What day is it? What month is it?
I know the summer sucked. I know it was gray, gloomy, cool, and rainy all dammed summer. I know that Christmas is coming waaaayyyy faster than anyone really wants to admit (except maybe the Howler and her ilk.)
But, seriously. Dude? You can buy your live Christmas tree WHEN THEY ACTUALLY GET HERE. We'll happily charge you twice what the tree cost (you know, the regular & ridiculously high delivery fee) you to deliver it, but WAIT TIL THEY ACTUALLY GET HERE!
Sheesh.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Thursday, September 17, 2009
A Funny Little Man
That's my Mr Mumple.
First, a little background on the day in question:
I spent my day at work inside. No problem, really, but it was noisy. As in clanging and banging, pages you could actually hear, large loading door going up and down on a rattly chain. Yeah, noisy comes close to describing it.
Second, there was soccer practice. During which I fell asleep in the car. When I woke up, I was a little disoriented.
Third, by the time we got home, the Howler (and the little mister) where quite chatty. As in non-stop blathering about God-Alone-Knows-What. The Howler had her volume set at 11. During the Howler's shower, I left the room for some quiet...and My Sweetie, ever the first to pick up on subtle clues, turned up the volume on the TV. Apparently, people two blocks over needed to hear it, whether they wanted to or not, and I, of course, in the next room, could too. My Sweetie wanders over to stand the doorway of the room I'm in, muttering to himself. Having had enough of the audio-overload, I shut the door in his muttering face. I got quiet, for about 2 seconds. He began asking if I was mad at him. Sheesh.
The Howler finally goes to bed.
There is quiet in the house. FINALLY.
My Sweetie is now complaining about a bug bite on his leg. I tell him, in an effort to not hear about it--or anything--I tell him, "I'll get you the anti-itch cream in ONE SECOND."
The funny little man I married responds with an evil grin, and a laugh, "Oh, do we have any anti-bitch cream, too?"
He's soooooo lucky that I know that being called a bitch is a compliment.
First, a little background on the day in question:
I spent my day at work inside. No problem, really, but it was noisy. As in clanging and banging, pages you could actually hear, large loading door going up and down on a rattly chain. Yeah, noisy comes close to describing it.
Second, there was soccer practice. During which I fell asleep in the car. When I woke up, I was a little disoriented.
Third, by the time we got home, the Howler (and the little mister) where quite chatty. As in non-stop blathering about God-Alone-Knows-What. The Howler had her volume set at 11. During the Howler's shower, I left the room for some quiet...and My Sweetie, ever the first to pick up on subtle clues, turned up the volume on the TV. Apparently, people two blocks over needed to hear it, whether they wanted to or not, and I, of course, in the next room, could too. My Sweetie wanders over to stand the doorway of the room I'm in, muttering to himself. Having had enough of the audio-overload, I shut the door in his muttering face. I got quiet, for about 2 seconds. He began asking if I was mad at him. Sheesh.
The Howler finally goes to bed.
There is quiet in the house. FINALLY.
My Sweetie is now complaining about a bug bite on his leg. I tell him, in an effort to not hear about it--or anything--I tell him, "I'll get you the anti-itch cream in ONE SECOND."
The funny little man I married responds with an evil grin, and a laugh, "Oh, do we have any anti-bitch cream, too?"
He's soooooo lucky that I know that being called a bitch is a compliment.
Tuesday, September 08, 2009
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore"
My dicking off time has become seriously limited.
Worse, even My Sweetie has to admit that.
With the school year starting, that means that my unwilling ass has begun the long slow decline into PTA hell. I think "Broad is the road that leads to destruction...blah blah blah" comes to mind when thinking about it.
I am now required to be all that People Person crap so despise. Hell, when I started complaining about it, I was really just making an observation about my newly discovered Inviso super power. I didn't mean to be actually NOTICED (nobody has ever truly listened to me rant and rave like that before, let alone TAKEN IT SERIOUSLY.) It is, I suppose, my come-uppance for being what my mother calls "mouthy."
Anyway, between work (yes, I still have a paying job,) being Mrs Mumple, and being the Howler's mother (why does MOM have to be the one who schedules and organizes I wonder? In all the non-gender specific roles the Mr and I share and swap, how did I end up on the MOMMY track? Oh, yeah. I get to work outside-the-home PART TIME, that's why. Dammit!) PTA and church, plus life in general, I have no more dicking off time. No more spider solitaire, no more reading a thick book in a day...It's depressing, is what.
The PTA is a time suck. Even more than the Howler is a time suck. Even more than the Howler and paid-to-be-in-retail-hell time suck put together.
I am currently typing this whilst peering over a teetering tower of PTA and church related paper. I need an entire room, with large tables for spreading out, a massive paper shredder, two or three filing cabinets, and several three-ring binders and various color co ordinated folders for organizing it all.
And I still have to make dinner.
Worse, even My Sweetie has to admit that.
With the school year starting, that means that my unwilling ass has begun the long slow decline into PTA hell. I think "Broad is the road that leads to destruction...blah blah blah" comes to mind when thinking about it.
I am now required to be all that People Person crap so despise. Hell, when I started complaining about it, I was really just making an observation about my newly discovered Inviso super power. I didn't mean to be actually NOTICED (nobody has ever truly listened to me rant and rave like that before, let alone TAKEN IT SERIOUSLY.) It is, I suppose, my come-uppance for being what my mother calls "mouthy."
Anyway, between work (yes, I still have a paying job,) being Mrs Mumple, and being the Howler's mother (why does MOM have to be the one who schedules and organizes I wonder? In all the non-gender specific roles the Mr and I share and swap, how did I end up on the MOMMY track? Oh, yeah. I get to work outside-the-home PART TIME, that's why. Dammit!) PTA and church, plus life in general, I have no more dicking off time. No more spider solitaire, no more reading a thick book in a day...It's depressing, is what.
The PTA is a time suck. Even more than the Howler is a time suck. Even more than the Howler and paid-to-be-in-retail-hell time suck put together.
I am currently typing this whilst peering over a teetering tower of PTA and church related paper. I need an entire room, with large tables for spreading out, a massive paper shredder, two or three filing cabinets, and several three-ring binders and various color co ordinated folders for organizing it all.
And I still have to make dinner.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Bulk
I've noticed, of late, that my fate seems to involve large amounts of very very large people.
I don't say this to be mean. Some of my best friends are fat.
What I'm trying to say is that I saw the HR lady with a group of newbies today.
We've apparently started hiring in bulk. And I don't mean the numbers.
I don't say this to be mean. Some of my best friends are fat.
What I'm trying to say is that I saw the HR lady with a group of newbies today.
We've apparently started hiring in bulk. And I don't mean the numbers.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
All's Fair
I decided that in order to do the Alice Cooper Free Titty Show post justice, I couldn't mix it with one about the Fair going public. That means that this post is about the walk through the FAIR.
Did I mention how much I HATE the FAIR?
I hate the Fair. It could be that my mother usually spazzed out over something stupid & small (usually a whiney Mumplette, truth be told); it might be that I know that in my home state, inspections of rides and attractions are fast and loose; it may very well be that I spend too much time around mooing and bleeting herd animals as it is, and can't abide the notion that I should pay admission to be surrounded by them. Take your pick of reasons. Mix and Match 'em, they're all true.
On the flip side of all that hate and frustration is the fact that I love the food. Funnel cakes. Sausage sandwiches. Lemonade. Snocones. French fries. I'll pay a lot of money for any and all of those delicacies. And that is why I do venture into a few Fairs and hometown pat-ourselves-on-our-backs fests. At least two a year.
As previously mentioned, My Sweetie and I had a hot date two weeks ago--to go to a concert at the FAIR. The Dreaded and Much Hated FAIR.
We paid to park at the local school. We paid a grumpy and dazed 14 year old girl to enter the FAIR. (As a side note: Children in Remedial Math should not be made to make change from an apron while standing in a blocked street. Ahhh, but then, Omens of Things to Come and all that applies, too.)
I have never (and I do mean NEVER) in my life seen such a collection of obscenely obese women in an enclosed area. It was like Wayne Zelinsky's Enlarge-O Ray went beserk in the Relief Office waiting room. Afterwards, instead of paying them a settlement, they handed out uniforms.
There were thousands of blubbery women. And each and every one of them were wearing a tye-dyed Tee and green (or pink, the color must've been optional) cotton elastic waisted shorts. And they were ALL eating. Sausage sandwiches. Ice Cream. Small Korean Family on a Stick. Pizza. Funnel Cakes. SnoCones. Corn Dogs. French Fried Midgets. Lemonade. Even the ones in line for a new and exciting tasty treat were already sucking down some serious calories while-U-wait.
The ambulatory ones were staggering about, weaving drunkenly between unsuspecting normal sized Fair Goers, muttering things like, "ooooo Funnel Caaaaaaake." Those who weren't muttering were the ones who were stopping mid-stride to stuff half a pizza into a pie hole. God help you if you heard, but did not comprehend the muttering. A woman, roughly the size of ORCA the killer whale would zip--yes, I said ZIP. They're quite speedy when hunting their prey--in front of you without warning.
There aughtta be a law regarding gross tonnage and change of course beepers. Seriously.
Finally, I have to tell you that the largest of these behemoths usually had satellites. Like the larger, gaseous planets you've learned about in elementary school, there were smaller, grubby looking children in orbit. Sadly and forlornly hoping for a SnoCone drip or a mozzerella drop, I'm sure.
By the time we exited the Godforsaken FAIR, I was wondering aloud where anyone found enough flour (and the iron stomach to commit the act) to impregnate these wonders-of-nature. Unless of course, he reused the flour...which is an even worse thought.
Did I mention how much I HATE the FAIR?
I hate the Fair. It could be that my mother usually spazzed out over something stupid & small (usually a whiney Mumplette, truth be told); it might be that I know that in my home state, inspections of rides and attractions are fast and loose; it may very well be that I spend too much time around mooing and bleeting herd animals as it is, and can't abide the notion that I should pay admission to be surrounded by them. Take your pick of reasons. Mix and Match 'em, they're all true.
On the flip side of all that hate and frustration is the fact that I love the food. Funnel cakes. Sausage sandwiches. Lemonade. Snocones. French fries. I'll pay a lot of money for any and all of those delicacies. And that is why I do venture into a few Fairs and hometown pat-ourselves-on-our-backs fests. At least two a year.
As previously mentioned, My Sweetie and I had a hot date two weeks ago--to go to a concert at the FAIR. The Dreaded and Much Hated FAIR.
We paid to park at the local school. We paid a grumpy and dazed 14 year old girl to enter the FAIR. (As a side note: Children in Remedial Math should not be made to make change from an apron while standing in a blocked street. Ahhh, but then, Omens of Things to Come and all that applies, too.)
I have never (and I do mean NEVER) in my life seen such a collection of obscenely obese women in an enclosed area. It was like Wayne Zelinsky's Enlarge-O Ray went beserk in the Relief Office waiting room. Afterwards, instead of paying them a settlement, they handed out uniforms.
There were thousands of blubbery women. And each and every one of them were wearing a tye-dyed Tee and green (or pink, the color must've been optional) cotton elastic waisted shorts. And they were ALL eating. Sausage sandwiches. Ice Cream. Small Korean Family on a Stick. Pizza. Funnel Cakes. SnoCones. Corn Dogs. French Fried Midgets. Lemonade. Even the ones in line for a new and exciting tasty treat were already sucking down some serious calories while-U-wait.
The ambulatory ones were staggering about, weaving drunkenly between unsuspecting normal sized Fair Goers, muttering things like, "ooooo Funnel Caaaaaaake." Those who weren't muttering were the ones who were stopping mid-stride to stuff half a pizza into a pie hole. God help you if you heard, but did not comprehend the muttering. A woman, roughly the size of ORCA the killer whale would zip--yes, I said ZIP. They're quite speedy when hunting their prey--in front of you without warning.
There aughtta be a law regarding gross tonnage and change of course beepers. Seriously.
Finally, I have to tell you that the largest of these behemoths usually had satellites. Like the larger, gaseous planets you've learned about in elementary school, there were smaller, grubby looking children in orbit. Sadly and forlornly hoping for a SnoCone drip or a mozzerella drop, I'm sure.
By the time we exited the Godforsaken FAIR, I was wondering aloud where anyone found enough flour (and the iron stomach to commit the act) to impregnate these wonders-of-nature. Unless of course, he reused the flour...which is an even worse thought.
Wednesday, August 05, 2009
Meet the Fam
I've decided to share an "Awkward" moment in Mumple history, inspired by Awkward Family Photos.
When My Sweetie and I were first dating, it came time to meet the Fam. He'd obviously met mine (and meeting my mother for the first time was memorable in and of itself, but not the story I'm telling here) since we live in the same town. But going to meet his family was nerve-wracking, made more so by the fact that his family despised his ex-wife (albeit with reason) and I'm concerned that they'll just hate me no matter what.
Plus, I really liked him, and having his family hate me would definitely not help the relationship. Did I mention how much I really liked him? He's nervous too, because the sociopath he'd previously been married to made him doubt his sanity and judgement. He's still wondering if I'm going to go medieval on him at this point.
Off we go so I can meet them.
We're at his parents house, and of course, being the youngest of five, and the previous woman's rep, they're all there to meet me. (Their order is girl-boy-girl-several years-girl-My Sweetie, in case you were wondering.) Even his fat cow of a sister-in-law, and their daughters. Everything is okay so far...everyone's on his and her best behavior. I've managed not to swear for at least 2 hours, and they seem to like me.
My Sweetie has gifts for everyone, and I have brought an appropriate gift for his mom. His mom, and two of his three sisters have smallish, friendly gifts for me, just so I won't feel left out. The Middle One, sitting next to me on the couch, turns to me and says, "I didn't know if I'd like you or not, and I wasn't going to waste my money buying you anything until I knew if I would."
My mother-in-law, to this day, is absolutely mortified that she said it, but it cracks me up every Christmas when we tell this story.
When My Sweetie and I were first dating, it came time to meet the Fam. He'd obviously met mine (and meeting my mother for the first time was memorable in and of itself, but not the story I'm telling here) since we live in the same town. But going to meet his family was nerve-wracking, made more so by the fact that his family despised his ex-wife (albeit with reason) and I'm concerned that they'll just hate me no matter what.
Plus, I really liked him, and having his family hate me would definitely not help the relationship. Did I mention how much I really liked him? He's nervous too, because the sociopath he'd previously been married to made him doubt his sanity and judgement. He's still wondering if I'm going to go medieval on him at this point.
Off we go so I can meet them.
We're at his parents house, and of course, being the youngest of five, and the previous woman's rep, they're all there to meet me. (Their order is girl-boy-girl-several years-girl-My Sweetie, in case you were wondering.) Even his fat cow of a sister-in-law, and their daughters. Everything is okay so far...everyone's on his and her best behavior. I've managed not to swear for at least 2 hours, and they seem to like me.
My Sweetie has gifts for everyone, and I have brought an appropriate gift for his mom. His mom, and two of his three sisters have smallish, friendly gifts for me, just so I won't feel left out. The Middle One, sitting next to me on the couch, turns to me and says, "I didn't know if I'd like you or not, and I wasn't going to waste my money buying you anything until I knew if I would."
My mother-in-law, to this day, is absolutely mortified that she said it, but it cracks me up every Christmas when we tell this story.
Got the T-Shirt
I should have known I was in trouble when he sat down at the computer and pulled up the website he wanted without swearing, muttering, or asking for help. I should have been worried when he didn't start putting of a "I want to kill this thing" vibe. I should have been afraid when I saw that he had his wallet with him.
He never gets on the computer if he can help it. He couldn't check email to save his life. He can rarely find the site he's wanting, and he habitually says things like, "It hates me, you know." He'd throw the computer through a 3rd story window, if we had a third story and I'd let him.
Just over a month ago, he did the impossible--and the frightening. He got online. And he bought something.
His only request for my input was to ask, as he was nearing completion of his mission, "Hey, honey, you want to go see Alice Cooper at the fair, dontcha?" As my eyes glaze over at the ridiculousness of this question, he hits the send button and announces, "Good! I've got us tickets."
To say that our music tastes do not exactly mesh is an understatement. He habitually ridicules my choices, and I habitually groan and tolerate his. (In my defense, he cranks up the stereo more often than I do.) Some of his choices have grown on me, and I have come to actually enjoy listening to it.
But, Alice Cooper? Seriously? No, this concert is not high on my list of places I want to go. Add that to a FAIR of any kind, and in all honesty, I'm thinking "I'm in Hell" will be the catch phrase for the evening.
Until I realize that my enjoyment of watching the people would compliment his enjoyment of the show. AND, most importantly, neither of our children, nor any other family members would be going with us.
I wouldn't have to be on my bestest best behavior. I would just have to keep my frustration and irrational anger at the FAIR and everything it embodies to a minimum.
Last night, we were off to the fair. He was excited. I was amused.
While there, we ran into an Episcopal priest we know--and he was dragging his wife to the concert as well.
I managed, in the walk into the fair, and then into the concert, to hold in my giggles. And my sarcastic and rude comments. I managed to not go bug eyed at the over-50 people with beer bellies (mostly women) and the oldsters with gray hair down to their butts (men.) I managed to not begin shrieking with laughter when the woman in the green halter went by with no bra and each and every one of her stretch marks showing.
Seriously, I think the tickets should have read "BRAS OPTIONAL." And most of the braless were NOT the 15-25 year old hotties, either. They were, of course, the people who had the most to flap--I don't care who you are, looking at flabby 50-something tits hanging under a two sizes too small tee isn't attractive (although, in her defense, the green halter woman did have a decent set--not too big as to be flabby and saggy, but still!)
The show, overall, wasn't bad. It was actually fun. Somehow, my impressions of the show lead me to believe that Alice Cooper has quite a sense of humor. And he doesn't mind making fun of himself. And that he's rather a good showman. He knew what the audience wanted, and he gave it to them--right down to the beheading. And the hanging. And the song about Ethel.
In the end, the shiny, mirrored top hat and tails that he ended the show in was really, in my opinion, worth watching all the loose and free titties for.
Does this make me a fan? I don't think so. It does mean I can appreciate a good show. I can appreciate the work and planning that went into choreographing a concert that included several ways to die.
I can't believe the people who had their small children--I mean at least one had a baby in a stroller with them, and I saw at least a dozen children under the age of 9 in the crowd as well. The show was simply NOT appropriate for children. Sure, there was no nudity, but a few of "Nurse Rosetta's" costumes were black bustier and corset things, including torn fishnet nylons. And the noise level was enough to damage MY hearing forever, I can only imagine what it would do to a 9 month old baby's. And some of the death imagery was just too much for a child. I'm 42, and I can appreciate the "pretendness" of it, and am not bothered by a theatrical performance, but I couldn't imagine taking the Howler to a show like this and not causing some sort of short in her hardwiring--the sexual content of some of the songs, the sexual and violent imagery, which, I'm sure, by standards of 2009 TV and movie audiences aren't that shocking, would just be unfair to expose my child.
In the end, I did enjoy the show. Much to my own chargrin. My biggest regret? I forgot my camera.
And, yes, I did get the $30 t-shirt.
He never gets on the computer if he can help it. He couldn't check email to save his life. He can rarely find the site he's wanting, and he habitually says things like, "It hates me, you know." He'd throw the computer through a 3rd story window, if we had a third story and I'd let him.
Just over a month ago, he did the impossible--and the frightening. He got online. And he bought something.
His only request for my input was to ask, as he was nearing completion of his mission, "Hey, honey, you want to go see Alice Cooper at the fair, dontcha?" As my eyes glaze over at the ridiculousness of this question, he hits the send button and announces, "Good! I've got us tickets."
To say that our music tastes do not exactly mesh is an understatement. He habitually ridicules my choices, and I habitually groan and tolerate his. (In my defense, he cranks up the stereo more often than I do.) Some of his choices have grown on me, and I have come to actually enjoy listening to it.
But, Alice Cooper? Seriously? No, this concert is not high on my list of places I want to go. Add that to a FAIR of any kind, and in all honesty, I'm thinking "I'm in Hell" will be the catch phrase for the evening.
Until I realize that my enjoyment of watching the people would compliment his enjoyment of the show. AND, most importantly, neither of our children, nor any other family members would be going with us.
I wouldn't have to be on my bestest best behavior. I would just have to keep my frustration and irrational anger at the FAIR and everything it embodies to a minimum.
Last night, we were off to the fair. He was excited. I was amused.
While there, we ran into an Episcopal priest we know--and he was dragging his wife to the concert as well.
I managed, in the walk into the fair, and then into the concert, to hold in my giggles. And my sarcastic and rude comments. I managed to not go bug eyed at the over-50 people with beer bellies (mostly women) and the oldsters with gray hair down to their butts (men.) I managed to not begin shrieking with laughter when the woman in the green halter went by with no bra and each and every one of her stretch marks showing.
Seriously, I think the tickets should have read "BRAS OPTIONAL." And most of the braless were NOT the 15-25 year old hotties, either. They were, of course, the people who had the most to flap--I don't care who you are, looking at flabby 50-something tits hanging under a two sizes too small tee isn't attractive (although, in her defense, the green halter woman did have a decent set--not too big as to be flabby and saggy, but still!)
The show, overall, wasn't bad. It was actually fun. Somehow, my impressions of the show lead me to believe that Alice Cooper has quite a sense of humor. And he doesn't mind making fun of himself. And that he's rather a good showman. He knew what the audience wanted, and he gave it to them--right down to the beheading. And the hanging. And the song about Ethel.
In the end, the shiny, mirrored top hat and tails that he ended the show in was really, in my opinion, worth watching all the loose and free titties for.
Does this make me a fan? I don't think so. It does mean I can appreciate a good show. I can appreciate the work and planning that went into choreographing a concert that included several ways to die.
I can't believe the people who had their small children--I mean at least one had a baby in a stroller with them, and I saw at least a dozen children under the age of 9 in the crowd as well. The show was simply NOT appropriate for children. Sure, there was no nudity, but a few of "Nurse Rosetta's" costumes were black bustier and corset things, including torn fishnet nylons. And the noise level was enough to damage MY hearing forever, I can only imagine what it would do to a 9 month old baby's. And some of the death imagery was just too much for a child. I'm 42, and I can appreciate the "pretendness" of it, and am not bothered by a theatrical performance, but I couldn't imagine taking the Howler to a show like this and not causing some sort of short in her hardwiring--the sexual content of some of the songs, the sexual and violent imagery, which, I'm sure, by standards of 2009 TV and movie audiences aren't that shocking, would just be unfair to expose my child.
In the end, I did enjoy the show. Much to my own chargrin. My biggest regret? I forgot my camera.
And, yes, I did get the $30 t-shirt.
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