I am very upset by the way society keeps screwing with me. I talked to my kids' therapists and they all suggested that
what my offspring needed most was stability and family tradition. So for the last five years I have made chopping
down the Christmas tree a family event.
Until last year.
Hey, how was I to know it's illegal to sneak into your neighbor's yard at 3 a.m. and chop down their Evergreen trees?
What the hell are they growing them for? The wood?
So this year we were forced to come up with a new tradition.
There we were last night in the tree department of Dollar General, minding our own business, trying to chop down
our fiber optic tree when the twit of a salesclerk called the cops on us. We ran out of the store dragging our axe and tree.
Female Offspring #6 started bawling.
I said, "Look, the Christmas tradition of stealing and running is still intact! What are you crying about?!"
She said, "Mom! Tradition isn't supposed to be a crime!"
I saw an ad for Humana Gold medical coverage.
The dude said, "if you wait long enough, good things will happen."
Hell, I thought that was Metamucil's slogan?
Female Offspring #5's dad called her collect from prison yesterday. She got off the phone and
said, "Mom, what does it mean when someone says 'the true spirit of Christmas is in your heart'?"
I said, "For most people, it means that Christmas is about love.
In your case, it means your dad spent your Christmas gift money on his cigarettes."
I was checking the TV Guide channel yesterday and I noticed that they
were going to transform an ordinary chick into Nicole Richie on their makeover show.
Ok first up, get your weight down to 68 pounds...
Jay sends this interesting link and suggested I might want to come up with my own list. More often than not, I don't
know the names of the songs I dislike, but I'm gonna think about it. I *do* know what singer should be right up there near the top,
it not at the top of the 2006 crappiest singer list: Brooke "Secretly I Think I'm Black" Hogan.
BTW, Bill Lamb is *definitely* right about James Blunt's voice being acceptable only in small doses.
I can't help but be creeped out when I turn on HSN and see that one bath and
body business dude doing presentations with his mommy all the time.
I guess they're in business together, but geez it reeks of "mommy's boy" because he's in his 30's at least.
I had a great laugh with my sister last night when she reminded me of the time we went to the drive-in with Dad and he was stopped
by the police. I kept meaning to write about this and I just plain never got to it.
I was about 7, my sister would have been 9, and my brother was 101/2ish.
Dad took the three of us to a drive-in one night, aka "stopped us from jerking my mother's last nerve".
My dad was strict, big and LOUD, and if he said, "jump!" we'd say, "was that high enough?"
He was also very adament that we be polite and well behaved in front of strangers.
Sure, we know that *now*. Too bad we didn't know it *then*.
We were all riding in the back seat on the way to the movie when the officer came up behind us.
The first thing my dad did after he pulled over to the side of the road, was turn around and "suggest" we behave.
"Don't say ONE WORD." Then he pointed at each one of us as he spoke, "NOT. ONE. WORD."
His bulging eyes and the vein throbbing on the side of his forehead were indicators that it wasn't time to smart off.
Hell, he was so worked up , you'd think we were sitting on bags of cocaine.
We were terrified enough to see the police car behind us because Mom used to scare us with threats of calling the police.
Yes, my mother was one of those nut jobs who would yell, "Behave or I'm calling the police!
They'll throw you ALL in jail! And you'll never come home."
Sometimes that didn't seem like such a bad deal.
"I am reaching for the phone! I am dialing the numbers!"
You know it's a wonder I even *like* the police.
So there we are sitting in the back seat, all three of us mirroring the deer in the headlights look.
The pupils of our eyes were wide and dilated, like we were riding a caffiene buzz.
Our mouths were hanging open, and I'm fairly certain we looked like we weren't smart enough to get into Special Ed.
The cop was leaning into the driver's window talking to my dad, and
he flashed his flashlight into the back seat, as they usually do, saw us and said a calm, "Hey, kids."
We screamed bloody murder. And then my dad screamed at us. Then we screamed even more.
Thinking back on this, it was hysterical.
But we never did get to the drive in because in all the screaming someone pissed their pedal pushers.