Cathy in the Wright

My Response

Hey Dad,

Thanks for posting. I enjoyed it. I did think of one more term you might want to add to your list of words you "always wanted to use."

It's NO.

N - O.

Go on. Try it.

Not hard, was it?

Now here's the real test. Try using it in a sentence directed towards one of your grandchildren.

H*ll, I could get them to bed without any trouble and claim that I have Michelangelo-esque cherubs floating around the ceiling if I plied them with everything they asked for and several things they didn't.

Ice cream is a treat. It should not be as liberally consumed as, say, air.

Noooooooooo.

A Quiet Chorus, Hallelujah

Angels visited the Green Goddess and Professor Wednesday and Thursday, but these weren’t celestial apparitions. Our cherubs consisted of the Senator and Governor, who were in grandparental care and custody. We helped out, because our favorite goalie had a new cast on the arm she injured when deflecting a missile-velocity soccer ball.

The boys were perfectly well behaved, with only one occurrence of wailing, and that was understandable. The Gov. pinched his fingers in the dishwasher latch—hereinafter to be known as the “big owie” handle. (Hereinafter is one of two words I’ve always wanted to use; the other is contraindicated.)

I bring this up only because the Chairman’s prescription for putting the cherubs to bed is contraindicated (tah, dah—two words out of two) by fact. The Chairman may have misled you into believing that bedtime for the Senator and Governor required an assemblage of ropes and pulleys, fire and tong. From our experience, that is manifestly unfair to perhaps the most angelic creatures who ever went over the river and through the woods to … oh, you know whose house.

In this instance, “over the river and through the woods” was precisely accurate, as we departed the farm to cross the Crow River and go through the woods that line its banks. Driving to you-know-whose-house was without problem, except for the minor distraction of an ethereal glow from the van’s middle seats. Could that luminescence have radiated from cherubic halos? Hardly a peep for 60 miles, but give proper due to the Green Goddess’s cornucopia of toys-that-are-kept-out-of-sight-for-emergencies.

Bedtime for the Gov. occurred at 8 p.m. Wednesday, shortly after he crash-landed on the living-room rug. When told it was “night-night” time, he said only, “Snuggle first.” After being rocked a while, he nestled down for 12 hours of sleep interrupted by a nary a cry or even a sigh.

The Senator remained up until 10 p.m., helping the Green Goddess cut fruit for a Thanksgiving salad. (I’ll predict a career in microsurgery for the boy; given the way he diced watermelon into pieces the size of aspirin tablets.) Oh, I almost forgot, the Senator also went to bed without protest and was out for 12 hours.

We took the boys to the farm for Thanksgiving at Nana and Bupa’s and returned them to our abode that night. No details, however, since the Chairman might think it smug for me to continue on about how easily things continued to progress. Hey, not gloating is the least I can do to make up for teaching the Gov. to say, “Hustle buns, mama!”

Almost Ready to Return

Given the bum wrist and the bloated stomach, I have not been blogging for the last two days. Sitting at the keyboard has been a rather uncomfortable affair.

Relief is near; digestion has been prodigiously working away to alleviate the distended waistline and see that my jeans can once again be buttoned.

Great meals over the past two days. I hope you all had equally wonderful celebrations.

I brought the Sharpie^TM pens (thanks for the suggestion, Aelfheld) to my folk's house yesterday, and I got all the nephews and nieces to sign the cast. My nephew, The General, must have thought I looked pretty tough because he penned, "Join the Navy!"

Not too much else to add: Except that I am on track to finish the Christmas shopping on Sunday. And don't think I won't be rubbing it in when you all are forced into Dante's frequently overlooked tenth level of hell: Shopping Malls during the Four Weeks before Christmas.

Would it be evil to snicker right about now?

Happy Thanksgiving

As usual, stolen from Jeff. There's more.

From Bad to Worse

I thought the hard cast would allow a bit more finger movement.

Wrong.

Typing more difficult than before. However, makes caveman-like sentence construction feel justifiable. Cast bad. No washing dishes, good. "You, mate - fix food now!"

The good news is that the doc, or Physician's Assistant rather, gave me the okay to play soccer with the cast on as long as I take it a bit easier. Apparently the hairline fracture wasn't very big according to the notes from the ER doc and they were debating about whether or not to even cast it; a splint would have been sufficient.

P.A.: We could get by with a splint, unless you're planning on being very active.

Me: Well, I've got two small boys at home, the holidays are here, I'm a blogger, and I am planning on playing soccer.

P.A.: A cast it is then.

Me: Good. And wrap it kind of thick around the knuckles 'cause when I run up against the guy that gave me this, I don't want the fiberglass to crack on the first blow.

I go back in four weeks for another x-ray and hopefully get this atrocity removed.

The Senator and The VP are looking forward to drawing on my cast. Any suggestions for what might write well on fiberglass? This isn't exactly the smooth plaster of yore.

Accentuate the Positive...

Thanks for checkin' in, Kevin! I probably won't be there next Monday, but if the doc says I can wrap the cast, I might be back the following week. The VP and I are not seeing eye to eye on this, but I may be able to distract him with the no bra thing.

**

While having a cast on your hand really stinks, here's one good great thing: No diaper changing for 4 - 6 weeks.

Bwah ha ha ha ha ha ha!

@!&*%$#!

Soccer game last night.

My performance: 2 beautiful goals - 1 broken wrist

Blogging to be light to x-tra light today. Will replace splint with hard cast tomorrow. Hopefully more mobility then.

Typing with one hand sucks worse than BlogSpot ever did.

At least I broke my left wrist.

You guys ever think you were Don Juan because you could take a bra off a gal using only one hand? Try putting one ON using just one hand.

Monday, Monday...

This morning's highlights include:

Finding out that The Governor had been feeding Fruit Loops^TM to Breezy. I discovered his generosity after the poor girl vomited rainbow chunks of dog food all over the floor.

While I was cleaning that mess, The Gov dug through the pots and pans and located a heavy, 8" lid from a Calphalon^TM pan. He threw it over the railing where it made a small dent in the wall as it rebounded off the stairs.

The Senator threw a tantrum of such apocalyptic preportions that I decided to keep him home from preschool. At one point he was so hysterical that he was screaming, "I can't breathe! I can't breathe!" I pointed out that he would be unable to talk if he couldn't breathe. He found that fairly insensitive and screamed louder, because everyone knows volume wins over rationality every time. And the reason for the big display? I wouldn't let him wear sweat pants to school.

How's your day going?

I Thought White Wasn't Allowed After Labor Day

I may have to openly apologize to all the weather goons here soon.

Nowhere near the 12-16 inches predicted...but it shows no signs of abating.

Nothin' much to do around here today except read blogs and wait for Andy to start complaining ("Feck, feck, feck!") about the weather. Good thing he's married to a native.

While I'm Waiting for the Snow...

I got this in an email from my mother-in-law a while back and forgot to post it:

About Jesus:

There were 3 good arguments that Jesus was Black:
1. He called everyone "brother."
2. He liked Gospel.
3. He couldn't get a fair trial.

But then there were 3 equally good arguments that Jesus was Jewish:
1. He went into His Father's business.
2. He lived at home until he was 33.
3. He was sure his Mother was a virgin and his mother was sure he was God.

But then there were 3 equally good arguments that Jesus was Italian:
1. He talked with his hands.
2. He had wine with every meal.
3. He used olive oil.

But then there were 3 equally good arguments that Jesus was a Californian:
1. He never cut his hair.
2. He walked around barefoot all the time.
3. He started a new religion.

But then there were 3 equally good arguments that Jesus was Irish:
1. He never got married.
2. He was always telling stories.
3. He loved green pastures.

But the most compelling evidence of all - 3 proofs that Jesus was a woman:
1. He fed a crowd at a moment's notice when there was no food.
2. He kept trying to get a message across to a bunch of men who just didn't get it.
3. And even when he was dead, He had to get up because there was more work to do.

Minnesota Has Been Canceled Due to Bad Weather

[old timer's voice] ....and so began the Great November Snow Storm of 2003... [/old timer's voice]

The weather goons are predicting 12" - 16" over the next couple of days. "This could rank in the top ten storms in Minnesota history," one exclaimed. Seems unlikely. What will probably happen is that we'll get 2"- 4" which will melt by Tuesday.

I hope I'm wrong. The Senator and I had a blast playing outside in the dusting that fell last night. If I am wrong, we just might be able to use the snowmobile this year. If I am wrong, we just might HAVE to use the snowmobile. The Outpost is one of the last places to see a visit from the township plow.

More later if the satellite dish isn't buried under the mythical 12 - 16.

I've Got Friday On My Mind

I am so tired I cannot lift my hand to cover my mouth when I yawn. What a day. I took the boys into see their grandparents while I escaped to go Christmas shopping. I bought two gifts, but remembered another person who will require a present, so I had an overall gain of one today. Still, it WILL get done by November 30th.

I also had to buy a birthday present today. The Senator got an invitation at school for a party on Saturday. Went to Target specifically to get said present. Walked out after spending $90. Drove away and realized I still didn't have the present. Sh*t.

After picking up the boys, I remembered that we also had to stop at the grocery store as we are having some preschoolers over for lunch tomorrow. The Governor was in an unpleasant mood, but we made it all the way to the checkout before the major tantrum. I was saved by the kind-hearted young woman behind us who started flirting with The Gov. 180 degree change on his part. Now he's laughing and playing peek-a-boo with her. I offered her a nanny position starting immediately, but she declined.

Got out to the car, drove away, and remembered I forgot the bread for the sandwiches tomorrow. Did I already say sh*t?

Came home to a mountain of laundry waiting to be folded. It even made The VP gasp to see how much I had accumulated.

And so, it's time for bed. When our guests arrive tomorrow, they will see a messy house, they will find their hostess still in her pajamas, and they will be eating sliced ham or turkey off of Ritz crackers. Nothin' but the best here at The Outpost.

Story Time

A couple goes on vacation to a fishing resort in northern Minnesota. The
husband likes to fish at the crack of dawn. The wife likes to read. One
morning the husband returns after several hours of fishing and decides to
take a nap. Although not familiar with the lake, the wife decides to take
the boat out. She motors out a short distance, anchors, and continues to
read her book.

Along comes a game warden in his boat. He pulls up alongside the woman and
says, "Good morning Ma'am. What are you doing?"

"Reading a book," she replies, (thinking, "Isn't that obvious?")

"You're in a restricted fishing area," he informs her.

"I'm sorry officer, but I'm not fishing, I'm reading."

"Yes, but you have all the equipment. For all I know you could start at any
moment. I'll have to take you in and write you up."

"If you do that, I'll have to charge you with sexual assault," says the
woman.

"But I haven't even touched you," says the game warden.

"That's true, but you have all the equipment. For all I know you could start
at any moment."

"Have a nice day ma'am", and he left.

MORAL: Never argue with a woman who reads. It's likely she can also think.

Speaking of Wine...

The VP and I are having some company over in December for a dinner party. I don't know much about wines and I could use some help. Any suggestions for a good red wine? Don't lead me astray...two of our guests are starting their own vineyard and they know their wines.

The menu is not set...we're leaning towards steak.

Would You Like Some Cheese With That Whine?

I think there must be an easier job out there for me. Perhaps poking hungry lions with sharp sticks or handling poisonous snakes. I couldn't believe how trying it was to get both boys dressed and outside for a walk today. The Senator and I had a seven minute argument about what color hat he needed to wear.

Senator, it's still deer hunting season. We wear orange hats.

But Mooooooooooooom, I don't waaaaaaaant to wear the orange hat. I want my blue hat.

Wear the orange.

No!

What did you say?

Ummmmm. I don't waaaaaaaaaaant to wear the orange hat.

Repeat for six and a half more minutes. Normally I wouldn't let this type of thing go beyond one minute, but both dogs were howling at top volume because they wanted to go on the walk as well. And The Governor was running all over the house leaving behind a trail of destruction. I was a bit preoccupied.

The VP called during this domestic typhoon and I couldn't hear a word he said. I was pretty surprised to see him arrive home on time. Had it been me, I would have kept on driving and returned home when the boys were both in college.

Usually on Tuesdays I can count on a little break from the whining and crabbing when Hoocher and I make our rounds at the nursing home. Not today. In Mr. F's room, two housekeeping staff members and their supervisor (I'm guessing) were having a snit fit over what all was supposed to be cleaned.

Housekeeping: I sanitized the bed and the dresser.

Supervisor: Did you get this as well? (I couldn't see what 'this' was; they were behind the curtain that separated Mr. F. from his roommate)

Housekeeping: No! You didn't tell us to clean that!

Supervisor: Well what did you think "clean everything" meant?"

Hey! Nevermind Mr. F. and me! We're just over here choking on the smell of disinfectant and can't hear each other talk.

I guess I just had a zero tolerance day for bitching. Last night's soccer was full of grown men yelling at each other and treating a recreational league as though Premier League scouts were watching us and looking to hand out lucrative contracts. Enough already.

Tomorrow simply has to be better.

To The VP:

Happy Birthday, Honey!

Dreary

This is what it looks like out the front window this afternoon.

Pretty bleary prospect.

I played in the Freak League last night. I cannot believe how many strange people this particular program attracts. Of the nine guys on my team, three are worth knowing. The other six are complete oddballs. In their eagerness to get to the ball, they think nothing of running over another person, even their own teammate. They panic when I play goal because I sometimes play the ball with my feet instead of picking it up, and they whine like 15 year old girls when the ref fails to make a call they feel was a blatant foul.

Question for any soccer players out there. Have you ever, ever, ever seen a ref change his call because a player or coach bitched about it? I've never seen it happen. Never. I've seen linesmen get the ref to change his call, but never a coach or player. At least not in the recreational leagues I've played in my whole life. Let it go.

And speaking of letting it go, I suppose I could have used that advice myself last night. The other team had this obnoxious little forward who looked like a midget skinhead. He had a lot of fancy footwork, and liked to throw his elbows around. He rarely passed to his own team, and our team fouled him a couple of times. I laid him out on the floor once, and he threw his arms up in the air and complained. (See Like a Girl: 15 years old) So the next time we came up against each other, he was throwing his elbow and pushing and I threw my hands up and protested loudly. I got the call. He started arguing with the ref and complaining, and I turned around and called him a little weenie hack. The ref quickly stepped between us and told him to back up. (Girls are a bit better protected by the ref than the men.)

I'm not above using the "girl factor" when someone is such a twit.

Tonight is my other indoor league, and that's lots of fun. Since most of the people in this league know each other, it's not so blood-thirsty. It is also filled with more talented men who don't need to be hacks. I tend to get in far fewer fights on Monday evenings.

Have a good week.

Where the H*ll is Everyone?

I want to know what Andy has done to his wife, because she has not blogged since November 6th.

Also, I think someone should make a seal or badge of some sort that would identify a site as a "Weekend Blogger." Then I wouldn't have to check the entire links list each Sunday night to find out who else doesn't have a life.

*****
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Always, Always Read the Label

I was at the store today, and I noticed that the low-carb Atkins^TM folks have come out with a line of candy. Since the VP and I are trying to watch our carbs, I decided to buy some.

Bad move.

First of all, these things are expensive. They cost about a dollar apiece for a treat the same dimensions as a "fun-size" candy bar.

Secondly, I didn't read the label. If I had, I would have seen this:

INDULGE WISELY: For those sensitive to sugar alcohols and their laxative effects, please limit to 1-2 servings/day.

Because I missed dinner, I ate three of the Carmel Nut Chews on the way home from the store.

I had no idea I was highly sensitive to sugar alcohols and their, er, effects.

The Future Looks Bright...

My sister and I went to McDonalds yesterday when we were out shopping. After we placed our order, an eldery lady stepped up to the counter and tried to place her order. Only she wasn't ordering anything off the menu. She had her restaurants confused. And I'm not sure what was sadder...the fact that this lady was trying to purchase a Whopper^TM at McDonalds or the fact that the cashier had to go ask a manager if they sold Whoppers^TM.

6 More Weekends Left to Shop

I read somewhere that if you write your goals down...actually look at them in black and white, you're more likely to put a greater effort into achieving them.

So here it is. I am going on record as saying "I will get all my Christmas shopping done by the end of November." Really, I'll need to get it all done before the 27th because it will be an act of desperation on my part to go into a store after Thanksgiving with all the crowds. I plan to spend December 1-23 baking and decorating and playing Bing Crosby CD's.

I made a good dent in the gift-buying list today. And many thanks to The Professor and The Green Goddess, who babysat for me while I went shopping. It's nearly impossible to shop with The Governor. People stare at you funny when your child is tethered and anchored in the cart. And that always leads to hassels with the police and child protective services.

I'm feeling pretty good about the holiday season. Stress is no longer an issue when I have the safety net of knowing that anyone left on my list by November 26th is getting a personalized doormat from L.L.Bean...ordered on-line.

I feel like whistling.

**personal note for Aelfheld - thanks for the sound bites! That Yosemite Sam one is awesome. The Senator loves to listen to it. I was going to send you an email, but I haven't had much time. One will follow soon. Thanks again.

A Long Wednesday

The Governor didn't sleep too well last night. I made several crib-side visits throughout the early morning hours. So it didn't surprise me that when we arrived at his Early Childhood class this morning, he was crabby.

Oh, let me clarify that last sentence. It should have read "much crabbier than usual."

When we all gathered in a circle to sing some songs, The Gov flopped down in the middle of the group and kicked and yelled. I was halfway to the door with him when he realized that his audience was soon going to consist of me and the drinking fountain. He stopped his fit instantly and pointed back to the group.

We gave it another try, and he did so much better that later in the class, the assistant teacher came over and told me he was adorable. What the h*ll? How does he managed to charm people into overlooking the obvious signs of his demon possession? I don't understand.

Here's another thing I don't understand. Why can't the authors of British history find an easier way to identify the same individual throughout their narrative? I'm just finishing a book on The War of the Roses. I needed a bleepin' spreadsheet to try and keep track of people.

For example, you start with a Robert. But he's not just Robert, he's Robert of Draftyoldcastle in Shirevilletown, the place of his birth. He's also got his family's sur name: Plantagyorkcaster. He can now be referred to by his name or place of birth. Then King Lupus III bestows a couple of titles on the chap (Earl of Welshtownship, Duke of Hostilenorthernterritory, etc.) and Robert can also be referred to as :The Earl, The Duke, Welshtownship, Hostilenorthernterritory, and all the old names as well. Throw in a couple of royal office positions: Lord High Admiral, The Protector, Great Chamberlain of England, etc., and you've got a smorgasbord of names to designate the same guy. Okay, Fine. But please don't call poor old Robert by one name and in the next three paragraphs use three different monikers.

Perhaps it's just this particular author. I've read some of her other works, and I like them all...I just have a little trouble with the cast.

Oh well. Time to put Lord High Senator of the Outpost to bed.

Nursing Home Tuesday

Hoocher and I had an interesting visit today to the nursing home. One of our regular stops is Mrs. K. She's a great lady; I love talking to her. Today it was nearly impossible because of the smell.

Something in her room reeked so strongly of urine that it was difficult to breathe. I was sitting right next to Mrs. K., so I know it wasn't her. She has a roommate, but who knows...could have been a random strike from another resident too. Several of the them seem to have trouble finding their own rooms.

Poor Mrs. K. We cut our visit short.

On the way out of her room, we noticed a guy across the hall laying on the floor of his room, flat on his back. I flagged a nurse on our way up the hall, and as she's headed down towards the room, I can hear several aides running around excitedly calling for a nurse because there has been "a fall." I suppose they don't want to broadcast it on the entire wing that Mr. Smith took a digger, but it seemed rather impersonal. I hope the guy is okay.

Our final stop today was to see our friends in the Alzheimer's unit. Here's Hoocher squeezing in between two of his favorite ladies for some lovin'.

What can I say? He's a hound. He's even got one of the staff members baking him home-made dog biscuits. I'm sure there will be some cookies or brownies coming my way any day now.

Behold the Power of TiVo!

Is this the slickest thing ever? I believe so.

The Senator hates missing a second of his favorite show, Tom and Jerry. Whenever I want him to get something done, and I'm too tired to nag and shout, I put on a pre-recorded cartoon and start it running. I let him see just a little bit, and then I tell him it's too bad he can't watch it because there are all kinds of dirty clothes in his bedroom which should be in the laundry room.

"Mom! Can you pause it?! Please!"

Hit the magic yellow pause button, and chores get done faster than ever before.

The only drawback is that you have to use it sparingly. Otherwise you've got a 5 year old who needs to check into rehab for cartoon addiction.

Got Kids?

Go here and laugh.

I like Phil.

Some People's Children...

Well, everything is relatively back to normal at The Outpost. I still can't believe The Crazyweiler is gone. Thanks again to everyone who wrote - it was comforting to hear from you all.

Last night was the first Sunday of my winter indoor league. I haven't played at this facility in quite a while because better fields have been available, but due to the booming youth programs around here, adult leagues have been cut. So I'm back to playing in a gymnasium.

And it stinks. And a lot of the people in this league are freaks. They're just really weird. And I'm playing with them now, so by association...

Tonight is my pick-up league at the Plymouth Dome. This is a great field. The most wonderful stuff to run on, fall down in, twist your knee on...The Vikings should be so lucky. Actually, I've heard rumors that this type of turf is going to be put down in the Metrodome next year.

Not too much else to say today. I would have posted earlier, but I was volunteering in The Senator's preschool classroom today. I do not know how those teachers come back each week. I was sitting on the edge of one very tiny chair, about to leap up and shout, "Pay attention you little snots! Your teacher is talking. Pipe down! Show some respect." It doesn't help that these kids all have the attention span of a gnat. (Senator included) I would be popping arteries on the half hour if I had to face this class three times a week.

And so I leave you with a kid joke (from my source, Terry):

Big People Words

A group of kindergartners were trying to become accustomed to the first grade.

The biggest hurdle they faced was that the teacher insisted on no baby talk! You need to use 'Big People' words, she was always reminding them...

She asked Chris what he had done over the weekend. "I went to visit my Nana."

"No, you went to visit your GRANDMOTHER. Use 'Big People' words!" She then asked Mitchell what he had done.

"I took a ride on a choo-choo."

She said "No, you took a ride on a TRAIN. You must remember to use 'Big People' words." She then asked Alex what he had done.

"I read a book," he replied.

"That's WONDERFUL!" the teacher said. "What book did you read?"

Alex thought real hard about it, then puffed out his little chest with great pride, and said, "Winnie the SHIT."

The Nut House

Oh someone rescue me from this looney bin. I don't think I can take the emotional extremes anymore.

All day today I've been subdued and almost depressed over the death of The Crazyweiler.

And now it's all I can do to not throw up because I'm laughing so hard.

The Senator came in to say good night, and while he was talking to me, The VP snuck into The Senator's bedroom and hid under his comforter to surprise him when he came to bed.

Only The Senator doesn't just climb quietly into bed. He leaps into bed. Head first.

And tonight his forehead connected squarely with The VP's nose.

I heard, "AAAAUUUUGGHHHH!! AAAUUUUGGGGHHH!" followed by some indistinguishable sounds. The Senator, always thinking, beats a path back into the computer room to enlist an ally.

"Mom, mom! Come here. Please come here." He looks scared to death. I follow him back to his room to find The VP sitting on the edge of the bed moaning, "He broke my nose. He broke my nose!"

I stood for a moment, trying very hard to maintain my composure and display wifely concern. And then I lost it. I started laughing, and I couldn't stop. Somehow the picture of The Senator flying through the air like a superhero from The Justice League and knocking his dad square on the schnozz was hilarious.

The Senator climbed back into bed, vastly relieved.

I followed The VP into the bathroom, where he looked in the mirror and exclaimed, "I look like a mafia hit man!"

Okay, there is a lump on his nose. I'll give him that. But broken? I'll wait for the x-ray. I think he wouldn't be pushing on it in that manner without excruciating pain if it was broken. However, I'm no doctor. I could be getting an enormous amount of entertainment off his genuine suffering.

This is warped, isn't it? The man is walking around with an ice pack on his face, and it's all I can do not to lay down on the floor and bray like a hyena.

Can't wait to see what tomorrow brings.

Sigh

I woke this morning to the sound of gun shots. Deer season opener. I pretended it was really the local gentry giving The Crazyweiler a parting salute.

I walked around the house this morning and saw all the signs of him...his toys, the scratches on the wall, the dent in the screen door which happened when he tried to prematurely exit the house before I could get the door all the way open...and I thought about what a good life he had. No, he had a great life.

And just when I thought I had all the tears shed or conquered...I logged in and read all your comments. "When the Internet's Very Best Cares Enough to Send..." Thank you so much.

And so, in honor of The Crazyweiler, I will post my favorite Rottweiler joke. It's an old one; you've probably heard it before, but humor me. And thank you all, again, for the kind thoughts.

The Burglar

Late one night, a burglar broke into a house that he thought was empty. He tiptoed through the living room but suddenly he froze in his tracks when he heard a loud voice say; "Jesus is watching you."

Silence returned to the house, so the burglar crept forward again.

"Jesus is watching you," the voice boomed again.

The burglar stopped dead in his tracks. He was frightened. Frantically, he looked all around the room. In a dark corner, he spotted a bird cage and in the cage was a parrot. He asked the parrot; "Was that you who said Jesus is watching me?"

"Yes," Said the parrot.

The burglar breathed a sigh of relief, then asked the parrot; "What is your name?"

"Clarence," said the bird.

"That is a dumb name for a parrot," sneered the burglar. "What idiot named you Clarence?"

The parrot said, "The same idiot who named the Rottweiller Jesus."

Day From Hell Hits Rock Bottom

The worst has happened. I'm too sick at heart to write.

Rest in peace.

Just One of Those Days

From H*ll.

The Crazyweiler is not feeling well. What is normally 120 pounds of high octane energy now looks like the most washed-out, depressed, down-on-his luck bum that ever slouched against a wall.

He's been throwing up since Wednesday night. Mostly bile, but this morning it was a colorful mixture thanks to the addition of blood. (Just come back from lunch, did you? Sorry.)

Went to the vet. The Crazyweiler had to get an IV, and a shot and have some blood work done. They also gave him something to try and coat his stomach and absorb any toxins. (He just threw that up about 15 mintues ago.) We may have to go back for another visit after preschool.

So, in order to alleviate the depressing mood of this post, I leave (or leaven) you with this (compliments of my friend, Terry):

Subject: Sad News

It is with the saddest of hearts that we must pass on the following news. Please join us in remembering a great icon of the entertainment community.

The Pillsbury Doughboy died yesterday of a yeast infection and complications from repeated pokes in the belly. He was 71.

Doughboy was buried in a lightly greased coffin. Dozens of celebrities turned out to pay their respects, including Mrs. Buttersworth, Hungry Jack, the California Raisins, Betty Crocker, the Hostess Twinkies, and Captain Crunch. The gravesite was piled high with flours. Aunt Jemima delivered the eulogy and lovingly described Doughboy as a man who never knew how much he was kneaded.

Doughboy rose quickly in show business, but his later life was filled with turnovers. He was not considered a very `smart` cookie, wasting much of his dough on half-baked schemes. Despite being a little flaky at times he still, as a crusty old man, was considered a roll model for millions.

Doughboy is survived by his wife, Play Dough; two children, John Dough and Jane Dough; plus they had one in the oven. He is also survived by his elderly dad, Pop Tart. The funeral was held at 3:50 for about 20 minutes.

I Swear He's Not Mine, Part II

Last trip to the grocery store, I bought Cheerios^TM for The Senator. He won't eat them.

Rather than toss them out to the birds, I decided to make the equivalent of rice crispy bars with the Cheerios. They not too bad. Not the greatest treat in the world, but you figure in the marshmallows, the peanut butter, and the chocolate chips...it still fulfills all junk food requirements.

The Senator won't even try them.

In retaliation, I'm going to go eat all the chocolate out of his Halloween bucket.

Light, Anyone?

I just finished banning my first IP address.

I feel like I should be smoking a cigarette.

What You Can Get Away With in the Country

Oh boy. I was in a fantastic mood just now. I was all set to rip off a great post, and I logged in to discover about 15 spam comments. I hate that. So now I'm feeling surly. I have to figure out how to ban the IP 209.208.9.254 because that's the joker who sent it all. I just dare this Internet remora to come out here and advertise directly to my face. My father-in-law would take care of him. Like he almost took care of the meter reader yesterday.

Background: My father-in-law loves birds; hates squirrels. When the latter scale his bird feeder, the FIL tries to discourage them by shooting them with his BB gun from the deck of his house. It's not unusual to find him out there in the mornings, still in his bathrobe, coffee cooling on the railing, and him trying his best to embed steel pellets into squirrel heinie.

Our meter reader, who is the most gentle-looking, benign character that ever carried a pen and clipboard...was out yesterday recording our vast consumption of electricity. With his little ear flaps buttoned up on the sides of his Elmer Fudd hunting cap and his large-framed glasses giving him an added touch of innocence, he walked carefully across my driveway (avoiding ants), took the numbers off my meter, and turned back towards the in-law's house to mark down their figures. Mr. MeterReader walks past the end of our garage, and he caught the attention of the FIL who is out on the deck pegging squirrels at 50 paces.

Does the FIL lower the gun to see who's walking across the lawn? No. He pivots to see who's coming, and he completely forgets his BB gun is still level until he sees Mr. MR doing the "Please Don't Shoot Me" tango in place.

The FIL finally realizes what's going on and, startled, explains, "Oh gee! Sorry about that; I'm just shooting at the squirrels."

Mr. MR, after coming close to needing defib paddles applied to his chest, then asks the FIL where the extra meter is...there are two listed for his address. FIL points him in the direction of the Tin Shed, which is across the dirt road from us, but Mr. MR thinks FIL is pointing to his garage and exclaims, "You mean that yellow building right there?!" Yellow building being reached by walking directly across FIL's line of fire. I thought we were going to have to pull the paddles out again.

FIL reassures Mr. MR that he is in no danger, and MR goes on his way. I can't help but wonder if he got home that evening and told his wife, "25 years of service, Doris. 25 years. I've fended off dogs, I've climbed through rose bushes, I've been doused by sprinklers...but today was the final straw. It's just not worth getting shot. I'm retiring tomorrow."

Well, I'd write more, but it's time to go pick up The Senator from pre-school. I'll post more later if Wright-Hennepin co-op doesn't come and yank their electric lines in response to my father-in-law threatening one of their agents.

K-Tel's Holiday Hits...

My brother-in-law, Mike, sent me this yesterday. He loves The Crazyweiler. He really does.

In fact, he loves The Crazyweiler and our other dogs so much, that each year he composes a song to them. Below are the lyrics from last year. I had to do some minor name changing to protect the innocent. You will also need to know that The Crazyweiler's name is Walter. (We call him BW. That stands for Big Walt. It makes him feel like a Texas oil tycoon, so we humor him.)

To the tune of “We Three Kings”

We three dogs of Cathy Camp’s are
Waiting on Mike to exit his car
Yes, we see you,
soon we’ll greet you
Thanks for coming out this far.

Oh-oh… Dogs are nipping your heels
No one hears your panicked squeals
Soon your bleeding,
life’s receding.
Yes you’ll be
our next big meal.

Breezy, Walter, Hoocher too
Waiting in the dark for you
Creeping, sneaking,
stealthily peeking
Looking ‘ round
for you-know-who.

Oh-oh… Mike is running see him go
Knock him down into the snow
Growling, barking,
gnashing, snarling.
Hide his corpse
so The VP won’t know.

Walter’s learned to unlock the door
Too bad Mike’s not safe anymore
Pleading, whining,
soon he crying.
Drag him ‘cross
the kitchen floor.

Oh-oh… sprinting for the ambulance
Ripping at his pee-stained pants
They’ll sedate him,
medicate him.
We must wait
for our next chance.

No, really, he just loves our dogs.

I Hope You've Already Eaten...

Here is The Crazyweiler doing the High Chair Hop. Lunch time around here is better than a night out at the disco.

This is what happens when the dancing ends, and the two parties involved finally connect and exchange slobber...

Goin' to the Chapel...

Congratulations to Paula and Brent. They got married today. Their wedding was one of the best celebrations I've been to in a while. Why was it great? Why, thanks for asking. I enjoyed it because:

The ceremony was the perfect length. Not too short. Not too long. One reader. (My nephew, The General, did the reading. Better public speaker than I am, and looked incredibly sharp in a tux. And yes, ladies, he is single, but he's only 9.)

Terrific soloist. Beautiful voice.

Bridesmaid dresses were stunning. And set your skepticism aside when I tell you that they could indeed be worn again at another formal occasion.

The bride and groom ushered their guests out quickly - in lieu of a receiving line.

Assigned seating at the reception. I dislike general admission style seating. I understand the convenience of it - I did it at my own wedding. But it has drawbacks. ("Yeah, pull up a few more chairs. No reason we can't squeeze 14 around this table designed to seat eight.") I love the feeling of knowing there is a chair specifically designated for me, and I am not in a rush to throw a coat or purse on a seat, tip it against the table, pee on it, or in any other way have to mark my territory.

(Sorry, Mom, I know how much you hate the word pee. Urinate had too many syllables; wouldn't have flowed quite so well.)

Great food.

Free beer.

I had an excellent time. (And no, it wasn't because of the beer.)

And now it's time for bed. Tomorrow is my last outdoor soccer game of the season. Slight chance of snow, I hear.

Heh

This is probably the only "family-safe" funny thing I've linked to since I started blogging. I'm not sure why I found it so amusing...but it is. Thank you, once again, Rodger.