + my musical tastes = some seriously obnoxious mix CDs for personal car consumption.<br />
<br />
Which is why these three austere, staid and learned gentlemen were blasted by Depeche Mode's "Master and Servant" as soon as he turned on the stereo. Dr. Beardy's flailing for the "skip" button did not improve matters when the next song to come blaring out was Nine Inch Nails' "Closer."<br />
<br />
Oh, dear.<br />
<br />
Once the noise was dispensed with, an awkward silence fell over the car. Until Mr. Mink started to giggle. Dr. Philo, sounding impressed, whispered, "Told you she was probably freaky." Dr. Beardy smirked a great deal and uttered some suspiciously-chuckle-sounding coughs.<br />
<br />
God damn it.<br />
<br />
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*<br />
<br />
SnarkGirl is getting to That Age. She has Questions. Generally, I encourage her to ask away, and do my best to answer honestly and completely -- and most importantly, without embarrassment.<br />
<br />
Of course, I try to encourage her to ask her questions discreetly. This does not always compute in a pre-teen's mind, though. A couple of months ago, she asked her Daddy what "the big deal about penises was," nearly causing him to chock on his pot pie and collapse in a puddle of embarrassment.<br />
<br />
At dinner last night, she busted out one of her most burning questions: "So, Mommy, Daddy...do you guys still have sex, or what?"<br />
<br />
Followed by OctoBoy's perking up to ask, "What's sex?"<br />
<br />
And Ginger Beastie chanting, "Sex, sex, sex...." <br />
<br />
Calvin's Dad just about stroked out, right there at the table. I also was taken aback a bit. He harrumphed something along the lines of "Theology of the Body! The marriage covenant! Healthy relations!" and excused himself.<br />
<br />
I just looked her in the eye and said, "Yeah."<br />
<br />
"Oh."<br />
<br />
"What's the ...."<br />
<br />
"Let's continue this discussion after dinner, in the privacy of your room, hmm?"<br />
<br />
"Oh, OK. Is Daddy OK?"<br />
<br />
"I think he just needs a minute, babe."CalvinsMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09588343333464923577noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1066620003706903478.post-88456172755544694882012-02-23T08:23:00.001-05:002012-02-23T08:24:11.414-05:00Some days......you're the hippo. But on most days, you're just in the splatter zone. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9Yl03WUKI2l6bgF0zWgKYliIl7mqC5XOHayX5-X2_8POTIgtOIAMa_1XDt2WvKD_OhIdLnkhfxbE6qahCHTDJCVBYO1OOgvzGgXGWmjOh_LyJ6XXQmHZSTTFMY5d8M7S0AhHjyxasRQx4/s1600/hippo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="380" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9Yl03WUKI2l6bgF0zWgKYliIl7mqC5XOHayX5-X2_8POTIgtOIAMa_1XDt2WvKD_OhIdLnkhfxbE6qahCHTDJCVBYO1OOgvzGgXGWmjOh_LyJ6XXQmHZSTTFMY5d8M7S0AhHjyxasRQx4/s400/hippo.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>CalvinsMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09588343333464923577noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1066620003706903478.post-37176311314348336562012-02-08T12:42:00.000-05:002012-02-08T12:42:07.466-05:00Throw it into 4-low and hit the gas...Last week, I straggled (unwillingly) to a night class. I cruised the Faculty lot, spied one remaining spot, and pointed the Imperial Battlewagon towards it, only to have some douche in a Prius cut around me and nip into the spot. Just for good measure, he flipped me the bird. No faculty hang-tag -- a student, running late to class no doubt.<br />
<br />
I raged incoherently for a full minute and continued on my search. I passed the douchecanoe a couple times on my scenic tour of Dante's Circuitous Lots of the Damned, and each time I drove by, the fat little blivet (who was wrapped in a too-small red 76ers jacket with a ridiculous ear-flap hat perched on his misshapen noggin) gave me a shit-eating grin and a jaunty little wave. (I think I deserve some sort of honorarium for not plowing him over, too.)<br />
<br />
I finally netted a spot at the back ass-end of campus in the maintenance lot. Two of the physical plant dudes are former students, and I helped one of them write a scholarship essay that snagged him a couple grand, so I texted them to let them know I was parked there (lest they call security and Big Stinky Al the Security Mook give me a ticket for being 'Faculty NOT parked in the correct lot') and hiked my way to class.<br />
<br />
Yes, I muttered dire imprecations and cursed the whole fucking walk. How well you know me.<br />
<br />
I stalked into class, tossed my shit on the desk and apologized for being five minutes late because some idjit took the last faculty spot and was a rude jerkass in the process, and asked for another two minutes of sufferance while I called Big Al to hoist his fat ass over there produce his ticket book and unleash fiery vengeance, only to look up and...<br />
<br />
Guess who was standing in front of me proffering a shaking add/drop slip with an utterly gobsmacked/terrified look on his face? "Uh...hi. I know class started two weeks ago, but..."<br />
<br />
I gave my best dead-eyed, sharklike smile and took the slip. He shrank into his seat as class progressed, and was the first one sprinting out the door at the end of class. <br />
<br />
Surprise, surprise. A drop slip appeared in my e-mail box Monday morning.CalvinsMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09588343333464923577noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1066620003706903478.post-1600237515973752642012-01-11T10:43:00.000-05:002012-01-11T10:43:58.031-05:00RAR!! In which I am annoyed.In preparation for entering the fray that is Spring '12, I logged in to all my official accounts to print out class lists, classroom assignments and other assorted crap. I had actually gotten it all via e-mail last week, but I could not be arsed to actually do anything with it until this morning.<br />
<br />
Once I went through the rigamarole, I was greeted, not with my normal mail screen, but with a new G-mail account. A perfectly clean account, with no previous e-mails in it. Also missing were all contact lists, sent mails, calendar entries and everything else the previous account held.<br />
<br />
Fuck a goddamned duck. <br />
<br />
A new mail popped up, welcoming me to the NEW uni G-mail system! Hooray! The mail literally said, "Isn't this a lovely way to start off the new year?"<br />
<br />
NO, you dozy, goat-felching, Ass-To-Mouth-receiving fuckmunches! NOOOOOO!<br />
<br />
I called IT support. The tech sounded peevish. "You think you stodgy people would appreciate what we've done and what a cool surprise it was!" he grumped. Whatever, Smedley. I need to port over all my old stuff, I need my lists and contacts, and I really need them before battle-entry tomorrow morning. I'm not entering a hot LZ unarmed.<br />
<br />
"Oh, we're going to a whole training series in mid-February. We will explain everything then!"<br />
<br />
That's six weeks away, you numb bastard. Everything starts <u>tomorrow</u>. If I'd had some warning, I could have printed everything, or at the least, saved it to flash drive.<br />
<br />
Who thought it was a good idea to completely scrub the old system and replace it with a new one less than 24 hours before opening bell -- with no warning?CalvinsMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09588343333464923577noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1066620003706903478.post-4873260403257614322012-01-06T21:44:00.000-05:002012-01-06T21:44:48.116-05:00Crushed, again.In the process of gathering up and carefully storing all of our assorted Christmas crap, I ran across the box of mismatched and orphaned Christmas cards.<br />
<br />
Every year, I buy three boxes of Christmas cards -- a religiously-themed box, a vulgar/funny box and a non-denominational box. Inevitably, there are leftovers, and just about every third year I can get away with not purchasing cards. For convenience, all the cards are stacked in a shoebox -- usually with a few stray cards and envelopes from people that need to be added to next years' card list.<br />
<br />
At the bottom of the box was a colorful card with a Bethlehem scene on it -- sort of blocky and whimsical -- and covered in scribbles of dreadful handwriting. Three sides of the card were filled with bad puns, academic gossip and random, stream-of-consciousness goofiness.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://williamthecoroner.wordpress.com/">William's</a> card. From last Christmas.<br />
<br />
I knelt there on the floor. First I teared up, and then I just flat-out sobbed for all I was worth.<br />
<br />
I miss my friend.<br />
<br />
When I had gotten myself under control again, I carefully closed the card and tucked it safely back into the box.<br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>The life of the dead is placed in the heart of the living. -- Cicero</i>CalvinsMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09588343333464923577noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1066620003706903478.post-84369368685825110862011-12-29T14:03:00.001-05:002011-12-29T14:11:57.498-05:00"But what about what *I* want/need!" Meditations on convenience."Hey, I stopped by your office to ask you a question about my final paper, but you weren't there! T^here wasn't anyone in any of the offices, and I need to meet with three different professors and NO ONE is in their offices! Where the Hell is everyone?"<br />
<br />
"Uh, no, I wasn't -- no one is on campus right now. It's Christmas break. The whole U is closed until the 4th of January, and even then it's skeleton crew until the 9th. Didn't you notice the empty parking lots, and the fact that all the lights are off?"<br />
<br />
"But I have stuff I need to do on campus! I want to <insert errands="" inane="" list="" of="">, and today is the best day for me to get things done. Why isn't there anyone there?"</insert><br />
<br />
"...because everyone is enjoying their break? No one has to be on campus until their report-back date except security, and they are probably asleep in their pen?"<br />
<br />
"That's awful! I want to get my errands done today! Can you drop everything and come in right now? "<br />
<br />
"No. I am on break. I don't have to be back until the 10th. I'll be in my office by 9 AM on that day."<br />
<br />
"Well, that's ridiculous. Who though that professors ought to get a break, anyway. It's not like you need them, or anything. Your jobs are the easiest."<br />
<br />
*click*<br />
<br />
<i>** edit, for clarity: we are "asked" (read: required) to give our cell phone numbers as alternate contact info "in case of student emergency." Guess how often that gets abused? </i>CalvinsMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09588343333464923577noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1066620003706903478.post-53208215651324267012011-12-27T10:37:00.000-05:002011-12-27T10:37:38.327-05:00Kiss my mistletoe, buddy.I should know by now that answering my mobile when I don't recognize the number -- especially on a holiday -- is a bad idea. Foolish, foolish me.<br />
<br />
So, at 6 PM on Christmas day, comfortably stuffed full of baked ham, smashed 'taters and lighter-fluid-spiked eggnog, I should have juts let that sucker roll over to voicemail. Instead, giddy with holiday cheer, I answered it.<br />
<br />
Sobbing Student : "It's your fault my parents ain't lettin' me back livin' on campus, bitch!'<br />
CM: "Who is that? What?"<br />
SS: "You flunked me, and momma says I have to commute until I gets better grades!"<br />
CM: "Who is this? I only had fifty students last semester...wait, never mind. Was my class the only one you failed?"<br />
SS: "Naw. I flunked Bio, Freshman Year Experience, and Math I, too. Got a D in Philosophy, though!"<br />
CM: *giggling* "Hooooly shit. You flunked FYE? All you had to do was show up and sit in the auditorium for forty-five minutes, once a week! It's a joke of a class!"<br />
SS; "..."<br />
CM: "Again, who is this?"<br />
SS: "...Raymonique-Shane Relondo."<br />
CM: "Dude, you failed my class because you missed 23 out of 30 class meetings. You did not turn in 2 of the 4 major papers, and the two you did turn in were wrong, because you missed the classes that we discussed them in. You slept in 3 of the classes you did manage to attend. You didn't turn in a portfolio, skipped your last conference and basically did no work. If you recall, you were given a midsemester grade warning, referred to tutoring and were told to get your shit together by me, your advisor and the Dean. This is all documented."<br />
SS: "I'm fighting this grade 'cause you're sexist! You're a bitter old dyke who hates real men, and you failed me 'cause I gots a penis!"<br />
CM: *laughing uncontrollably* "Merry Christmas, dude. See you in the Dean's office when school starts up again!"CalvinsMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09588343333464923577noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1066620003706903478.post-67834247824178736452011-12-24T20:29:00.001-05:002011-12-24T20:36:19.309-05:00It came upon a midnight clear...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5kdHztxx28Z5N8Jwm_LgQeNMEI7q-ehIs7kgO1PIE9vs6TalJW4oWG00MFXP9WaEUEvJhsTl0fhOMpBYuGwegLyl_JbPq-gpPbbHfN1J3Q8na6hyAXwhH4-I_8OsM0XtqcwMUdmSO4NGn/s1600/Holy_Family_picture.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5kdHztxx28Z5N8Jwm_LgQeNMEI7q-ehIs7kgO1PIE9vs6TalJW4oWG00MFXP9WaEUEvJhsTl0fhOMpBYuGwegLyl_JbPq-gpPbbHfN1J3Q8na6hyAXwhH4-I_8OsM0XtqcwMUdmSO4NGn/s320/Holy_Family_picture.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">In those days Caesar Augustus issued a decree that a census should be taken of the entire Roman world. (This was the first census that took place while Quirinius was governor of Syria.) And everyone went to their own town to register. </div><div style="text-align: center;"> So Joseph also went up from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to Bethlehem the town of David, because he belonged to the house and line of David. He went there to register with Mary, who was pledged to be married to him and was expecting a child. While they were there, the time came for the baby to be born, and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no guest room available for them. And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.” </div><div style="text-align: center;"> Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel, praising God and saying, </div><div style="text-align: center;"> “Glory to God in the highest heaven, <br />
and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests.” </div><div style="text-align: center;"> When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let’s go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has told us about.” </div><div style="text-align: center;"> So they hurried off and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby, who was lying in the manger. When they had seen him, they spread the word concerning what had been told them about this child, and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them. But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart. The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things they had heard and seen, which were just as they had been told. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">*~+~*~+~*~+~*</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Merry Christmas to you and all of yours. If you are reading this, you are among my many blessings, and I wish you love and light. </div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div>CalvinsMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09588343333464923577noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1066620003706903478.post-14751639852532726142011-12-04T16:58:00.000-05:002011-12-04T16:58:16.572-05:00The LitanyWith two weeks left to go in the semester, things are winding down. Unless someone fails to turn in a portfolio paper, or does not show up to the final, grades are mostly set. This, of course, is cause from drama for those who are going to hop aboard the FAILroad. Thus, the Litany has begun.<br />
<br />
The Litany is the last gambit of the student who knows a) they're going to do badly, and b) it's beyond too late to do anything about it.<br />
<br />
The opening feint of the Litany is sickness. Whether it's personal or familial, someone spent the semester fixin' to die (in one memorable case, it was a grandma, and for the third time). Hospital visits/admissions, massive amounts of drugs...all prevented Precious Snowflake from completing classwork. Usually this feint can be blocked by asking for documentation of any type. A doctor's note (from a doctor that does NOT have the same last name, thank you), hospital paperwork, anything. No docs, no grade bump.<br />
<br />
The secondary assault usually involves stress/anxiety/overwork/the Freshman 15....take your pick. It boils down to "College is haaaaard, and I didn't realize that I had to manage my own time and schedule appropriately!" Honest bonus points awarded to the guy who flat-out admitted that he partied too hard and studied too little, and deserved his "D," but was hoping for the best.<br />
<br />
Whatever strategy is adopted, the fact is, no one can go back in time and do what needs to be done: work harder.<br />
<br />
Sadly, they lesson won't be remembered next semester, either.CalvinsMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09588343333464923577noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1066620003706903478.post-54349695618086302992011-11-06T19:52:00.000-05:002011-11-06T19:52:26.922-05:00I, uh. Oh, dear GOD.So we spent this Sunday at my 'rents place, helping them winterize. Yard stuff in the shed, limbs trimmed and stacked, firewood moved, furniture re-arranged and vacuumed under...the works. In the process, my step-gator dragged me down to their finished basement to show me her newest purchase.<br />
<br />
Now, as much as I love the step-gator, she's a sucker for "miracle cures." Her back has been bothering her, and we've gone through massages, chiropractors, orthopods, etc. She'd strap a mongoose to her back and wear weasels in her pants if she was promised that it would make her lumbar spine feel better. <br />
<br />
A few weeks back, while she and the Da' were at a street fair, they came across a vendor selling what were described to me as "these fabulous chairs that float and take away your back pain altogether!" She was most serious when she told me that all she needed to do was sit in the chair for about ten minutes at a pop, and her lower back pain melted away. "Of course," she said, "it takes a bit of getting used to, but it really does help. It's a suspension-y sort of thing -- you just hang there kid of weightless...your dad put it up in the basement. He attached it to one of the joists, and I can sit in it and watch my shows!"<br />
<br />
She went on to describe it's construction, but I admit that I was tired and sore and only paying perfunctory attention, nodding in all the right places as I followed her down the stairs to be confronted by one of<a href="http://www.loveswing.com/"> these</a> hanging from the rafters.<br />
<br />
That's right. My mom and dad basically bought and installed a fuck swing in their basement.<br />
<br />
I just about swallowed my teeth. Worse, I was subjected to my mom (whom I adore, but she is rather Emperor-penguin-shaped) clamber into the contraption and explain how all the straps for your knees and ankles work to help support you and make you weightless.<br />
<br />
As she was hanging there, and I was trying to not cry/laugh until I peed myself, the husband came down and did a visible double-take. I shot him a "shut the holy fuck up and don't say a word or I will gut you like a God damned fish" look, and helped her disentangle herself. She then, generously, offered to help ME into the device, because it "really would make your back feel better!"<br />
<br />
Husband assumed the biggest, most shit-eating grin I have ever seen on a human and concurred that I ought to give it a go. I demurred.<br />
<br />
I swear to God I am going to track down that vendor and strangle him with one of his own products.CalvinsMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09588343333464923577noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1066620003706903478.post-12930807142279099582011-11-01T07:47:00.001-04:002011-11-01T07:48:14.659-04:00In memorial.<div style="background-color: #f3f3f3; color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">No man is an island,<br />
Entire of itself.<br />
Each is a piece of the continent,<br />
A part of the main.<br />
If a clod be washed away by the sea,<br />
Europe is the less.<br />
As well as if a promontory were.<br />
As well as if a manor of thine own<br />
Or of thine friend's were.<br />
Each man's death diminishes me,<br />
For I am involved in mankind.<br />
Therefore, send not to know<br />
For whom the bell tolls,<br />
It tolls for thee.</span></div><div style="background-color: #f3f3f3; color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>-- John Donne </i></span></div><div style="background-color: #f3f3f3; color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="background-color: #f3f3f3; color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">Rest well, <a href="http://williamthecoroner.wordpress.com/">William</a>. The world is a lesser place in your absence. </span></div>CalvinsMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09588343333464923577noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1066620003706903478.post-52747185130893191232011-10-01T14:30:00.000-04:002011-10-01T14:30:27.041-04:00That's gonna leave a mark.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhetOEEMgWHzDJmd18Pv9CYbuXkQDLuYRDBFpBoXg0q9Sh_KSYP2tWkxUP-55A4-5DS6gkynPtcQoWv0B6cO-QTjkNJyg_a85F7a0z2y7_PTU28M3j2BV3R-UDsCq3YSIGCRHACHZqN_mTU/s1600/ZerosNumbers.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhetOEEMgWHzDJmd18Pv9CYbuXkQDLuYRDBFpBoXg0q9Sh_KSYP2tWkxUP-55A4-5DS6gkynPtcQoWv0B6cO-QTjkNJyg_a85F7a0z2y7_PTU28M3j2BV3R-UDsCq3YSIGCRHACHZqN_mTU/s1600/ZerosNumbers.png" /></a></div><br />
<br />
(Hat tip to <a href="http://ace.mu.nu/">Ace of Spades HQ</a> and <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/johnnyshop/6196456311/sizes/o/in/photostream/">JohnnyShop</a>.)CalvinsMomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09588343333464923577noreply@blogger.com4