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Friday, July 27, 2007


Spur of the moment practical jokes don't sound or look great with me at the video controls. But there was no way I could pass this up.

Lane 1 went fishing and caught himself a couple of crawdads. And because torturing his father is something we both love doing, I recorded the boy putting one in the shower with Mr. Lane. Please take note of my husband's very manly scream.

Have a great weekend everybody!

Saturday, July 21, 2007

Dear Blogger Buds,

Today I need to get some stuff off of my chest. I may be flat when I am done but that’s okay. Some things are more important than boobies. The following are letters I’ve yet to send. Please feel free to write a letter in the comments, should something be weighing you down.

Love, Lolo

Dear Flies,

I know I’ve gotten pretty tan this summer. I’m even a little thinner than normal. However, I am not one of Sally Struthers’s little third world country babies. So would you kindly stop flying directly into my eyeballs?

Thank you in advance for your cooperation, Lois Lane

Dear Little Giggling Girl in the Public Restroom,

I know farts are really funny. Just saying the word fart makes me smile. Bathrooms are where most people set farts free. When I was your age, I too used to laugh at the oh-so-familiar sound of a tooter in the stall next to me. Now that I am my age, I am the one tooting in the stall next to you. When you are my age, you’ll understand.

Sincerely, Lois Lane

Dear Lady Who Had to Work Late… Again,

I’m sorry that “Lousy, good for nothing, piece of shit” didn’t come to work today. I’m also sorry that you had to “Cover for her big, fat, stupid welfare ass, again.” Now, I don’t mind being your Express Lane Therapist, but I really wish you wouldn’t take your anger out on my Wonder Bread. It had nothing to do with it. Because of your obvious anger, I was afraid to ask for a replacement loaf. This time, my family and I will eat our lopsided, triangular toast in silence. Let’s just hope there isn’t a next time, em-kay?

Thanks for not killing me, Dr. Lois Express Lane

Dear Downy Ball,

You still mystify me. When I first met you, I really looked you over good. I never saw any bells or whistles, just your blue rubber cork and ring. I always wondered what made you tic. You always know the right time to open yourself up, and I just love that about you. Sure I get mad when I pull your ring too hard and your cork goes flying out and lands behind the washer, getting covered in dryer lint. The bad words fall out of my mouth, I know. But that’s just because I am angry. Angry at myself… for mishandling you. Just know that for all of these years that we have been together, I’ve always loved you and your magical ways, even if I sometimes yell and swear in your general direction.

With all my love, Lois Downy Fresh Lane

Dear Car Door,

Why? Seriously, why? What have I ever done to you? Besides those few times I’ve kicked you closed when my arms were full. I’ve always made up for that by forcing Mr. Lane to give you a nice wash and wax. I’m sure the deaf 90 year old lady walking her Pomeranian by my house that day was thrilled to finally hear again. I just doubt she wanted to hear me say every bad word I know when you smashed my thumb for no good reason, you fuck. Fuck you Car Door. Fuck you!

I’m not even signing my name to this letter, you know damn good and well who this is from! Fucker!

Dear Mini Blinds in the Kitchen,

I’m sorry I pulled your string so hard the other day. But when I saw that fly laying so comfortably, rubbing his legs together on your slats, and there wasn’t a flyswatter within my reach, I just over reacted. I knew pulling fast would cause all of your slats to gather tightly together, crushing the little pest. For a moment, I thought how ingenious I was to think and move as quickly and stealth-like as I did. After all, that fly was likely making plans with my eyeballs. However, I should have never crushed that fly and all of his gooey guts upon you. I promise it won’t happen again. And yes, I will try harder to get the rest of his guts off of you just as soon as possible.

Thanks for understanding, Lo

Dear Mother,

I realize I have not been the best daughter in the world, but is in necessary for you to continue this form of torture? I think not! So stop sending me links to addicting games. They are after all, the only reason I haven’t by to your house since Mother’s Day. Yes, you have yourself to thank for that!

Signed, Addicted Daughter

Sunday, July 15, 2007

There’s Got To Be A Morning After

You all know that what comes around goes around, and my little world isn’t exempt. Of course had I gotten a tick (see post below) on one of my naughty bits, like my old man did, I’d have gone to the grave that way before telling anyone I needed assistance. After all, I know how these Lane people are about stuff like that.

While building my in-law’s deck, my back got tired of bending. Once I had enough deck boards laid to rest my ass, I plopped it down. After installing another board, I’d have to inch my way closer because my arms couldn’t reach. Instead of getting up and walking a step or two, I opted to scooch.

When you scooch your toosh on wood, you might get a splinter on your butt cheek. And if you happen to be married to a guy who had a tick on his dick, and you might have teased him unmercifully, you may think twice before sharing your pain, or asking for help with the removal from said husband. This splinter in my ass is going to be kindling when they cremate me.

There were some other little mishaps right out of the gate that next morning. Wanting to beat the 115 degree heat that was coming our way for the second straight day, Mr. Lane and I decided to work on the deck as soon as we woke up. By 6 a.m. the sound of our drills echoed across the lake.

Running down the hill to get more wood, I stepped right into a pile of dog shit. Only, I didn’t notice right away. I did feel my feet sliding a little more on my way back, but figured it was because I was carrying a heavy load across the morning dew covered grass. Boy was I wrong.

I got back up on the platform, sat with my legs folded, and began to think, “Man, we haven’t been working hard or long enough for either of us to smell like shit.”

So I asked, “Does it smell like shit up here or what?”

“Yeah, but it’s not me!”

“Well it’s not me either!”

While my old man’s head was turned, I gave myself a little sniff just to be sure it wasn’t me. And it was! First, I looked at the bottom of my shoes. They were somewhat clean. Then I realized I was sitting with my feet folded under me. I looked at the back of my pant legs and sure enough they were covered in dog shit.

“Fucking dog!”

“The dog isn’t even up. What’d she do?”

“She shit right where I walked!”

“Hahaha! Sucks to be you, Poopy Pants.”

“Eat me, I’m a danish!”

“You wish!”

“Whatever. Fucking dog!”

“Hey Poopy Pants, hand me some screws.”

“Hey Ticky Dick, bite me.”

“Don’t get shitty with me. It’s not like I was the one who crapped on your pants.”

“You are about as funny as Lyme Disease.”

Heading into the house, he asked if I was done with coffee or if I needed a refill.

Being the smart ass that I am, I tried to chug the half of a cup I had in front of me, so I could get a fresh cup out of him. As soon as my mouth was full of coffee, I felt something on my tongue. It was not coffee. It was a big ass horsefly, which I tried to spit back into my cup. But I was so grossed out by the fact that I almost ate a bug, that my spit missed its target, and went down the front of my shirt instead.

“So, I need to go shopping to buy Depends… and a bib for you?”

“Kiss my poopy ass, you bug infested wanker!”

“Hey I don’t have bugs… anymore.”

“It probably wasn’t even a tick on your dick. It was probably a loin lobster.”

“And I got him from you.”

“You wish.”

“Blow me.”

“You wish.”


Showing off my fly spit shirt.

As you can tell, our day was starting with a bang. We work well together, my old man and me. We cut up and made the time go by quickly. As the day came to a close, the one-liners flowed freely, and I finally got all of the spit and shit off of myself.

We finished all of the major building on that second day, sorry there is no before picture. I forgot to take one before we started.

We started gathering the scrap wood to clean up and prepare to stain. He took the top of the hill and I took the bottom.

A few days earlier, I built a fire pit out of huge chunks of limestone we found where the deck was going to be built. I wound up moving about twelve wheelbarrows of rock. Because there was too much for just the fire pit, I opted to outline the base of one of the trees. It looked good, but man it was a lot of work.

Anyhow, we carried our scrap wood to the fire pit. As I gathered the last of what was at the bottom of the hill, my arms were like noodles, tired and wobbly. In a hugging fashion, I carried the last of the scraps toward the pit.

“I smell shit again!”

“It’s still not me, Lo. It’s okay to admit you have a problem. It’s the first step in recovery.”

Dryly, I said, “Oh, you are funny.”

Mr. Lane was roaring. His laughter was so out of control, I thought he was going to shit himself.

“What is so funny?”

“Hey Poopy Pants, I think you just shit out of your tits.”

He could barely get the words out he was laughing so hard. I looked down and saw dog shit all over my shirt. Apparently the scraps were tossed into yet another pile of dog shit.

(A picture of the culprit. She totally looks guilty doesn't she?!)

“Oh man! Fucking dog!”

“Oh God! Hahahahahahaha!! The look on your… oh my God!!! Hahahahaha!!!”

Mr. Lane was crying from laughing so hard. Mr. Lane looked like a vein was going to pop clear out of his forehead. Mr. Lane ended up rolling around on the ground and right into… a pile of dog shit.

“Have I mentioned how much I love your dad’s dog, honey?”

“I hate you!”

“I hate you more!”

“I hate you infinity!”

I asked, “Wanna go clean the dog shit off of each other?”

“Yeah! We’ll just tell Dad and Ma that we are trying to conserve their water.”

“Think they’ll believe us?”

“Probably not. But when we tell them we are having a hot dog roast over their fire tonight, I think they’ll believe that.”

In unison, we looked at our shit-coated clothes, then at each other, shook our heads and said, “Fucking dog!”

Monday, July 09, 2007

Tick Tock Ya Don't Stop

We are in Missouri at Lake of the Ozarks. Vacation? Well, not really. Remember last month when my in-laws came for a visit, and we tricked them into helping us build a porch? Turnabout is fair play. We are here helping them build a deck. We’ve also been cutting down some trees and doing other odds and ends.

The other morning, I woke up to the sound of Mr. Lane saying, “Lo. Lois? Honey, wake up. Lois, I need you to get up and help me.”

Those are the words that caused my eyes to pop open. He sounded very serious. “What?”

“I have a tick and I need you to get it off of me.”

“You woke me because of a tick?”


I rolled over and pulled the blanket over my head.

“Lois, please get up... It’s on my dick.”

I have never woke up laughing so hard in all of my life! I couldn’t muster any other words besides, “Are you kidding?” (Who would even kid about something like that?)

“I swear to God. I swear on my life. I swear on your life. I swear on my mother’s grave.”

By then my laughter was out of control. “Get my camera. I am so blogging about this!”

“You’re not taking a picture of my dick to post on the internet! It’s not funny,” he said with such sincerity that only made me laugh more. “Please stop laughing and help me!”

“Honey, it’s on your dick. It’s no big deal.”

“Real funny, Lo. Come on, get up.”

“You’re always saying you want your dick sucked and now your getting it, so stop complaining.”

The tears in my eyes from laughing so hard, washed out the sleep. I rolled out of bed still laughing. We headed down stairs. My mother in-law said, “Here comes Nurse Ratched.”

My father in-law said, “With her sidekick, Ticky Dick.”

I was happy they saw the comedy in the situation. Mr. Lane tried to keep his game face on.

I asked, “Did you find it while masturbating with your tweezers and magnifying glass there, Ticky Dicky bang bang?”

“I think he had the binoculars, maybe even the telescope,” my father in-law retorted.

“Oh you guys are funny,” Mr. Lane said straight-faced.

“I bet that is the first time anything, besides you, has been excited about your morning hard-on. You are getting close to 40,” I reminded. “And there isn’t as much blood flow down there. You sure that thing isn’t starving to death? Get a Viagra, STAT!”

My father in-law cackling, chimed in, “He might need more than one.”

“I bet that little bugger is saying to himself, ‘The ticks in Ethiopia are eating better than I am! It’s just my luck that I’d find the smallest vessel here at the lake!’ Honey, I’m going to need some coffee. Wouldn’t want to have too steady of a hand for this job. I’m surprised it didn’t just laugh itself off by now.”

Here is Ticky Dick, looking sad as ever with a magnifying glass.

My father in-law gathered some gear to help with the removal. Sorry it’s blurry, I was still laughing. He had a shot gun, binoculars and a flashlight.

As the day went by, Mr. Lane tried to forget about the little incident. He even rubbed up against me at bedtime. I turned, kissed him goodnight, and he said, “Just a kiss?”

“Honey, I don’t wanna get Lyme Disease,” I smugly said as I rolled over.

“Oh you’re a riot, Lo. You aren‘t going to get Lyme Disease. You got it out. I‘m all good. Right? Lois? You did get it all out, right??? Lois!”

Looking over my shoulder at his concerned face I couldn’t help but laugh some more. “Yes, I got it out… except for… the head. Man, it was stuck in there good!”

“Oh shit! Lois, hurry, you gotta get the whole thing out or I will get Lyme Disease!”

I couldn’t catch my breath. My cheeks and stomach ached from laughing so hard. “I got it all you big baby! But I’m still not taking any chances with you putting your Lyme in my coconut.”

“I hate you!”