Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Monday, January 28, 2008
Photos for YM
What does any self-respecting feminist do when Barak trumps Hilary 2-to-1 in the South Carolina primary? Why, she puts on her "Deal with It" socks (thanks Cat Crap), does a happy dance, and beats the male residents about the knees with her trusty light saber. Who needs penis envy when she can whip out her lipstick any time she damn well pleases?
I think she got her dental issues from them Brits way back there in our bloodline.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Not to Be Outdone:
Rufus Makes a Comment to the Preacher
Last night we had our cub scout pack meeting, which is just a sinnie-nim for "lock a bunch of hyperactive boys wearing blue and khaki shirts in a building together for an hour so they can scream and run in circles." Cub Scouts is one of the few ways that I force myself to be social and involved beyond the sacred borders of my property, and I am always so relieved to return home to my pajama pants and beer steins of box wine.
God bless his soul, the Methodist pastor agreed to come talk to the hoodlums about faith. I'm not easily impressed with ministers/preachers/shepherds/reverends/pulpit-bullies because too many of them talk with a funny preacher accent and seem all too pleased just to hear themselves talk. Call me a Gen X skeptic, but I just don't have the braincells or attention span to spare. But this pastor is different. He doesn't have that accent, and he doesn't act like he has all the answers, and he doesn't threaten that we're going to hell for mowing the lawn on a gorgeous Sunday morning. He is just good. So he talked to the boys for about 10 minutes about faith and love and God's gifts. The point was that God has given humans faith (or the ability to have faith) as a gift. Then he asks, "So what are some examples of gifts that God has given us?"
Cub Scout #1: "Eyes. God gave us eyes to see."
Unsuspecting Pastor: "Yes, excellent."
CS #2: "Knowledge. He gave us the power to think."
UP: "And a great gift that is!"
CS #3: "Our parents. He gave us parents who love us and give us everything we want."
UP: "Well, yes, that is definitely a gift. Who else? Who has another example of a gift God gave us?"
Rufus: "Hell and the devil!"
UP looks confused.
Rufus: "Well, God kicked that bad angel out of heaven, so then he became the devil and made hell. God made it happen, which makes hell and the devil a gift, right? But I'm not supposed to talk about hell because that's a bad word."
(Cricket chirping noises begin here.)
God bless his soul, the Methodist pastor agreed to come talk to the hoodlums about faith. I'm not easily impressed with ministers/preachers/shepherds/reverends/pulpit-bullies because too many of them talk with a funny preacher accent and seem all too pleased just to hear themselves talk. Call me a Gen X skeptic, but I just don't have the braincells or attention span to spare. But this pastor is different. He doesn't have that accent, and he doesn't act like he has all the answers, and he doesn't threaten that we're going to hell for mowing the lawn on a gorgeous Sunday morning. He is just good. So he talked to the boys for about 10 minutes about faith and love and God's gifts. The point was that God has given humans faith (or the ability to have faith) as a gift. Then he asks, "So what are some examples of gifts that God has given us?"
Cub Scout #1: "Eyes. God gave us eyes to see."
Unsuspecting Pastor: "Yes, excellent."
CS #2: "Knowledge. He gave us the power to think."
UP: "And a great gift that is!"
CS #3: "Our parents. He gave us parents who love us and give us everything we want."
UP: "Well, yes, that is definitely a gift. Who else? Who has another example of a gift God gave us?"
Rufus: "Hell and the devil!"
UP looks confused.
Rufus: "Well, God kicked that bad angel out of heaven, so then he became the devil and made hell. God made it happen, which makes hell and the devil a gift, right? But I'm not supposed to talk about hell because that's a bad word."
(Cricket chirping noises begin here.)
A Synonym for Marriage is...
...Bondage.
That is what Boudreaux wrote on his sinny-nim/aunty-nim homework yesterday. When I asked him why he chose that as a synomym, he answered, "I dunno...'cause they both keep you tied down."
That is what Boudreaux wrote on his sinny-nim/aunty-nim homework yesterday. When I asked him why he chose that as a synomym, he answered, "I dunno...'cause they both keep you tied down."
Sunday, January 20, 2008
Golly Gee Whiz What Is It I See?
Lookin 2 me like them boyesgittin an eye-ful.
I dont B thinking Y.M. wants
a look ...........
If U B no-in NEbody with kilties....
Yo Mama standin by to no if it B truethat folks who wear them kiltie things
wood B willin to tes-ti-fy re: unner
wares. Pls. 2 let me no rite away so I
kan sleep better 2-nite.
A Word To The Wise
As Yo Granmamaw mite sey, she sed lotsathingies, a penny saved is a penny earned,
pretty is as pretty duz, the attached shows
a great sufficiency of what you B needin 2
think bout.
Yo Mama has spoken
Saturday, January 19, 2008
You Mamas Don't Let Your Girlies Shop Alone
I ben tole this B the latest stile in wear 4 girlies.This ain't no C-thru-skirt, it B a skirt with this
lovely painted on it. Shore lookin reel 2 me. I
also B hoping my big girlies ain't gittin none either.
Jes think what might be next round the corner,
both 4 girls and boys !
A Proud Queen
shud be. Y.M. is proud of 'em too. Whew !
Friday, January 18, 2008
What the Exterminator Saw,
Or, How I Built My East Texus Reputation
Bumpus and I have a little game going. All them experts on the morning shows say that you should spice up yer marriage with some flirtin', and after 15 years of holy yellin' matrimony, spice is a good thing.
Someone gave Goozie these foam rubber letters that stick to the shower wall, so we take turns leaving each other messages. Bumpus took his shower this morning and left me something special. Thirty minutes later, the exterminator arrived. I had totally forgotten that he was coming. He is a very sweet, quiet, shy Christian man who hopefully is blind to how CDC-bad filthy my bathroom is...dust bunnies in all corners, soap goo all in the sinks, hair in all unnatural places.
When he emerged from that hazardous pit, he was looking rather sheepish. Do you think it was the ring in the toilet (sorry YM) or the shower door was standing wide open to broadcast Bumpus's invitation?
Someone gave Goozie these foam rubber letters that stick to the shower wall, so we take turns leaving each other messages. Bumpus took his shower this morning and left me something special. Thirty minutes later, the exterminator arrived. I had totally forgotten that he was coming. He is a very sweet, quiet, shy Christian man who hopefully is blind to how CDC-bad filthy my bathroom is...dust bunnies in all corners, soap goo all in the sinks, hair in all unnatural places.
When he emerged from that hazardous pit, he was looking rather sheepish. Do you think it was the ring in the toilet (sorry YM) or the shower door was standing wide open to broadcast Bumpus's invitation?
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Felix & Oscar Live:
Or, Alternatively, What Happens When
Fatty Says "Forget It"
This is a true story, every word of it, and although it's way too long, I need to record it for pos-tear-it-tee's sake, because it does fortell the future.
Tuesday night, I arrived home after a long day or work and meetings to get my usual greeting: "We're hoooooooonnnnngry! What's for dinner?" To which I responded, "Shut up and get me a pint of wine from the box." Well, not really, but that's what I was thinking anyway. I did my deep breathing exercises, recently recommended by my anger management coach, and "assumed the position" (behind the counter with some things that I can throw at people, like wooden spoons, and some things I shouldn't throw at people, like knives and plates).
By some wonderful miracle, the kitchen was actually clean. I put some pre-breaded, frozen chicken strips in the oven (because I'm a loving, health-conscious Mother who only buys organic) and tinkered around waiting for them to be ready. In the midst of my tinkering, I noticed that the compost bucket needed to be emptied. What a perfect job for a short person who can't legally drink.
Fatty to the boys, who are in repose upon the sofas, gazing upon scholarly tomes with lots of pictures all the whilst picking their snooters: "I need someone to please take the compost out."
This chore involves opening a door and walking about 50 feet, dumping a bucket on a small pile, turning around, walking 50 feet back inside, closing the door, and putting the bucket on the counter. Big whoop.
Rufus, who is quick on the draw: "I did it last time! He has to do it!"
At this point, Boudreaux emits a loud nasal sound that is somewhat akin to the siren on an East Texus ambulance: "AWWWWWWWWWWWW, DO I HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAVE TO?"
Now, I don't know what planet's moon was in what orbit, but my fuse wasn't short enough to get even get lit...I just went from zero to absolutely pissed off in about 2.3 nanoseconds:
"Fine," I said, "I'll take it out and you people can make your own dinner. If you can't do anything helpful for me, then I won't be helpful for you."
At this point, I expected much apologies and butt kissing and someone else to take the damn compost out, but in the two second pause that I allowed, none of this happened, so I stomped out to the damn heap and dumped the damned stuff myself. Upon returning inside, the timer went off for the chicken strips, so I put the hot pan on the stove top, put a fork next to them, got down two plates from the tall cabinet, and said, "Okay, that's all I'm contributing. The pan is hot, so don't burn yourself because you get no sympathy from me. Come in here and make your dinner."
At this point, I expected more whining and pleading, but no, I left the kitchen, and both boys got up to fix their dinners (aka, put a chicken strip on a plate). My next expectation was that each would eat just a chicken strip for dinner, because after all, that was cooked and waiting. But again, I was wrong. The scene that unfolded was an amazing illustration of birth order, genetics, and other stuff that I don't have the brain cells to list here.
Rufus got a plate, put a chicken strip on it, and walked to the table, not saying a word (MIRACLE!). His vibe was "I don't give a damn what sort of fit you throw. I'll eat my chicken and show you I don't care." He was a miniature version of Bumpus. Exactly.
But Boudreaux marched into the kitchen with a screaming air of "Alright then, I'll show you, dammit!" Yes, he is his mother's child and acts just like her. He then dug an orange out of the fridge, got a cutting board and a knife (not exceptionally sharp, so I just watched in interest from the other room), and proceeded to peel and section the orange. Rufus sat eating in silence. Boudreaux (just like his Mama would) marched over to the table and put half the orange segments on Rufus's plate: "Eat this," he commanded. Rufus (just like his Daddy) sat in silence, chewing.
Boudreaux picked up an apple, sliced it, cored it (well, sort of), and again, marched half of it over to Rufus's plate: "Eat this too," little bossy-like-me commanded. Stoic-"I'm not gonna let you get to me"-like-his-Daddy-Rufus sat in silence, chewing.
Boudreaux went to the icebox and dug out the green beans, put the container in the microwave for 60 seconds, marched back to Rufus and put about 10 green beans on his plate. Rufus, who will refuse all cooperation, spoke: "I don't want green beans. In fact I haven't asked for any of this." Boudreaux de la Mama: "You need to eat a vegetable. Hush up and eat them." Rufus goes back to silent chewing.
Boudreax returned to the kitchen, opened the bread and put a piece on his plate (with the chicken, apple, orange, and green beans). At this point, Rufus silently got up from the table, took his plate into the kitchen, and put it on the counter...the chicken, apple, and orange eatten, and the green beans untouched. Boudreaux looks at the green beans, bursts into screaming tears and runs out of the room, throwing himself face down on the bed and wailing loudly.
Rufus, unfazed, walks into the living room and sits down with a book.
The wailing continues, Rufus looking unaffected.
"Would you like some advice?" I finally ask.
R: "About what?"
F: "About your brother, who is throwing a screaming hissy fit this very moment."
R, after a long pause: "I guess."
F: "I suggest you go in there and (1) thank him for making your dinner and (2) tell him you will wash the dishes in return."
Rufus thought for a minute and then got up and went into the room where Boudreaux sounded like he might be in the later stages of labor. Almost immediately Rufus comes back out, picks up his book, and sits back down.
F: "Did you tell him?"
R: "No."
F: "Why not?"
R: "Because he is screaming so loud that he can't hear me."
F: "I suggest tapping him on the shoulder to get his attention."
He does and makes his peace and goes back to his book. Boudreaux eventually pulls himself together and returns to the kitchen, where he goes back to his slice of bread, gets out a slice of cheese, and makes himself 1/2 of a cheese sandwich to go with his dinner. He has a balanced meal: chicken, apple, orange, green beans, cheese, and bread, with a large glass of milk (poured himself). I am impressed by trying hard to look uninvolved.
Rufus to Boudreaux: "When you're done, I'll clean up. Thank you again for my dinner."
Boudreaux: "If you had been a little more grateful, you could have had a balanced meal like me."
Rufus did the dishes.
Tuesday night, I arrived home after a long day or work and meetings to get my usual greeting: "We're hoooooooonnnnngry! What's for dinner?" To which I responded, "Shut up and get me a pint of wine from the box." Well, not really, but that's what I was thinking anyway. I did my deep breathing exercises, recently recommended by my anger management coach, and "assumed the position" (behind the counter with some things that I can throw at people, like wooden spoons, and some things I shouldn't throw at people, like knives and plates).
By some wonderful miracle, the kitchen was actually clean. I put some pre-breaded, frozen chicken strips in the oven (because I'm a loving, health-conscious Mother who only buys organic) and tinkered around waiting for them to be ready. In the midst of my tinkering, I noticed that the compost bucket needed to be emptied. What a perfect job for a short person who can't legally drink.
Fatty to the boys, who are in repose upon the sofas, gazing upon scholarly tomes with lots of pictures all the whilst picking their snooters: "I need someone to please take the compost out."
This chore involves opening a door and walking about 50 feet, dumping a bucket on a small pile, turning around, walking 50 feet back inside, closing the door, and putting the bucket on the counter. Big whoop.
Rufus, who is quick on the draw: "I did it last time! He has to do it!"
At this point, Boudreaux emits a loud nasal sound that is somewhat akin to the siren on an East Texus ambulance: "AWWWWWWWWWWWW, DO I HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAVE TO?"
Now, I don't know what planet's moon was in what orbit, but my fuse wasn't short enough to get even get lit...I just went from zero to absolutely pissed off in about 2.3 nanoseconds:
"Fine," I said, "I'll take it out and you people can make your own dinner. If you can't do anything helpful for me, then I won't be helpful for you."
At this point, I expected much apologies and butt kissing and someone else to take the damn compost out, but in the two second pause that I allowed, none of this happened, so I stomped out to the damn heap and dumped the damned stuff myself. Upon returning inside, the timer went off for the chicken strips, so I put the hot pan on the stove top, put a fork next to them, got down two plates from the tall cabinet, and said, "Okay, that's all I'm contributing. The pan is hot, so don't burn yourself because you get no sympathy from me. Come in here and make your dinner."
At this point, I expected more whining and pleading, but no, I left the kitchen, and both boys got up to fix their dinners (aka, put a chicken strip on a plate). My next expectation was that each would eat just a chicken strip for dinner, because after all, that was cooked and waiting. But again, I was wrong. The scene that unfolded was an amazing illustration of birth order, genetics, and other stuff that I don't have the brain cells to list here.
Rufus got a plate, put a chicken strip on it, and walked to the table, not saying a word (MIRACLE!). His vibe was "I don't give a damn what sort of fit you throw. I'll eat my chicken and show you I don't care." He was a miniature version of Bumpus. Exactly.
But Boudreaux marched into the kitchen with a screaming air of "Alright then, I'll show you, dammit!" Yes, he is his mother's child and acts just like her. He then dug an orange out of the fridge, got a cutting board and a knife (not exceptionally sharp, so I just watched in interest from the other room), and proceeded to peel and section the orange. Rufus sat eating in silence. Boudreaux (just like his Mama would) marched over to the table and put half the orange segments on Rufus's plate: "Eat this," he commanded. Rufus (just like his Daddy) sat in silence, chewing.
Boudreaux picked up an apple, sliced it, cored it (well, sort of), and again, marched half of it over to Rufus's plate: "Eat this too," little bossy-like-me commanded. Stoic-"I'm not gonna let you get to me"-like-his-Daddy-Rufus sat in silence, chewing.
Boudreaux went to the icebox and dug out the green beans, put the container in the microwave for 60 seconds, marched back to Rufus and put about 10 green beans on his plate. Rufus, who will refuse all cooperation, spoke: "I don't want green beans. In fact I haven't asked for any of this." Boudreaux de la Mama: "You need to eat a vegetable. Hush up and eat them." Rufus goes back to silent chewing.
Boudreax returned to the kitchen, opened the bread and put a piece on his plate (with the chicken, apple, orange, and green beans). At this point, Rufus silently got up from the table, took his plate into the kitchen, and put it on the counter...the chicken, apple, and orange eatten, and the green beans untouched. Boudreaux looks at the green beans, bursts into screaming tears and runs out of the room, throwing himself face down on the bed and wailing loudly.
Rufus, unfazed, walks into the living room and sits down with a book.
The wailing continues, Rufus looking unaffected.
"Would you like some advice?" I finally ask.
R: "About what?"
F: "About your brother, who is throwing a screaming hissy fit this very moment."
R, after a long pause: "I guess."
F: "I suggest you go in there and (1) thank him for making your dinner and (2) tell him you will wash the dishes in return."
Rufus thought for a minute and then got up and went into the room where Boudreaux sounded like he might be in the later stages of labor. Almost immediately Rufus comes back out, picks up his book, and sits back down.
F: "Did you tell him?"
R: "No."
F: "Why not?"
R: "Because he is screaming so loud that he can't hear me."
F: "I suggest tapping him on the shoulder to get his attention."
He does and makes his peace and goes back to his book. Boudreaux eventually pulls himself together and returns to the kitchen, where he goes back to his slice of bread, gets out a slice of cheese, and makes himself 1/2 of a cheese sandwich to go with his dinner. He has a balanced meal: chicken, apple, orange, green beans, cheese, and bread, with a large glass of milk (poured himself). I am impressed by trying hard to look uninvolved.
Rufus to Boudreaux: "When you're done, I'll clean up. Thank you again for my dinner."
Boudreaux: "If you had been a little more grateful, you could have had a balanced meal like me."
Rufus did the dishes.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Kaptin's Teeth 2 Dull to Eat N. E. More
The Kaptin He B seying that his teethdone got dull and He thinkin Y. M.
should call the Dentist-of-Record and
C what he mite charge to shapen the
Kaptin's teeth. Y. M. is sumwhat a
bit reluctant to make the call cause
I B thinkin the DOR will just whoop
and holler and laugh and make smartie remarks. Cud one of
U take care of this 4 Y.M.?
I B standin by awaitin your replies.
Wunder what the familee queen of all wud think? Meybe we
cud get a 2 for 1 deal? Do U suppose thet when you ain't
chewin food properly it jes turns to fat faster? Give one a lot
to think about at bedtime when U kaint go to sleep, don't it.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Monday, January 14, 2008
For the Potty Mouth crowd.........
Y.M. thought there might be a certain factorwithin the viewing audience that would find
this worthy of attention. I guess the M.S. Poop
is a floating cess-pool-barge that goes around
collecting a little something to then transfer
N-2 the water trailer marine center to flow on
to join other tributaries ... and then what? I'll
bet the Potty Mouth Crowd has an answer?
You saw it first on Y.M.'s hot line..........
"You Should Have Seen The Other Gal"
This is basically for the Middle Child in a particular home.It just proves that even very old ladies can have a run-in
from time to time.
Actually there was not a "other gal", I am pleased to say.
There was a loose board on the boat dock at the boat show
and Y.M. went a-flying thru the air. One of the men on the
boat where I was supposed to be HEARD the crash and saw
my blouse on the dock and came a-running. Poor Y.M.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
My New Obsession
RUN, don't walk, to your nearest store and BUY. Yes, they are
high priced, but you can hide them in the closet or wherever you
hide your wine-in-a-box. I can eat a whole box in nothing flat.
They come in several flavors, all good. My favorite, I guess, is the
"Melting Romano". Our Publix has these little dandies displayed
by the fancy cheese/deli area. Let Yo Mama know what you be
thinking!
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