The Farmer In The Dell

The truth behind the item on the auction block mentioned in yesterday's post, comes with a devastating ending. As I was admiring the Big Guy Upstairs, whose image appeared in that now-famous plum, I started to get hungry. Certain the powers of Satan were afoot, I tried my best to refrain from eating the forbidden fruit. I am a mere mortal and the power overcame me.

If there is an auction jailhouse for heathens like me, lock me up because I ate the Holy one. And since I am headed south, I guess it would be okay to let you all know, He was damn tasty.

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Do you know who that handsome hunk of redneck is above? It's Mr. Lane. The kids and I drove him to work at 4:30 this morning. Can you say, "The early bird gets the worm, and the bags under her fucking eyes?" We had to stay with Mr. Lane for two hours. He's so lucky we love him.

Unfortunately, by the time we got back, the kids had to rush around to get ready for school. Both asked if they could just take the day off. A tiny part of me wanted to let them. I was tired too. But then that sensible-Mom side of me kicked in and I made them go.

After I drove them to school, I thought about that lovely couch, sitting there all alone. So sad really. Maybe I'll go cuddle with it for just a quick minute. An hour later I woke up in a puddle of drool with my hair stuck to my face. Good times.

I almost felt bad for my kids who were likely dragging ass at school, almost. Since I am now hours behind on my work, I will bid you all a great weekend.

I Believe In Love

I am always amazed at the types of things that make headlines. Specifically when items sell for buckets of cash when a religious figure can be seen in said item. I don't know if this makes the news to draw more believers or if the editors hear about something on eBay and think, "Let's out this crazy bastard."

Whatever the case, I think it's high time I jump on the bandwagon. I am a believer and certainly deserving of some additional cash. The problem is, I've never signed myself up for eBay. I have this fear of getting addicted to a habit I could not support. (That's the key to addiction folks.) Plus I hate losing. I could picture some sorry sonofabitch in Sri Lanka out bidding me, and just the thought of that pisses me off.

So I thought I would start my own auction right here and now. If there are naysayers among you, please don't try to destroy mine or the other's faith with negativity. Remember what your mother taught you, "If you have nothing nice to say, don't say anything at all."

The first and only item I have to put up on the block today is the most amazing gift nature could give. Maybe it was actually from the local market, but its origins certainly are from nature. At any rate, this item is special, and there is no need to strain your eyes to see the miracle, like that Grilled Cheesus, Mary and Joseph, which incidentally sold for $28,000. Gives a whole new meaning to "Feel the power of cheese" huh?



Here it is in all of its glory. God is good people. He has given me a heart-shaped plum to show His never ending love to me and you. Initially, my eyes refused to see the gift nature had provided. I was squeezing produce fast and furiously, and had no idea a miracle was in the palm of my hand. "I've got the whole world..." And you can too for the low, low price of... bidders, start your engines.

But wait, there's more. You see, as I looked at this gift, I knew He was reaching out to me. How could I sell our Father's love all willy nilly on the internet?

Thinking about that made me hungry and what happened next was simply another gift from above. See for yourself...



I took three small bites to satisfy my hunger, and there He was. Yes, I know the flash takes away from His beauty, but that is clearly The Big Guy. I mean really people, how could three innocent nibbles turn into His likeness? This post has me plum tuckered out.

Let the bidding begin!

...Baby You're No Good

Do you remember the story about my daughter playing the computer game, School Tycoon? Since she borrowed that game from a friend, she didn't get to finish playing before her friend wanted it back. Even though her mom, her shameful mom, found her a money cheat code on the internet, she was unable to cheat to her greatest potential.

Rather than being upset that she could no longer play that game, and rather than beg her parents to buy her that game, she rediscovered her GameCube. She only has two games for it because she doesn't play video games very often.

It serves me right. After the last time, I should have known better than to "help" my daughter with this game. I should have given her the, "try your best" lecture. Instead, I took the GameCube controller and tried my hand at Harvest Moon, Another Wonderful Life. I'm married to a part-time farmer, surely I could "help" right? What happened next left us both in shock.

I don't even know what I did wrong but I deleted her game. Poof! Gone! What the fuck?! How'd I do that? Wide-eyed, she looked at me and said, "Uh... Mom? What did you do?" Pretty funny hearing her say something I've asked her and her brother countless times. I offered her the same answer they always give me, "I don't know."

Once the shock wore off, she was slightly amused. I kept saying, "I'll find a way to fix this sweetpea."

She was at a stage in this game where she had already gone through an entire year. She had gotten married and had a baby, which, by the way, she made a point of saying, "Way to kill your grandson, mother!"

I deleted my first grandchild. What kind of monster am I? Hook or crook, no matter what, I had to right the wrong. Two days later, after using every ounce of free time possible, I got her back to where she was with a bonus of her cow being pregnant.

I really liked the game. Simulation farming at its best. It teaches all sorts of good things like being kind to the earth and animals. It teaches about responsibility, community and family life.

One thing I hated was her husband. Total dick! No one, not even a computer dude is good enough for my baby. I'm going to make a fabulous mother in-law someday.

The guy she marries in the game does absolutely nothing. He asks questions like, "Is the farm even making any money?" and "The fridge is empty, think you can fill it up?"

My baby married a fucking bum! And I helped her.

The game offers the options for which husband she ends up with. First the character makes friends with the one she is interested in and it progresses from there. The surfer dude, which is the one she was married to the first time, and who I chose for her the second time, in an effort to make the game as much like her deleted one as possible.

The second guy is a hippy musician who sits under a tree all day plucking the strings. The last guy is a farmhand and would have been my choice had I not been trying to do everything exactly the same.

As time goes on, there are certain questions you are asked. How you answer those questions determines what kind of life you have, which I did not know. I always picked whatever option sounded best, except when the asshole husband asked questions like, "Where are you going?" Rather than say, "Just down the road," I would choose the "None of your business," option. I'm not kidding I hated that dude as much as one person could possibly hate a computerized son in-law.

After my daughter finally forgave me for deleting her entire family, she took over the controls. I was pretty into the game and watched her play often. As the years rolled on, she built one hell of a nice farm complete with all of the extras like a milking room and a food processing room, which made her lots of money along the way.

At the end of the game, the character is supposed to retire and her child is supposed to take over the family farm. I am such a bad mommy! My daughter was so close to the end of this game but bedtime got in the way. She begged me to let her stay up and finish. I insisted that she go to bed and would have something fun to look forward to in the morning. Reluctantly she headed to bed.

Did I mention what a bad mommy I am yet?

As soon as she was sleeping, I turned the game back on. No! I didn't accidentally delete it! It was worse than that.

"Hurry, something is wrong with her!" The doctor came and told her husband and son, he did all he could and said he was sorry.

She fucking died! After all of that!!!

I quickly turned the game off, hoping by not saving it, the ending would be different when my daughter played in the morning. It wasn't. Lane 2 was not only appalled but was really pissed that her stupid husband would get all of her money and the farm, and her stupid kid ran off to play sports rather than take over the farm.

Can I just say, I should have been given an award for my stellar acting skills when her character died. I couldn't very well tell her I knew that was going to happen. Could I?

After the shock of her untimely death wore off, Lane 2 said, "Whoever wrote the storyline in this game is a moron."

When you think about it, she is totally right. What's the deal with death in children's movies and games? Disney has been making a boatload on dead mommy movies for decades.

Anyhow, the girl and I decided we would play again, together. Okay, maybe the together part was my idea. We agreed we would try to get the farmhand dude to marry the character and try our best to not die at the end, even if that means no sarcastic answers to the computerized spouse.

Hmmm... on second thought, maybe I oughta sit this one out.

I'm In Love With A Stripper

The headline seems wrong knowing I am about to write about my son. He isn't a stripper, well, he acted like one when he was 3-years-old but that isn't important right now.

Friday night, the high school sponsored a dance for all of the eighth grade students from all of the area schools. There are at least ten schools, outside of the local middle school that filter into the high school. The dance was an opportunity for all of the kids to meet and mingle before their first day together as freshmen next fall.

Lane 1 is a popular kid. Besides his friends in our neighborhood, which is outside of town, he has many friends from his school, St. Peter, Paul and Mary. He also attended the middle school for a short time in sixth grade, where he made a lot of friends.

At the dance, he spent a lot of time catching up with old friends. None of the kids were on the dance floor, so the chaperones who were mostly high schoolers, went around to each group of chatting kids and told them to get out there and dance.

When a girl, a high school junior, approached my son's group of friends, he said, "Are you asking me to dance? I'd be happy to."

What kind of little stud muffin does he think he is? That cracked me up. He is in eighth grade and tricked a chaperone to dance with him. No doubt a proud moment for the boy. When he told us the story, he added, "What can I say? She's in love wit a strippah."

That comment stuck with the boy all weekend. Saturday afternoon, after his track meet (he made it to state, incase you missed yesterday's post) we were driving home and that song came on the radio. He said, "Dude, turn it up."

Mr. Lane and I looked at each other, and at the same time, sang, "I'm in love wit a track star."

That song will never be the same again in our house.

When he came home from the dance, his pockets were not lined with telephone numbers like the last time. Instead, he had a laundry list of plans. He's taking this one to a movie, that one to the golf course, this one to the river, ect. He didn't just make plans with girls. He had a mental laundry list to go fishing with this buddy, jet skiing with that buddy, dirt bike riding with a group of them, his list covered the entire summer.

I don't know how many of his plans he will get to keep but if this weekend was any indication, the world, as we know it, does in fact revolve around that teenager.



Here he is driving two neighborhood kids around on a "golf cart" that he borrowed from one of our neighbors. Lane 1, rather than accepting money for helping the guy with lawn work and watching his dog when he's away, trades that for playtime on this thing. (Blurry photo taken by Mr. Lane)



Sunday, even though it was much too cold on the river, here is Lane 1 jet skiing. (This blurry photo also was taken by Mr. Lane)

I'll have more pictures of the strippah from his track meet when I get my film developed.

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Holy buckets of well-wishes Batman! My mom told me to tell all of you thanks a million for all of the e-cards and e-mails. She is feeling better and drinking lots of water, which in her defense, she had been doing before all of this happened. Like most people, she cut back when she began feeling lousy. Have you had your water today?

Thanks for cheering her up. You guys are awesome.

Life In The Fast Lane

This weekend seemed to revolve around my boy. I guess when you're 13, the world is your stage and he was just performing for all who would watch. Let me tell you, all eyes were on him.

He had a track meet Saturday. This was the first time Mr. Lane was able to attend. It was so cool watching my husband's face while our son took his mark and was being cheered on by all of the other parents and, of course, all of the girls. I think I heard Mr. Lane chuckle over the sound of them screaming, "Go Lane!"

At the finish line in each event, Lane 1 was met by screaming teammates, high-fives and hugs. Two proud parents and a reluctantly proud sister cheered from the stands.

He. Qualified. For. State!

I'm proud of my kid. Not just for qualifying, everything about him makes me proud. Sappy mom that I am felt a lump swell in my throat during his last lap toward the finish line. Although I was watching him closely, my mind was wandering. I thought about all of the great things I love about that kid, how he has improved his grades and his attitude, how he helps around the house, how he tries his hardest all of the time, the way he comforts his sister when she is sad, how he annoys her when she is happy, how he always makes me laugh, how he comes to the aid of a classmate being harassed by another and his overall awesome personality.

Halfway through the meet, I headed down the bleachers in an attempt to get an unobstructed picture of my boy and his teammates. I fell down the stairs. Legs completely dead, I landed hard on my knees and bounced down a few steps. Normally my first reaction would be to laugh it off but I was feeling terribly emotional, plus it hurt like hell.

After a split second of silence, I heard my old man laugh, then my daughter, followed by the crowd.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lane 1 rushing toward me, "Dude! Ma! Are you okay?" He offered his hand to help me up. The laughing continued.

Bruised knees and ego, I said, "I'm fine buddy. Thanks." As I took his hand, and forced a smile, I felt like I wanted to cry.

Typically, I would just give my husband a dirty look or quietly let him know I thought he was out of line. Instead of saying nothing or shooting daggers at him, I returned to my seat and said, loud enough for others who laughed to hear, "It's hysterical when someone with multiple sclerosis falls down the stairs. What a gimp I am." I threw in some fake laughter to make my point.

Suddenly, no one was looking at me anymore, not even my husband. I could tell those words hurt him and I didn't really care. I felt so much more sensitive than I ever would about something like that, which yippy fucking skippy is another symptom of MS.

Although my legs have come out from under me plenty of times in the eight years since my diagnosis, it was the first time I truly felt my handicap and I think my husband might have noticed.

We were both hurt and embarrassed and decided not to talk about it or maybe pretend that it didn't happen.

To break the awkwardness of the afternoon and not ruin the otherwise perfect day, as we walked a half of a mile back to the car, I said, "I wonder how many more tumbles I have to take before I can get official gimp plates so we can park closer."

Their three heads spun quickly in my direction and they busted out laughing when they saw my smile.

The teenager said, "See that Dad? You're learning. First you look to see if Mom is smiling before you bust out laughing. Slowly, you are learning. Hey Ma? You think after you get your gimp plates, we can get a short bus for dad?"

Just one more reason why I love that kid, which is why I'll tell you more about his weekend tomorrow.

Like A Bridge Over Troubled Waters

Today's preplanned post is on hold. Two things popped up out of nowhere. Number one, Mom found herself in the emergency room yesterday. She, of course, went unwillingly in an ambulance. Do you know people like my mom? They will admit to feeling lousy, being in pain, this goes on for days, leading into weeks and won't bother to see a doctor until they are down for the count. Folks, meet my mother.

Thankfully she was able to come home after they flushed her like a terlet full of IVs. She was dehydrated and has kidney stones with a nasty infection. I guess those things go hand-in-hand. Drinking water makes you pee, which stings because of the kidneys preparing their attack. You stop drinking because stinging pee holes are no fun, and poof, you get all raisined out.

Mom and I have reversed roles so many times I can't begin to tell you in one post. I have lectured this woman about the importance of drinking 64 ounces of water every single day so many times I should have recorded it for playback.

Sixty four ounces sounds like a lot because it is a lot. The human body is supposed to be 70% water. If there isn't the right amount of water intake, all sorts of havoc begins to take place inside.

Sure, kidney and bladder troubles can happen regardless, however, are much less likely in people who drink the required amount of water. Every. Single. Day.

A few years ago, I interviewed a doctor. He said the majority of problems in otherwise healthy people is caused simply by not drinking enough water. To give you a gist of what he told me, water benefits include, less muscle aches, less head aches, it speeds metabolism, helps with weight loss, keeps skin clear and soft, slows the wrinkle process, it helps the circulatory system, and if all that doesn't sell you on water, get this, it boosts your sex drive helping keep certain areas moist and other areas pump-ready ifyouknowwhati'msayin'.

You may be at the doubting stage so I'm here to tell you, I tested this dude's theory and everything he said was true. Sure, when you begin increasing your water you'll spend an absurd amount of time in the bathroom, but your body eventually gets used to processing better.

That's the lecture I give Mom in a nutshell. Now I give you readers the challenge. I want you to report back and tell me how you feel. Journal it, blog it, e-mail me, whatever. This is a TRIPLE-DOG-DARE! Try weaseling out of that one.

Well-wishes can be sent to my mommy at GrannyOakley@hotmail.com.

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The second thing to come up was Patricia's comment this morning on yesterday's post. She flashed me back to a time my sister Angie and I really should have been given a major ass whoopin'. We were spared because we had company that day.

You know those patty cake games little girls play? "Miss Mary Mack, Mack, Mack, all dressed in black, black, black, with silver buttons, buttons, buttons all down her back, back, back..." Waiting for our grandmother to show up, Ang and I sat there playing our little clapping games.

Not too long before, we learned a new song at school. All of the cool girls were singing it, so we did too. "All the little girls on Jay Bird Street, love to hear the robin going tweet, tweet, tweet, rockin' robin. Daddy got drunk and thrown in jail. Sister's on the corner singing, 'Pussy for sale' rockin' robin."

We had no idea what we were saying. Mom sure did. Never saw that woman move so fast in all of our lives. Apparently Grandma was walking toward us. We were so wrapped up in our clapping game, we didn't notice her. Even if we did, we sincerely didn't know pussy was not a kitty cat. Mom said bad words at us through her teeth that day.

Ang and I finally figured out what we had done and that was by far one of the funniest things ever.

This Blog Is For The Birds

A lot of people don't know that I am a backyard bird watcher. Admirer more so than a watcher, I suppose. All I have to do is fill up some feeders and poof, free entertainment that goes on for months.

Today, I am inviting you all to my backyard blog party. So put on your do-rag or hat so the birds don't crap on your head, and grab yourself a spot on the porch swing. All I have to offer is some sweet tea or coffee, and if that isn't good enough, like I tell my kids, go get a drink out of the hose.



This here is a big pecker. It's one of the many varieties of the redheaded woodpecker family. I like to just call him big pecker. He likes that.



This guy is a wee little pecker, Hoss says they call it a Downy. Google tells me he's right, but I think little pecker suits him.



The bad bird of the backyard is the blue jay. He not only makes all sorts of noise, it is rumored that he has broken into other bird's nests and torn shit up. One source close to the culprit claims he kills innocent little eggs. His favorite thing in the world seems to be plain old peanuts (unsalted of course) but he has a nemesis, Rocky the neighborhood squirrel always pops in for a visit when the nuts come out. Not that there's anything wrong with that.



This is a cat bird. All I have to do to get him to show up is put raisins on the railing of the deck. Sometimes the robins fight them for the raisins, which makes for even more entertainment. The cat bird makes a soft chirp that sounds like a kitten meowing. I've been fooled into searching for orphaned kittens a couple of times because of this little bugger. I think I saw him laughing at me the last time I chanted, "Here, kitty, kitty."



Anyone who knows me well is aware that this little dude is my very favorite bird. I took a lot of pictures of nothing before I captured this quick moving hummingbird. There are several hummingbirds that visit the Lane yard every year. They dig sugar water so don't waste your money buying any special hummingbird fluid if you want them visiting your house.



The female oriole isn't as vibrant as her partner but she is a brave bird. One of the few who will take a drink of sugar water while I'm standing inches away.



The male oriole isn't nearly as brave but is way cuter. He sings his stupid head off usually much too early for me. I like to call this one my alarm clock.



Lastly, this is Bob, the kids named him. He's a baby robin that was somehow injured. We made a nest in a shoebox and fed him worm bits until he was strong enough to try out his wings. Right after we set it free, he flew in a circle and landed on the railing of our deck. Guess he didn't really want to leave.

I hope you enjoyed our backyard time together. Have a great day everyone!

Game On

What is it that causes us to do things we are completely against? For me, all it took was a little computer game, which incidentally was made for children.

For years there have been devices that you can add to your game consoles that allow the players to cheat. The internet brought forth oodles and oodles of cheat code websites, making cheating much too simple. What happened to the good old fashioned hardcore player who worked to beat each level and walked away with blisters on their thumbs and a challenger waiting in the wings?

I've been anti-cheat code since the Game Shark (first I knew of) came out. My son really wanted that for his Nintendo and begged me on and off for weeks. He never won that fight. I lectured him about challenges and working hard to unlock the next level. I explained that beating a video game helps with problem solving skills that he would use often in life. I rambled on about lazy people taking the easy way out. I told him it feels good to achieve things without the help of a cheating device. I think I may have even said something like, "Life doesn't come with cheat codes, son." Obviously, I was putting way too much thought into the topic.

Odyssey II was the first video game we owned growing up. The whole family played. And as many of us as there were, I don't remember fighting for a turn. Funny how times change.

When Dad played, we all loved to watch. He was so animated. If his on-screen character would move to the left, right, or jump, dad did too.



Wide-eyed and smiling, here is what Dad looked like when he was winning. (Edited to add, my dad was not nude in the photos. He was in his skivvies, which I cropped out.)

We would yell "helpful hints" at him while he tried to concentrate. And we laughed when he swore at the game through his teeth in a very Fred Flintstone kind of a way.



Eyes closed, while pouting, here is what Dad looked like when he was losing.

Several times since the Game Shark lecture, Lane 1 has asked if he could look up certain codes on the internet. Each time, I've told him no. He hasn't bugged me in a really long time. After years of the same old same old, he knows his answer without asking.

Lane 2 isn't much of a "gamer" but she does enjoy an occasional computer game and dabbles in Gamecube. She has never asked for codes. Instead, she asks me to "help" her. This is the part where I usually get hooked on one of her games.

A couple of nights ago, Lane 2 followed the house rules. "If the game gets you mad, turn it off." When she angrily closed her computer desk, I asked what was wrong. She showed me a game her friend let her borrow, School Tycoon. She was upset that she couldn't get very far and decided to turn it off before it got the best of her.

"Mom, maybe later you can help me build a school. Every time I get things nice, a tornado comes along and breaks everything, and then I have to spend the little money I've earned on maintenance."

I told her I would "help" later. As bedtime was approaching she asked if she would have to wait until tomorrow to play the game with me. I felt bad and said, "No, we can play a little now."

She set the game up on the computer and gave me the gist of the mission. You begin with $8,000 and have to build a school, classroom by classroom. As your money goes away rather quickly, the school begins to fill up with students. Money slowly starts to replenish itself and it seems like you are on the right track. Next thing you know a case of food poisoning breaks out in your cafeteria, then the buildings are hit by tornadoes and if that weren't bad enough, your students begin to leave because everything is a wreck, which makes the incoming money stop. Before long we were bankrupt and the game ended.

Together we built and watched two schools get destroyed. I told her I thought the game was too hard. She agreed. We both realized bedtime had come and gone, so I quickly tucked her in and said we would try again tomorrow.

As soon as that little girl's head hit the pillow, I was on her computer trying like crazy to build the best school in the history of ever. I was defeated two more times. I turned to my friend the internet and did a search for the game. Amazing how easily you can find information. I love these internets.

Although my search only included the name of the game, one of the first things on the search results were cheat codes. I tried not to pay too much attention to that. I was after all just looking for some... helpful hints, maybe a walkthrough, but really, that's all. When my eyeballs saw the words "Increase money cheat" the inner cheater took over the controls and went balls out with more money than she could possibly use.

Can I just say, Best. School. Ever?!

In the morning, soon after the alarm went off, which just so happens to be two hours after I finally stopped kicking that games ass, I showed Lane 2 our new school.

After she checked things out and did her oohing and aahing, I finally told her how I was able to actually make the game work. She looked wide-eyed at me as if appalled and proud, and said, "It's okay Mom. The internet is a tool, and look at how much it helped you make our game better. By the way, I won't tell Lane (her brother) that you cheated."

It feels bad cheating but good when you have a little partner in crime.

The Joker

What happens when a woman takes a drink after 20-some years of not drinking? She takes a strangers hat off of his head and poses for a picture. Little did she know her daughter who was ridiculed over her broken pooper, would share it with everyone on the internet. Sounds like a Priceless commercial to me.


Hey Mom, paybacks... you know the rest.

Is It Over Yet

St. Peter, Paul and Mary School played a dirty little trick on me. They gave the kids a week off for "Spring Break," earlier this month. Then they gave them an extended weekend called "Easter Break," which ends tomorrow morning. When we were kids we simply had Spring Break over the Easter holiday. This is so not fair.

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Yesterday, Easter at Mom's was great. Great people, great food, oh yeah, there was also great embarrassment for me. Anyone have any idea why my mother would think dinnertime was the right time to hold up a bottle of stool softeners and say, "Lois, make sure you take these."? Anyone know what might have been going through her crazy little head? Anyone?

Ignoring Mom really isn't an option because she is persistent as all hell. She shook the bottle until I took it out of her hands.

My sister Angie's boyfriend Papa Roach thought he would chime in on the fun by making subtle hints about a certain someone who gets stage fright. Oh yeah, he's funny.

He is nearly as funny as Mr. Lane who, in a very Jim Carrey way, turned his back to me, grabbed his butt cheeks and said while squeezing them, "May I ass you a question, Lo? Could it be that your anal tube caused your killer rhoid from hell?"

And like father like son. Lane 1 said, "Mom? I think the Easter Bunny hid an egg in your drawers."

I have officially become the butt of every joke. I hope you all had a much better keaster, I mean, Easter than I did.

Oh, It Was 1980-Something

You all are as nutty as I am, and I couldn't love you more. Thank you all for your concern. You know you have real good friends when they offer genuine concern over such things. Anyhow, I drank about a gallon of green tea and I'm hoping it will indeed be a Good Friday.

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Welcome to part seven of the Story of Us. This ongoing saga is about mine and my husband's early years. By popular demand, today's post will have one photo of a very big haired Lois Lane. No scrolling ahead of time people. There will be other 80s hair pictures of me later in the series, but first, I have to dig them out of the cedar chest and scan them.

When we last saw our young lovers-to-be, Lois was rockin' out at a party in her leather fringe jacket, acid-washed jeans and big hair. Mr. LaMe was getting ready to drive his drunk date home, with plans of returning to the party.

I'd accidentally fed his date a beer bong, which made her a bit tipsy, causing her to want to go home early. Mr. LaMe asked if he could come back after "ditching" her. I acted as if I could care a less if he came back.

He did come back, but it was nearly an hour later. I assumed he got a little sumpin' sumpin' from his date, so I pretended to not be watching for him and completely ignored the fact that he had come back and was walking toward me. I acted engrossed in the conversation around me. I could tell he was waiting for a break in the conversation.

When he finally got a word in edgewise, he was tugging on my jacket and said, "Lo, I totally need to talk to you."

He looked like something was wrong so I eased up a bit on the bitch routine. We walked away from my friends and he told me he spent the last hour getting lectured by his date's mom for bringing her home drunk. I really felt bad.

"Didn't you tell her it was me?"

"Hell no! I told her that I wasn't drinking or encouraging her to drink and stuff. But when I was like, 'Your daughter is old enough to know better,' she totally slapped me!"

He was sincerely appalled and it looked so fucking cute on him.

"Her mom slapped you? I'm really sorry you were put in the middle of that mess. I really wasn't trying to get her that drunk, and I really didn't want her to get in trouble. I especially didn't even think about you getting stuck in the crossfire. I am sorry. I was just..."

"You were trying to get me laid so I'd like leave you alone, weren't you?"

I looked at my shoes. "So hey, you want a beer?"

"You like totally have this evil kinda twinkle in your eyes and stuff. You know it?"




Here I am with my cousin Benny in all of my 80s evilness. Notice the crimped hair, the acid washed mini skirt and the earring store and White Hen keys on a groovy pink spring chain around my hand. Benny was the good kid in the family who kept me grounded and amazingly enough, he never laughed at my hair that made us the same height.

Mr. LaMe and I spent the rest of the night hanging out and talking about his life in California. He sounded like he really loved that place, which made me realize he might want to go back there someday. The teenage heart is easily broken and I wanted no part of that. I decided I wouldn't get too attached, just incase.

One of my friends interrupted to ask if I would pierce her ears, without her mother's permission, at the store where I worked in the mall. I had no idea he would retain any of the information discussed, let alone, show up at my job a few days later.

I was right in the middle of inventory when he, unbeknownst to me, walked into the earring store. I had my back to the door and was wrapped up in what I was doing. He disguised his voice into a very rugged-biker kind of a way and said, "Excuse me? Do you pierce scrotum?" The next thing I heard was the sound of his zipper.

It was one of those moments where you want to crawl into a hole and die. I hesitantly turned around to say, "We just don't do that sort of thing here," and I saw his stupid face smiling ear-to-ear. He knew he got me.

"Oh my god! You are such a total jerkoff! I can't tell you how happy I am that it wasn't a real customer asking. Close your pants! Oh my god!"

---

In honor of Easter, I have to share the best Peeps link on the net. Since Peeps are always born as conjoined quintuplets, scientists used modern medicine to attempt a miracle separation. Amazing what some people will do when they have free time. Make sure you checkout each of the phases of the separation procedure.

Happy Easter!

Last To Know

Sorry for the mega-downer post yesterday. I miss my sister, ya know? I spent a lot of time really pissed off at her and her final choices. I never actually mourned for her because I spent so much time being angry. It took a while for me to realize and accept sometimes people think there are no choices. What a desolate place that must be.

I got a couple of e-mails about the post and I want to thank you for reaching out. Depression is one of those things that can either take you, or you can fight it kicking and screaming. I'm here with my boxing gloves and my shit kickers on, and I got your back. Just call. My sister never called. I don't know why and I can't spend the rest of my life wondering about what ifs.

I removed the video and put the link to it there so the blog loads faster. I would like to have left it as it was but I know from other e-mails received that some of you were unable to access the blog at work because of the video. I absolutely love that song and of course the video touches close to home.

---

Switching gears completely, I have stage fright issues. I know that's probably hard for any of you regular readers to understand or believe, but I'll explain. Since the in-laws arrival several weeks ago, my house has been filled with guests. Since the weather broke, there have been an absurd amount of neighbor kids over visiting during the same time.

I have a problem going potty with people in my house. I know, I know. I can hear the collective "awww" of sympathy from you already, or was that a groan of despair because I'm talking about my broken poop chute?

The reason why I am telling you this is because I was telling my mom about it over the phone and she said, "You're blogging about this right? Because you have no hesitations whatsoever about making a mockery out of us." So here I sit, broken hearted. Paid to shit, but only farted. Sorry, my dad always used to say that when he had issues. And let me tell you, I've got more issues than People Magazine.

At any rate, I've had... plumbing problems. Yeah, that's it, plumbing. And things in my tummy haven't been feeling so good. Yesterday my butt wasn't feeling so good. I tried to tell myself that the laundry detergent probably wasn't agreeing with all of my 2,000 parts but deep down, I knew my bum was on strike over all of the company we have been entertaining as of late.

Finally, the kids went to school, my old man went to work and in-laws have gone away. Time for me and my throne to spend some serious quality time together. This was supposed to be a good time had by all, however, my bum was still under protest and was now aching and kind of... itchy?

Houston... we have a problem! An asteroid is headed this way! I mean a hemorrhoid. They really should be called assteroids.

This was quite upsetting. I haven't had anything close to this type of anal discomfort since I gave birth. As I was about to fall to my knees and cry in my very best Nancy Kerrigan impersonation, the phone rang. It was Mr. Lane. We are very open about everything. So of course I began to whine to him.

"Honey, I have a hemorrhoid..."

Before I could complete my whining session, he said, "Yeah. I know. I was going to tell you about that the other night."

"Tell me? I thought I would... I should be the first to know that I had a siamese twin growing out of my bum. So you knew? For days? How did you... never mind. You are a nasty man."

"I didn't say anything because I thought you knew. I mean, how didn't you know that sucker is huge?!"

Do I need to tell you I hate that guy?

---

Friday I'll get back to the party from back in the early days when me and the old man met. If I had known then, what I know now, especially following the assteriod event, things may have been different. Stay tuned. If you would like to catch up on the Story of Us, parts 1 - 6 the links are below.


Part One


Part Two


Part Three


Part Four


Part Five


Part Six

Music Video

Hold On

April 12, 1963 - September 24, 2002

My sister Lucy would have been 43 today.
The song and video above say it all.

Smells Like Teen Spirit

My sister Angie is about the only family member who should read today's post, in-laws included. Although, it may cause her to throw up a little, she is the most open when it comes to talking about sex. That's right, I said sex.

Mom if you are still reading, don't you dare call me and tell me how grossed out you are. It's like that scene in The Hollywood Knights (one of my all time favorite movies) where the overweight, asthmatic, tuba player calls his mother to say he is not coming home because he is going to get laid, but she thinks he is saying late. After he spells it out over the phone to her, "Laid mother, l-a-i-d," she faints. Something I could see my own mother doing. Anyhow, all y'all been warned.

Skipping many of our early days to bring you to the present, I thought I would share with you something that happened the other night when my in-laws went to stay with my sister in-law for the night.

I guess in a way Mr. Lane and I have come full circle. That night, both of the kids had sleepovers down the street and we were alone for the first time in years.

He looked at me so seriously and said, "Lo, remember when we finally got our bed delivered to that apartment on Harlem?..."

Just the words flashed my mind back in time. We waited so long, saving up for that black leather California King waterbed. We'd spent months sleeping on the raunchy carpet in our first apartment in Chicago. After some acrobatic, wild sex, we crashed hard in that bed. Amazing how two young people can appreciate something so much. It was after all, just a bed, but we couldn't have been happier.

After a really good night's sleep I stripped the bed to wash the sheets and I got an idea that I thought was pretty cool. Mr. Lane wasn't interested in my thoughts because he said "It'd be too messy."

"...If I would have known back then that we would have so little time alone, together now, I would have agreed to that messy sex," he said.

"It's almost too quiet here isn't it?"

"Yeah. I'm going to run up to the video store. Anything specific you want to see?"

"Not really."

"We are going to suck at being empty nesters," he said smiling at me.

When that man left I got nostalgic. I thought even though we don't have a waterbed anymore, I could still simulate what I wanted to do all of those years ago that he was now regretting we hadn't done. In a small way, I wanted him to know that we could be good empty nesters, one day.

I stripped the sheets off of the bed and put a painting tarp on it and poured sesame seed oil all over the plastic. A perverted slip 'n slide, if you will.

When he came back from the video store and found me and "the mess" that old man of mine couldn't smile any bigger and couldn't strip fast enough.

I would like to be able to tell you it was the best sex we have ever had, but this is real life people. I'm sure if we were younger, it may have been different. Because we are older now, neither of us are as limber. In fact, at one point, Mr. Lane couldn't keep his knees from sliding out from under him and he fell "splat" right on me like a retarded starfish.

You ever see a newborn foal try to walk and it's legs go out from under it? That is what he looked like. I'm not sure sex is supposed to make you laugh uncontrollably, but we certainly were.

Slathered up like two greased pigs, we tried every angle possible, which included both of us nearly falling out of bed a couple of times. It was slick but we managed. It's not like it was mission impossible but it was definitely difficult sex at this stage of our lives.

I rolled the tarp up and threw it away. Mr. Lane was surprised how easily the mess was cleaned up, and said he regretted not agreeing to my idea earlier. We hobbled our achy old asses into the shower, and he washed my hair for me like he always used to, my nirvana.

With the kids being 13 and 11, it's a little soon to think about having an empty nest, but after that night, I think we agreed it will be interesting.

---

Admittedly sucking up, Mark wins the grand prize for his haiku entry, "With arms folded she looks at the world defiant, dares us not to laugh." Congratulations! Thanks to those who entered and voted.

Jamie Dawn gets an honorable mention because I didn't copy and paste her entire haiku. Sorry, I suck.

The last contest at Home Fires was won by Todd by being the 30,000th hit. Todd now goes by the name of 30K Todd. He was sent a Chicago White Sox World Series Championship baseball cap.

Now I need to figure out what to send Mark. If you have any ideas, within reason, of course, please leave them in the comments. In the meantime, Mark, send me your mailing address.

Only The Strong Survive

Does anyone remember The Tubes? Their songs have been stuck in my head lately.

I've been downright neglectful in the land of blog. My in-laws are still here, so I recon I'll blame them. After I explained what a blog is my mother in-law wanted me to give her the link to Home Fires. Although, I really wouldn't mind her reading, she isn't bad word friendly. I'm pretty sure all of the fucks I toss out around here could possibly make her head spin.

Since their visit, I have been on my very best behavior. No bad words have passed my lips without an immediate, "Ooops, sorry." It's just that bad words are part of my native tongue. Thankfully, she doesn't get offended when I slipup.

A few nights ago we went out to dinner. We had to take two cars because we couldn't all cram into one. My mother in-law was driving her 300C and my old man was driving my 300M. That woman blew my "new" car away with hers. On our way back, I rode with her, as did the kids.

She hasn't gotten used to her satellite radio and was just kind of flipping through the stations. Right before making a turn, she, unbeknownst to her, landed on the Playboy channel. She was concentrating so hard on following Mr. Lane, she wasn't listening as the kids and I heard, "anal tube."

Lane 1 and Lane 2 were dying with laughter. Wide-eyed, I looked at her and said, "Bad station. Um... change it?" She didn't know I was talking to her and still wasn't listening to the radio. She also wasn't changing the channel. The kids had tears pouring down their cheeks from laughing so hard, as I finally found to power button.

She looked at me kind of puzzled when the radio went off. I tried to explain over the roaring laughter in the back seat. She was rightfully mortified. When we got back to our house, the kids couldn't tell their dad and grandpa fast enough about the anal tube.

My mother in-law does have a sense of humor, so it wasn't a terrible thing that happened. She even told the kids, "I don't want either of you going to school telling your friends that Nana let you listen to Playboy radio... or taught you early about anal tubes."

That was the statement that sent me over the edge.

Since then, anal tube (whatever that is, and thanks but I don't want to know) has become the butt of every joke in my house.

---

Haiku Hullabaloo Entries:

1. With arms folded
she looks at the world defiant,
dares us not to laugh.

2. Spewing liquid through
nose is common practice when
reading Lois Lane.

3. she starts to moan soft
gentle breeze flows through window
ron jeremy scores

4. Lois Lane, super
Beauty, unsure of what's next.
But it sure looks good.

5. sunlit raindrops
prism fractured light
rainbow appears
dying snow
sun warmed earth
tender shoot erupts

6. Home girl of Home Fires
Deep blog brings joy and laughter
But wear your attends

7. Lois Lane makes me
laugh so hard I snort, much to
chagrin of others.

8. my pal Lois lane
songwriting partner supreme
don't take no possums!

9. Pee Wee likes to stroke
He did it at the movies
To prison he went!

10. Spitting up baby
And I say, "this is the life"
Poopy diapers RULE.

11. We entered this game.
Insanity, this I know.
Lois makes us nuts.

12. the end of the world
or was it the beginning?
i am tetsuo

13. Bowl me over with
a giggle or two because
I just read No Newz!

14. the devil knows code
evil programs he has made
will wright is satan

15. Lois Lane ROCKS ME
Her family life is odd...
And that is SO COOL!

16. the flesh it wiggles
her body rises and falls
*squirt!* i'm all done now

17. Pretty is Lo Lane
Opossums can't go near her tits
"Holla" at you girl

Submit your vote by posting the number of your favorite in the comments or e-mail your vote to Home_Fires@comcast.net . You have until Sunday to cast your vote. (I was going to have a voting poll but I found out that if you clean your cookies, you can vote more than once.) You can also suggest a prize for our winner.

Thanks to all of you who entered!

Contest Deadline Today: Haiku Hullabaloo

Have you sent in your haiku? Today is the last day to do so. If you would like a chance at winning some fabulous prize, yet to be decided upon, send your original haiku to me at Home_Fires@comcast.net. Try your best to follow the haiku guidelines; five syllables in line one, followed by seven syllables in line two and then five more in the third line of text. There is no theme or any other rules, so have fun with it.

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Welcome to part six of the Story of Us. This ongoing saga is about mine and my husband's early years. You can read parts one through five below or you can just hop in now. I'm trying to make each part its own so if you have just landed here, you won't feel too terribly lost. Sorry in advance if some of the details are a repeat for you regular readers.

Rockin' out to the band in my leather fringe jacket, my acid-washed jeans and my big hair, I saw Mr. LaMe and his date arrive. I pretended not to see them and continued head banging away to the music.

They walked over to me and yelled "Hello" over the band. I smiled at those two dorks. When the music stopped, I took them around showing them where the kegs (kegs of root beer Mom) and bathrooms were, which are the two key things to know at a kegger party. I introduced them to the band and some of my other friends.

I have to admit to being slightly embarrassed to claim them as my guests. They really didn't fit in very well. Between his Valley Girl accent and her inability to communicate, combined with his George Jetson hairdo and her attempt at going for the goth look, they were certainly a sight for sore eyes. Her black eye makeup was thick and her face was as white as my ass. A sight I'm tellin' ya.

I asked his girlfriend if she wanted to go hit the beer bong (It's like a root beer float Mom) with me. She had no idea what that even meant, but hesitantly followed me anyhow. I left Mr. LaMe in the company of my friend Dan. He was a ladies' man and I figured the two of them could swap stories.

I had to show the girl how a beer bong was done. In a very Fast Times at Ridgemont High kind of a way, I explained, "Relax your throat muscles." Everyone around us knew what movie I was quoting but she was taking me heart-attack-seriously, and had no idea we were laughing at and not with her.

The poor girl nearly drowned. That amused me. I patted her back and handed her a paper towel. The buzz hit her immediately but she remained in her shy little shell. I brought her back to Mr. LaMe, who promptly asked "What did you do to her?"

I laughed at that stupid boy and walked away.

Within the hour, she was ready to leave and he felt the need to hunt me down to say goodbye.

"I totally hope she doesn't like barf in my car."

"Me too. Sorry. I didn't know she was a light weight."

"It's okay. I guess this was like her first time drinking and stuff. I just hope she doesn't turn totally weird in the car and like, ya know how some chicks cry when they are drunk? I'd be like dropping her off on a corner somewhere and stuff."

"You are such a sweet guy."

"After I ditch her, do you think Alan will let me come back?"

"His name is Andy, and that would be totally rude to ditch her, but I am sure Andy wouldn't mind if you came back."