Super Glue

So I was reading a blog I read regularly earlier today, and her post was "This week I’ve learned that the answer to the question 'how many times can a person accidentally superglue her fingers together' can be found without really even trying." (http://www.queserasera.org/ - check her out -- very witty!)

And I could relate. So I posted:

Yeah - I feel ya.

My mom and I bought these stupid Christmas bows that would not stay attached to the little pieces of adhesive paper designed to stick them to the packages, so she went to the store to procure glue. I asked her to get some superglue.

She came back with glue stick because, as she put it, "The two of us should not be allowed to be alone with superglue, let alone with each other and superglue unsupervised by a competent adult. I can just see the call to 911 ... 'Hello, 911 operator? Yes, you see, ummm...., my daughter and I have managed to superglue ourselves together and as such are not able to operate a motor vehicle to get to the ER. Can you please send help????'"

I said, "Good thinking, mom! Disaster narrowly averted!"

Just a little glimpse into my life, and perhaps my mother's reaction explains a little bit more about me. Hee!

The Next Survivor Series

I received this in my e-mail yesterday and about laughed myself into an asthma attack!

Six married men will be dropped on an island with one car and 3 kids each for six weeks.

Each kid will play two sports and either take music or dance classes.

There is no fast food.

Each man must take care of his 3 kids; keep his assigned house clean, correct all homework, complete science projects, cook, do laundry, and pay a list of "pretend" bills with not enough money. In addition, each man will have to budget in money for groceries each week.

Each man must remember the birthdays of all their friends and relatives, and send cards out on time.

Each man must also take each child to a doctor's appointment, a dentist appointment and a haircut appointment. He must make one unscheduled and inconvenient visit per child to the Urgent Care (weekend, evening, on a holiday or right when they're about to leave for vacation). He must also make cookies or cupcakes for a social function.

Each man will be responsible for decorating his own assigned house, planting flowers outside and keeping it presentable at all times.

The men will only have access to television when the kids are asleep and all chores are done. There is only one TV between them, and a remote with dead batteries.

Each man will be required to know all of the words to every stupid song that comes on TV and the name of each and every character on cartoons.

The men must shave their legs and wear makeup daily, which they will apply to themselves either while driving or making three lunches.

Each man will have to make an Indian hut model with six toothpicks, a tortilla and one marker; and get a 4-year-old to eat a serving of peas.

Each man must adorn himself with jewelry, wear uncomfortable-yet-stylish shoes, and keep his nails polished and eyebrows groomed. The men must try to get through each day without snot, spit-up or barf on their clothing.

During one of the six weeks, the men will have to endure severe abdominal cramps, back aches, and have extreme, unexplained mood swings but never once complain or slow down from other duties. They must try to explain what a tampon is for when the 6-year-old boy finds it in the purse.

The men must attend weekly school meetings, church, and find time at least once to spend the afternoon at the park or a similar setting. Each man will need to read a book and then pray with the children each night without falling asleep, and then feed them, dress them, brush their teeth and comb their hair each morning by 7:00. They must leave the home with no food on their face or clothes. A test will be given at the end of the six weeks, and each man will be required to know all of the following information: each child's birthday, height, weight, shoe size, clothing size and doctor's name.

Each man must also know each child's weight at birth, length, time of birth, and length of labor, each child's favorite color, middle name, favorite snack, favorite song, favorite drink, favorite toy, biggest fear and what they want to be when they grow up.

The men must clean up after their sick children at 2:00 a.m. and then spend the remainder of the day tending to them and waiting on them until they're better. They must have a loving, age appropriate reply to, "You're not the boss of me."

The kids vote the men off the island based on performance. The last man wins only if he still has enough energy to be intimate with his spouse at a moment's notice. If the last man does win, he can play the game over and over and over again for the next 18-25 years...eventually earning the right to be called Mother!

Why yes, I tend to be a bit dramatic. Why do you ask?

SUNDAY NIGHT:

I open the refrigerator door to get some nice, cold water, and I notice the bulb is out. I spend about 32 seconds looking for where the bulb actually is so I can figure out what kind to buy to replace it, but realize that it’s really dark in there, and I don’t want to go find a flashlight, so I figure I’ll just deal with it later. Dark fridge, light fridge – as long as things stay cold and/or frozen, I’m good

MONDAY NIGHT:

I open the refrigerator door and remember, “Oh, yeah – that damn fridge light is out.” I spend another 32 seconds looking for the bulb, and then realize I just don’t want to deal with it – no big thing. My food is fine in the dark. (Yes, I know the light goes out when you shut the door—just sayin’.) So I open the freezer and notice the ice packs I have in there are dripping water, and I think to myself, “Well, that’s odd. I wonder why they’re doing that. Hmmm…OH SHIT. The refrigerator is completely silent. IT’S NOT EVEN RUNNING. Dammit.” It has now been off for over 24 hours without my knowledge.

I pull the damn fridge away from the wall, get behind it and put the plug in a different socket. Nada. Double dammit. And how come only the fridge isn’t working? I have an artichoke boiling on the stove just fine, and the stove is right next to the fridge. I also have a load of laundry going in the laundryroom, which is right on the other side of the fridge. So I’m stumped. I don’t get it. I do know that if I have to buy a new fridge someone is gonna get hurt. No can afford, comprende?

So I haul my happy ass out to the back patio and flip the circuit breaker, even though I suspect that it will do no good whatsoever, as hencetofor explained. Everything goes dark in the house, then everything comes back on, as it should. I go in the kitchen, open the fridge, and again, no light, no sound. TRIPLE DAMMIT!!!!!

Now I’m cursing under my breath like Fred Flintstone or the dad from A Christmas Story. I’m also sweating because now I’m moving into “Holy shit I’m freaking out” mode. My little feet inside my slippers feel clammy, and I have to rip my sweatpants off and turn on the A/C for a few minutes, even though it’s only 60 degrees outside.

Okay, think, think, think….Hmmmm. I wonder if refrigerators have reset buttons? I know my dad gave me a manufacturer’s booklet when he gave me this hand-me-down fridge when I bought this place a year ago, so if there’s a reset button, that booklet will tell me where! Yay!

Up the stairs I trot, into the study I go, and around the study I look. And look. And look. All of my appliance booklets are conspicuously absent. And, I keep them all in a folder together IN THE STUDY, labeled "Appliance Booklets." So where in the hell are they? How am I supposed to figure out if my fridge has a reset button? Why must the little gnomes that hide things when I’m not looking taunt me so?

So I call my best friend and ask her if refrigerators have reset buttons. After she’s finished laughing her ass off, she says no, they don’t. So I’m back to square one. Then, I have a stroke of brilliance – I will find an extension cord, plug it into the plug on the sink on the other side of the stove, and plug the fridge into that! Cleverness!

I spend about 5 minutes searching high and low for an extension cord I’m POSITIVE I bought last Christmas, to no avail. Then I remember, “Oh yeah. I bought that extension cord for work, which does me absolutely NO good right now. QUADRUPLE DAMMIT!” Then, a second stroke of brilliance! I will go upstairs and get the surge protector I use for the upstairs computer and use that, because it’s long enough! I’m a GENIUS!

Up the stairs I trot, snickering to myself, still sweating profusely, although the A/C is now at least keeping me from imploding, and I procure the surge protector. I march downstairs, for I am now a woman on a mission, and I plug the surge protector into the plug to the right of the stove, plug the fridge into the surge protector, open the door to the fridge, AND…….nothin’. I got nothin’.

“Okay,” I think to myself, “there is still another plug in the socket to the right of the stove. So I plug the surge protector into that, open the fridge door, and WALA!!! Nada. WTF????? Then I realize the surge protector light isn’t on – the little red light that should be on is inexplicably dark. Huh. Is it possible that I’ve blown out four sockets and a surge protector in the span of 15 minutes?

Then, I notice that the plug to the right of the stove has a little red button in the middle of it, and it’s popped out. Could it be that the solution is really that freakin’ simple? Why yes, it was! SUCCESS!!!! I push the little red button in and the surge protector light comes on, the fridge starts running, I open the door, and I can see everything inside because the light is on! YAY!

Why that socket to the right of the stove controls the socket the fridge is plugged into, and not the one the stove in the middle is plugged into, too, is a mystery for electricians to ponder. I don’t much care. All I know is I don’t have to buy a new fridge!!!! YIPPPEEE!!!!

TUESDAY MORNING:

I’m standing at my bathroom sink brushing my teeth with my SonicCare toothbrush that I just love! I rinse it off, replace the cap, and set it back on the charger. I glance to my left and notice my old manual toothbrush still sitting in the toothbrush holder with my toothpaste. I wonder to myself how come I’ve never thrown it out. Odd.

As I’m pondering this deep thought my cat, Ricky, who is sitting on the closed toilet seat, stands up on his hind legs, stretches over, and rubs his little kitty face all about the bristles on the manual brush. I immediately begin guffawing out loud, and say to him, “I DID NOT just see you do that!!!” Good God! How many times did he groom himself on my toothbrush when I WAS STILL USING IT???? GAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! And what if he actually chewed on it or something right after he licked his butt??? AAAAAAUUUGGGGHHHH!!!

I choose to believe that this was an isolated incident and I have never brushed my teeth with a brush that has been chewed on by a cat who just licked his butt. Because that’s just the way I roll.

The End.

BUSTED!

SETTING: Granny's house in the mountains (Long Barn, California)

PLAYERS: Aunt(ie) Jess (Me), Granny (My Mom), Kate (My Perfect, Precious, 6-year-old Niece), Alex (My Perfect, Precious, 10.5-month-old Nephew), Mama (Kate & Alex's Mama), Papa (My Bouncing Baby Brudda)

TIME: This morning (Sunday, July 16th) @ 8:15 a.m.

PLACE: Living Room

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Granny: “Hey Kate – you know, Papa said he wanted to be out of here by 10:00, and it’s already 8:15. You better go downstairs and remind him of that and tell him what time it is.

Kate: “Okay.”

45 seconds later…

Kate: “Mama told me NO, they do NOT want to be out of here by 10:00 and to go back upstairs and play with you guys. She’s tryin’ to sleep.”

Granny: “Well, it was Papa who told me, so you better go make sure and ask him.”

45 seconds later…

Kate: “She CAUGHT me! I was trying to tiptoe in there, and she heard me and opened her eyes and said she TOLD me they didn’t want to leave by 10:00!

Granny: “Oh. Okay.” (*snork*)

Auntie: (*SNORK*)

Fast forward to after breakfast while Mama and Papa are chilling at the breakfast table drinking coffee, and Granny, Kate and I are all playing ball in the house (upon which Mama frowns, but she lets it slide cuz it’s Granny’s house, so Kate can be silly with Granny and Auntie, who are two overgrown children).

So, Kate, Granny and I are throwing a ball around and being relatively careful. Mama goes downstairs to do laundry, Papa goes to put Alex down for a nap, and the three of us get kinda outta control in the living room, where Granny’s full coffee cup is still on the breakfast table. We’re throwing the ball about, and Kate throws it to Granny, who biffs it and bounces it straight up where it hits the table and knocks her coffee over.

Kate: “Oh, NO!”

Granny: “Yup, we knocked over the coffee.”

Auntie: “Oh, crap – here, hurry – take these paper towels and clean it up before Mama gets back!”

Kate: “Huwwy – I think she’s coming!” (Said in a very LOUD stage whisper that I could hear all the way across the room in the kitchen.)

Granny: “I’m hurrying – it hit both chairs!”

Kate: “Huwwy, huwwy – you missed a spot!”

Auntie: “Hahahahahaha! She said you missed a spot!”

Granny: “Auntie here – hurry – throw these towels away. Kate, quick, sit down I hear Mama coming.”


Mama enters room the and I’m in the kitchen calmly getting coffee, Granny and Kate are sitting back at the table trying hard to look innocent.

Kate: “Hee hee hee hee, snork, hee hee, snork!”

Granny: “Tee hee hee!”

Auntie: “Hee!”

Mama: “What’s so funny?”

Auntie, Granny & Kate, in unison: “Nothin’........ HAHAHAHAHAAHA!”

Kate: (Now laughing near the hysteria level) “You guys made me pee my pants, AGAIN!”

Granny: “See – you know we always make you laugh – you should make sure you go potty right when we start playing! You can’t be like Granny already – you’re only 6!”

Kate: “I KNOW!”

Auntie, Granny & Kate, in unison: “HAHAHAHAHAAHA!”

Later, when we start a new name, and Kate starts laughing really hard, she excuses herself to use the potty ahead of time, then comes back, plays, and laughs her ass off! At one point, she’s laughing so hard she’s just laid out on the floor cracking up, but there is no noise coming out of her! Hee!

Then, when she calms down, she says, “Oh, man. You guys ALWAYS make me laugh!”

This is just about 1 ½ hours out of the entire weekend – there were many, many, many others! Including the time when Kate told me, “You can give me a wedgie if you want.”

I’m the torturous, wedgie-giving Auntie sometimes! The type of wedgies where I lift her off of her feet, and she thinks that is the funniest damn thing!!! The last time I did it she turned around and looked at her butt in the mirror, and her Papa saw her doing that and said, “Jesus, Kate – fix your underwear! Get it out of your butt!”

Then he leans over to me and says, dammit, don’t do such severe wedgies – I almost had a heart attack looking at my six-year-old in a THONG!” Then we both CRACKED up!!! Course I’m a much more careful wedgie-giver now!

Ahhhh, heeeee, snork, haha, heee, ha….good times!

Conversations With A Six-Year-Old

My niece and I followed my brother and nephew up to my Dad's place in Nevada yesterday to drop off the family truck. We trade it off every few months. When we left California at 9:15 a.m. it was sunny and gorgeous. Then we hit the foothills and the clouds rolled in. And that's when the fun started. My niece just turned 6 in April, and she's a sharp little cookie. She's also very outspoken and prone to be a bit dramatic. I don't know where she gets those traits. It could not POSSIBLY be from hanging out with me. Kate also just learned how to roll her "r's", which she's taken to doing at random times -- it's like having a cooing bird with ya!

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Auntie: "Well, Kate, we just hit Apple Hill and it's raining."

Kate: "I KNEW it! I told you it was gonna rain!" Rrrrr, rrrrr (hear cooo cooooo)

Auntie: "Guess what Kate, now it's snowing, and we're in short pants, short sleeves, and thongs!"

Kate: "It's snowing??? Wow! Your car says it's 36 degrees, is that hot?" Rrrrr, rrrrr (cooo, cooo)

Auntie: "No, that's pretty cold. 32 is freezing, so we're only 4 degrees away from that."

Kate: "It's snowing harder -- oh no, it's a blizzard!!! And your car says it's 32, now it's 31, now it's 30! We're gonna freeze! Feel the window, it's like an icecube! We're gonna freeze! We'll never be able to get out of the car!!!"

Auntie: "Snork! Roll down your window a little bit and stick your finger out, then you'll see how cold it really is."

Kate: Sticks finger out window, then says, "We're going to freeze to death!!! We won't even be able to get out of the car to hug Grampy! Blizzard, blizzard, go away, or I'll pull down your underwear!" (guess she told that blizzard!)

Further discussion about how it's not really a blizzard, and I won't let her freeze to death, etc., etc., then quiet, then some random cooing, then more conversation:

Kate: "The Bratz on my coloring book don't have noses so I drew them some."

Auntie: "That's nice, I bet they appreciate that."

Kate: "Hey guys, have you heard? We're getting noses! Some nice person is going to draw them for us and then we can smell what's cookin'!"

Auntie: "SNORK!"

Auntie: "You know, I bet we could really impress your parents if every time you said a word that begins with "R" you roll your tongue. See the river over there and how fast it's moving? You could say the Rrrrriver is Rrrrapid. And you could say Rrrroses are Rrrred, and it's Rrrraining, and my middle name is Rrrrose. See how many words begin with "R?" Your parents are gonna LOVE it!"

Kate: "The Rrrriiivvver is Rrrrraaapidd. My middle name is Rrrrroosee."

Auntie: "HAHAHAHAHA!!"

Then, on the way home, she noticed that the sun was shining on the mountain tops and lighting up the snowcaps, and she says to me and my brother, "Hey look, the sun makes it look like the mountains are glowing."

I cannot tell you how much I adore this little girl. She's so bright, has such a good sense of humor, and is just a joy. I'm a very lucky Auntie, indeed.

Jellyfish Bad Day!

Here's a really funny e-mail I received that just cracked my ass up! Hope y'all enjoy it! I know I've been cheating and posting funny stuff written by other people, but my main goal is to make y'all laugh, so when I'm not up to it, I share other funny people with you!



Last week I had a bad day at the office. I know you've been feeling down lately at work, so I thought I would share my dilemma with you to make you realize it's not so bad after all. Before I can tell you what happened to me, I first must bore you with a few technicalities of my job.

As you know, my office lies at the bottom of the sea. I wear a suit to the office. It's a wetsuit. This time of year the water is quite cool. So what we do to keep warm is this: We have a diesel-powered industrial water heater. This $20,000 piece of equipment sucks the water out of the sea, heats it to a delightful temperature, then pumps it down to the diver through a garden hose which is taped to the air hose. Now this sounds like a darn good plan, and I've used it several times with no complaints. What I do, when I get to the bottom and start working, is take the hose and stuff it down the back of my wetsuit. This floods my whole suit with warm water. It's like working in a Jacuzzi.

Everything was going well until all of a sudden, my butt started to itch. So, of course, I scratched it. This only made things worse. Within a few seconds my butt started to burn! I pulled the hose out from my back, but the damage was done. In agony I realized what had happened.

The hot water machine had sucked up a jellyfish and pumped it into my suit. Now, since I don't have any hair on my back, the jellyfish couldn't stick to it. However, the crack of my butt was not as fortunate. When I scratched what I thought was an itch, I was actually grinding the jellyfish into the crack of my butt.

I informed the dive supervisor of my dilemma over the communicator. His instructions were unclear due to the fact that he, along with five other divers, were all laughing hysterically Needless to say I aborted the dive.

I was instructed to make three agonizing in-water decompression stops totaling thirty-five minutes before I could reach the surface to begin my chamber dry decompression.

When I arrived at the surface, I was wearing nothing but my brass helmet. As I climbed out of the water, the medic, with tears of laughter running down his face, handed me a tube of cream and told me to rub it on my butt as soon as I got in the chamber. The cream put the fire out, but I couldn't poop for two days because my butt was swollen shut.

So, next time you're having a bad day at work, think about how much worse it would be if you had a jellyfish shoved up your butt. Now repeat to yourself, "I love my job, I love my job, I love my job."

Whenever you have a bad day, ask yourself, is this a jellyfish bad day? May you NEVER have a jellyfish bad day!!!!!

*** The following guy had a bad treadmill day!

http://www.collegeslackers.com/video/06/301

(P.S. Sorry I'm such a dweeb about posting links -- best I can do is have you cut and paste it! I tried, I really tried!)

WFT, Take Three...

The following story is posted on Badger Meets World, and Badger cracks me up! I apologize ahead of time if you hate cursing, but she's got a foul mouth! If you're interested in reading more of her stuff, click her name on my blogroll. Enjoy!
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Tuesday, January 10, 2006

The Hit List Groweth

Oh my GOD, y'all! I'm going to have to kill MORE PEOPLE. In addition to everyone at TeleHeck and WalFart, I now have to eliminate the assholes in both billing AND admissions at Round Cock Hospital*.

Here is what happened: the other day, we received a big fat envelope from the admissions department at this hospital, which is right by our house and thus is where we usually go when, say, the girl child decides to take a bite out of the drywall. So the receiving of envelopes from them is not unusual.

What WAS unusual was that inside that envelope were more envelopes, all addressed to our old house that we haven't lived in for THREE FUCKING YEARS, along with a nastygram from a collection agency. You see, Round Cock Hospital is very upset that we have not paid the $27 bill that they've repeatedly sent to the wrong address.

Do you have any idea how many times in the past three years we have visited Round Cock Hospital and given them our current address? I'm estimating somewhere around 347 times.

Oh, and GET THIS. Every time they sent a bill to our old WRONG address, the lovely retired couple who bought our old house were kind enough to not only write "please forward" on the envelope, but then to go on to write "to [our current address]" and re-mail it in hopes it would reach us. But for some reason, everything got returned to Round Cock Hospital, at which point they would apparently mail ANOTHER FUCKING BILL TO THE WRONG ADDRESS.

And also, our phone number? Has been exactly the same for the past NINE YEARS. Which is longer than we've been going to Round Cock Hospital, and thus the only phone number they could possibly have on file for us. But did anyone, in the course of all this, pick up a fucking phone and call us to find out where their fucking money was? No, they did not.

Okay, so wait, it gets BETTER. DH called the Round Cock people and asked them what the fuck was going on. And do you know what the hospital bitch said? "Well, if the people at your old address hadn't taken so long to forward the letters, this never would have been turned over to a collection agency."

Um, what?

WHAT. THE. FUCK?!

Let me explain this to you like the moron you are, hospital bitch. The problem started when YOU put the WRONG FUCKING ADDRESS on the envelope(s). That was YOUR fuckup. And then, when the letters were returned to you with the correct address on them, and you failed to correct your mistake, that was YOUR SECOND fuckup. And then, when you failed to pick up the phone before spending what has got to be way more than the $27 amount of the bill on a collection agency to squeeze us for it, that was FUCKUP NUMBER THREE.

I swear, if this shit keeps up I'm going to need WAY more vodka. And ammo.

*Not the hospital's real name. But pretty fucking close.

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Husband Daycare -- what a GREAT concept! Hee! Enjoy the video -- just click on the National Husband Daycare link toward the top of the page after you click on the below link!

http://joe-ks.com/MultiMedia/HusbandDayCare.htm