NaBloPoMo ~ THE END

So. This is it. The last day of National Blog Posting Month. What did I think of it?

That depends. Have the prizes been given out yet?

No? In that case....I loved it!

For reals, though, it has been fun. It was definately a challenge getting to the computer every day to try and post something. A few days were close calls. I was a fairly regular poster before, but everyday is HARD, peeps. Also, I feel as though the quality of my posts went down a bit. That's not all nablopomo's fault. I've been very busy. What with the glitter and all. But I think I would prefer posting less often, but with a bit more substance.

And I missed the visiting. In the small amount of time I have on the computer each day, I like to spend some of it visiting blog friends. That was almost impossible this past month. I plan to make up for it some in the coming days. Or maybe after Christmas.

All in all, I liked it. It was a challenge. And I tend to not pass down a challenge. Ever. So, please, don't dare me to do anything crazy. Please.

NaBloPoMo Post 29 ~ THE Rant

Hold onto your socks, folks. This rant has been building for a few weeks now. I just haven't had time to sit and express myself in blog form.

There are a lot of things on this planet that bug me. Pesky things. Annoying things. Things that only bother me a little, but could hardly warrant a full rant. What? You want examples? That could take a while. And I'm trying to make a point here. Stop interupting. Ok. OK. FINE. I'll give a few examples.

~ People who wear their pajamam bottoms as pants. Out in public. You know we can all tell, right? You are not blending in.

~ People who don't put their carts away. You know who you are.

~ Spongebob Squarepants.

~ Bad coffee.

~ Etc.

~ I hate when people use Etc.

But, none of those things are why I am here today for your ranting pleasure. No. I have a much more annoying nemisis. It's not just annoying. It's dangerous. And mean. And I would have to say downright abusive. It will probably kill us all someday. That's right. You know it. I'm talking about

I hate glitter. HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE glitter. What the hell is wrong with everyone? Why do you need your holiday items to sparkle and shine with glitter? WHY? Save it for the show girls. Your fake poinsettias and plastic ornaments are very pretty already. They DON'T NEED GLITTER.

And do you all know who has to live in constant fear of the glitter? Do you? That's right. The retail workers. The ones who are covered in it, day after day. Sneezing glitter. Getting glitter in the eye. Dying of glitter induced cancer of the lungs in about 30 years or so.

It gets in our hair, on our clothing, our skin. And it doesn't come off. Not even when we leave and go home. Even after a shower, it's still there. And then it gets transferred to our families. OH, the HUMANITY!

And do any of you care? Do you? NO. And how do I know? Because you still keep buying the glittered up crap! And you bring it to MY counter. So I can smile and inhale some more. And then you say "Isn't this pretty?" and I have to say YES, even though I am SCREAMING inside. And then.....THEN.....just to dig the knife in a little more, you then say something like "Oh, I think I see a sparkle on your face. Just under your eye. No. No. A little more to the left. Close. Nope, it's still there. Maybe if you scratch it with your nail. Nope still there. It must want to stay. Hee hee hee. Now you're all sparkly for the holidays!"

And I need to restrain myself. From jumping over the counter and strangling you with a length of glittered ribbon.

When I rule the world, glitter will be banned. Except to be used in forms of torture and punishment.

NaBloPoMo Post 28

Tonight's lack of an interesting and stimulating post is not my fault. Blogger was being a bastard all night. My Folgers and I will be back in the morning.

NaBloPoMo Post 27 ~ The Big Whine

Sigh.

I had a really great rant. It's been rattling around in my head for days, just waiting for a few moments of peace and quiet when I could sit and type.

But, a new rant has come up. Well, maybe not new. I believe it's similar to the rant of every mother since the beginning of time.

I cleaned last week, on Wednesday. I still worked that night, but I spent the morning cleaning. I mean REALLY cleaning. All the nooks and crannies kind of thing. The house looked so clean and organized and pretty. It even smelled pretty.

And then I worked the rest of the week. It was somewhat maintained. At least on the surface. And mostly because I yelled at them all to keep my house clean on the way out the door each day. Saturday I worked all day, but they all went out of town for the day. How bad could they mess it? Then we ALL went out of town all day yesterday. How could ANYONE mess it?

The kitchen counter, coffee table and dining room table are covered in crap. Nobody even bothered to run the full dishwasher. I didn't even have a damn spoon to stir my damn coffee this morning!

It's not just a big cleaning job anymore. The entire house needs to be reorganized. The last time I saw this much mess in the house, we were renovating the kitchen.

I don't know what to do anymore. Do I leave it, and wallow in the mess with them? Do I yell at them all to clean it while I sit and eat Toffifee? Do I just clean it myself?

I can't clean it myself. There is a giant TV sitting in the middle of the living room floor. A circular saw in a large wooden box in the middle of the kitchen. I can't lift those.

I'm just so exhausted. Little Brat has been sick. My ass is still broken. My house is constantly torn apart, no matter what I do. I'm working lots of hours, and at this point I would much rather live at the dollar store than this pigsty.

Sigh.

Please ignore the above rant. It's whiney and pathetic. I just need more coffee. And a large, muscled, sweaty male model to help me lift things. Any volunteers?

I will return to my regularly scheduled rant as soon as possible.

NaBloPoMo Post 26

Ha! 11:47............

NaBloPoMo Post 25

Looooong shift today. And one of my supervisors Googled something and found this blog yesterday (see comment from last post).

So, everyone say hi to Barb!

HI BARB!

NaBloPoMo Post 24

One month until Christmas eve! Yay. Everyone run to the dollar store and get your shopping done!

I didn't miss posting today, but I am a teensy bit drunk and every living thing in my family keeps barging into the room to interrupt me.

So, um, this is all ya get tonight. Ya.

NaBloPoMo Post 23

I know I am a little biased. But I took quite a few art classes in my day. I know a little something about compostition and postive/negative spaces. And I don't know about the rest of ya'll, but I'm pretty sure Little Brat is an artistic GENIUS.

You agree, right?

The fact that she gave up on signing her name and just wrote "ME" is all part of the genius.

NaBloPoMo Post 22

I have bought myself a new tool in the fight against dirt, dust and animal hair. A late birthday present.

I try. I really do try. But, the animal hair is what gets me in the end. It's everywhere. In large clumps and piles. No corner is safe. The carpets are the wrong color most days. I find it on my wall, even. The WALL.

But, now I have an upper hand. I'm smart. No. GENIUS. I stopped to think about why I can never catch up. It's not like they are hiding around the corner and pulling out tufts of hair as soon as I clean, are they?

Are they?

No. No. It's time. It's all about time. When there is only so much time to clean a room, we focus on the big things. The obvious things. The toys all over the floor. The dirty dishes. The school bags and army crap and flyers strewn about. That way, when time is up, and we need to go do something else, at least things are put away.

We don't vacuum first. How can we, what with all the crap strewn about. And that would involve going to the cleaning closet, and taking out the vacuum and finding an outlet to plug it in and unravel the cord and then vacuum and then re-wrap the cord and and empty out the container of dirt (outdoors, it's very messy) then put it away.

So, the next time there is time to clean, the items have been re-strewn and there is only time to pick them up.

Somebody tell me....when the hell am I supposed to find time to vacuum the whole damn house.

But NOW I have another weapon in the fight. It's the Bissell Sturdy Sweeper. A mechanical broom. You know the kind. It has a brush and some compartments for holding dirt. Just push it back and forth. No cords. No bags. No filters. Just push it back and forth.

Does it pick up everything? No. But some is better than none.

And the VERY BESTEST PART......

I woke up this morning to find Little Brat playing with my new toy....I mean tool. And she's been kicking dog and cat hair ass ever since!

Do I feel bad for the dog and cat that now have to run from the little terror with a sweeper? That depends. Do you think they feel bad for me, having to clean up their hair?


*Just a side note for any of you following the continuing saga of the ghosts in my house. You may notice the orb of light on the handle of the sweeper. Now, some of you skeptics (You know who you are, all you science types) may say it's just dust, like you did the last time. And it probably is. I'll agree with that. But, the "dust" only shows up on the camera in that specific area of that specific room of the house. And it's also only inches from where I saw a ghost. But, that's just a side note.

NaBloPoMo Post 21

I got one of these for my birthday:

It TOtallY rocks. It's like having your very own cleaning lady living in your shower. An ugly one that doesn't hit on your husband.

I do have a cautionary note, however. One that is not listed on the package or in the directions. Perhaps they should add it. Ok, listen up:

No matter how curious you are, no matter HOW MUCH you want to see it working, don't, DO NOT, slide the shower door open just a teensy weensy bit and peek in to watch it work.

It WILL spray you right in the eye.

Twice.

NaBloPoMo Post 20

So. Here's today. There is absolutely nothing interesting about today. Nope. Nothing.

Dum de dum.

So, uh. I think I will spend today doing, um, fun things for myself. Like drinking coffee and blog hopping. But, not because of any special reason. It's not any kind of a special day, or anything. It's not like some big fantastic event happens on November 20th.

All right, so it's KIND of a special day. Afterall, it was this day in 2003 and that Michael Jackson was arrested by police on charges of child molestation (cough, cough, guilty, cough, cough). It's also the wedding anniversary of Queen Elizabeth and Prince Philip. Neat, eh? Speaking of anniversaries...it's also a big one for the Mexican Revolution. Wow, and I just had nachos the other night! What a coincidence!

What's that? You say it's someones birthday today? Hmmm. Well, I know it's Dick Smothers birthday. Remember the Smothers Brothers? I love them. Yo-yo man. HA. And Bo Derek should be getting a birthday cake today, too. Good for her.

And, uh, ya. That's about it. Nothing else special about today. Oh! WAIT!!!!!

It's my sisters' birthday today! HAPPY BIRTHDAY SISTER2 AND SISTER3!!!!

NaBloPoMo Post 19 ~ Warning: This post contains a recipe

Last night was my "birthday" dinner. Terriyaki chicken nachos. That I had to rush home and make myself. But, they are very easy to make. Here is my very super simple if-Tara-can-do-it-anyone-can recipe:

You need:
1 lb of bonless skinless chicken breast
Tostitos, Restaurant style nacho chips
Cheddar cheese shredded
a tomato diced
a red onion finely diced
VH Terriyaki sauce
sour cream and/or salsa (I only use the sour cream, personally)

Ok......so, chop the chicken up into little itty bitty cubes. I usually half freeze the chicken first, so it's easier to cut. Then, cook 'em up in a frying pan with a splotch of cooking oil (about med high heat). Just when you don't see the pink anymore, put about a 1/4 to a 1/2 cup of the terriayki sauce into the pan. Depends on how teri you like your yaki. Keep cooking until most of the sauce has been carmelized to the chicken.

On a baking sheet covered in tin foil, place a handfull or two of chips. Then some tomatos, onions and cheese. A few more chips. Then more stuff. Then dump the rest of the bag on there. Sprinkle the cooked chicken on top. Finish with whatever garnishes you have left, ending in cheese. LOTS of cheese.

Bake at 350 until cheese is melted, then broil until it starts bubbling. Watch closely because the nachos can burn.

Ta da. That's it. Go eat them now. They are sooooooooooooooooooo good. But, don't be like me and eat too many. Oh, ok. Go ahead. Eat too many.

NaBloPoMo Post 18

So, Monday I am turning 31. Yup. My birthday. I'm letting ya'll know now, so you still have the weekend to go and buy me something good. But, don't get anything for my sisters. Just me.

Here's a somewhat dark and fuzzy photo of a past birthday.

I think it was right before our friends arrived. I'm pretty sure the Cabbage Patch Kids were not the only guests that year, allthough they did go EVERYWHERE with us. All six of them. Let's see, if that was the birthday after the Cabbage craze, which was in '83 I think, then that would mean it was '84 in the photo, making me 9 years old. I mean 'us'. Whatever.

What you want to note, however, are the photos within the photo. Top left hand corner. See them?

Yes, those ARE off the shoulder pink Thriller shirts we are wearing. But, of course, of the shoulder was too slutty for my mom, so we had to wear white blouses underneath. You can't see it in that picture, but we are also each wearing one silver glove. For reals. We really are. What? MJ was pretty big back then, ya know. Shut up.

NaBloPoMo Post 17

I just spent the morning discussing childbirth with a good friend of mine. She is preggo with her third, and possibly her fourth. The doctor thinks she has a rather large uterus and wants her to get an ultrasound to see if it is twins.

Poor girl.

At some point, the conversation came around to the old men-will-never-ever-understand-what-childbirth-feels-like-and-don't-get-to-comment-on-it-unless-they-are-being-extra-sympathetic line of thought. And that brought us around to the logical discussion that says the-only-thing-men-can-compare-the-pain-of-childbirth-to-is-a-good-kick-in-the-you-knows-and-even-that-only-lasts-a-few-minutes.

Somehow, though, we started wondering (in that riled up way that only riled up women talking to each can do) if a good kick in the you knows is REALLY all that painful. I mean, I know how the men react when it happens. They cry and turn white and curl up on the ground and maybe even throw up. And none of that is good. Which is why the you knows have been used as a weapon since the beginning of time. They are a wonderful last resort for anyone losing a fight.

BUT, I have a theory. What if, based on centuries of men reacting to a good kick in the you knows, men have now been conditioned to react that way even if it didn't hurt? There MUST be a guy or two out there with you knows made of steel that only feel a mild discomfort when kicked. But, if they DON'T fall to the ground and hyperventillate, do other men then judge them and think "he must have pretty small you knows for that not to hurt?"

Because women don't do that with childbirth. If it hurts, it HURTS. And we will tell everyone who will listen that it hurt. But if it DIDN'T hurt all that much, we will brag about that, too. And nobody is judging us on how much our uterus hurt during labor.

So, maybe, just maybe, when you kick a man in the you knows, he is really just reacting the way he has been conditioned to react in order to maintain his aura of man-li-ness, and it really didn't cause that much pain at all. So maybe they should just suck it up and quit whining. Either that or try pushing a couple of babies out.

But that's just a theory. I'm not planning on testing it, or anything.

NaBloPoMo Post 16

I got called into work last night. Again. I am starting to think this is just an evil plot to make me miss all of my favorite shows. Thank Folgers LOST wasn't on.

Unfortunately, MEDIUM was. I saw the first half of the two hour special. I was really only killing time before CSI:NY was on. And BOY did that kill my time. And maybe a few brain cells with it.

I liked MEDIUM when it first aired. I liked the concept, anyway. I have issues with how bratty and snotty her kids are (which they never get in trouble for) and how she treats her husband. Maybe they should have an episode where they go see Dr. Phil. Whatever. Those are the least of my issues with that show.

Ok, here's my problem. It's about a psychic. Right? I mean, she's supposed to know what's going on, right? And the district attorney. He hired her because she's a pyschic, right? So, he believes her, doesn't he? So, why is it that everytime she has a dream and discovers something, nobody believes her?

Why, when somebody is about to be killed and she dreams about it, does she cry and make that awful teeth-baring face and whine that she doesn't know anything. What? You just had a dream showing you who, where and with what.

And why, when she calls up the DA or the cop and says she knows that so-and-so got murdered on the dirt road behind the drive-in, or whatever, do they then say "How do you know?" WHAT? Have they not been paying attention?????

The first season was for working out all the doubts and other issues. Just accept it, people. Or at least ACT like you do. You know. ACTING. I believe that is supposed to be a part of your job description. I'm not quite ready to host a meeting of the I Hate Allison Dubois Club....but it's not that far off.

By the way....did you know Allison Dubois is the name of a real-life psychic? The character is supposed to be based on her. Do you think she knew that Patricia Arquette would butcher her character? You know, what with being a pyschic and all.

I hope LOST is back on next week. Or I have to work again.

NaBloPoMo Post 15

I came home from work yesterday to find that my alleged husband went ahead and painted the living room for me. The color is 'bavarian cream'. Awwww. Ain't that sweet? It's actually even more 'awww', because he HATES painting. Loathes it. Would rather poke out his own eyes than paint. See? Awwwwwwwww.

He said it was because he had a my-wife-is-so-busy-what-with-the-kids-and-work-and-cleaning-and-laundry-and-all-and-I-really-should-help-out-with-the-painting-because-it's-such-a-big-job-and-then-I-will-be-the-bestest-alleged-husband-ever moment. I think that there may have been a little bit of If-I-don't-do-this-she's-NEVER-gonna-get-around-to-it thrown in there, but whatever. It's one less room I have to paint.

He was also worried that I would be upset because I hadn't budgeted for redecorating this month and he went ahead and started it anyway. Thinking I would be mad. And doing it anyway. Hmmmm.

Still. One less room to paint. I'm really OK with it. Except that he left the second coat for me to do.

I'll try to come back later and do some blog hopping, now that it is slightly easier to sit in a chair.

NaBloPoMo Post 14

Good morning! This message comes to ya'll from my office chair. Yup. I'm sitting in it. With a couch throw rolled up to resemble a large doughnut. It's not working terribly well. Will I get back OUT of this chair?

I really don't know.

My weekend was nice. For once. I worked on Saturday, but then we had the Dollar Store Christmas party. Which, quite frankly, I found sadly lacking in cheap Christmas decorations. I mean, really. It's not like they didn't know where to get some. But, it wasn't all that bad. I don't think.

Then again, I haven't had a date with my alleged husband since that wedding last summer in which I almost killed myself trying to dance like Shakira.

So, I suppose in relative terms, watching 20 or so of my coworkers get drunk and dance the Macarena (which we sell a how-to video for at the store......for a dollar) WOULD be fun. For me. The loser that never goes out.

The rest of you would run away screaming, I am sure.

I DID win a prize, but that's a given. I ALWAYS win a prize at these things. ALWAYS. It's an odd gift I have. This time I even knew which prize it would be. I saw it on the prize table, speaking to me. All wrapped up. And round. Alleged husband thought it was a wheel a cheese. I thought it would be cute little Christmas dessert plates. Guess who was right?

I sure wish I could use this power on lottery tickets.

Then, I had a day off. No...wait. I had TWO days off. In a ROW. Crazy, yes? But, that's all over today. I must work. The Christmas season has officially begun. I must immerse myself in hundreds and hundreds of little plastic gold bells, garlands of ugly tinsel, gift bags, holiday socks and those stupid IDIOTIC CARDS THAT ARE SUPPOSED TO SING WHEN YOU OPEN THEM BUT ONLY COST A DOLLAR SO YOU KNOW THEY WILL KEEP SINGING EVEN WHEN THEY ARE CLOSED AND SITTING ON THE SHELF SO ALL WE HEAR IS THAT STUPID TINNY-SOUNDING JINGLE BELLS JINGLE BELLS JINGLE ALL THE WAY ALL DAMN DAY LONG AND WE CAN'T FIGURE OUT WHICH DAMN CARD IS SIGNING!

Good times, good times.

I am now attempting to publish this and get out of my office chair. If the post ends at this paragraph, you will know I have managed to rise up out of my chair, in spite of my broken ass, and then you may applaud for me. If I keep typing, you will know I have failed miserably.

NaBloPoMo Post 13 ~ Broken Ass Update

I can now get out of the car without gasping in pain. And that is about the only improvement. I cannot get out of my office chair at all. Which is why I am standing above my keyboard typing this. It sucks.

So, please enjoy yesterday's photo. It was posted late, so some of you may not have had time to fully appreciate the humor of it. I took that photo in Niagara Falls a few years ago. I just got it developed this week. It's amazing what can get done when you can't sit down.

My ass and I will attempt a longer post tomorrow.

NaBloPoMo Post 12

NaBloPoMo Post 11~ LEST WE FORGET

Today is Remembrance Day here in Canada. (hence the poppy tattoo, in case anyone has yet to put those two events together) I am spending my morning in quite reflection, remembering all of the soldiers we have lost in the past decades, years and months. I will be reflecting from a table at Tim Horton's, drinking buckets of coffee.

Alleged hubby will be at a military parade, and I need to be at work at noon. And, what with all the parades being at 11:11 am, he can't possibly drive me to work afterwards. The logistics just don't work. So, I will be dropped at the Timmie's next to the mall a few hours before my shift. Poor, poor me.

Allthough, my poor broken ass IS having some reservations about the bench seats there.

And then tonight, TONIGHT, is the Dollar Store Christmas party! Whoooooo!

I'll tel ya'll about it tomorrow.

NaBloPoMo Post 10 ~ TATTOO DAY!

YAY! Today is the day I get all tattooed up like a drunken sailer! Yay!

I will add more to this post later about my tattoo experience. I'm mostly concerned right now about sitting still long enough. You know, what with the broken ass, and all. Wish me luck!

AFTER TATTOO:

Ha! I'm tattooed! Like a trashy bar mom! Right on! WHOOOO!

It looks great. But, it's not done. It seems my skin does not like to hold the ink all that well. My tattooer is very good and has a worldwide reputation, but even he was having some issues with the way my skin was reacting. Thank Folgers it wasn't a more complicated tattoo. Or a bigger one. Because it also seems that I am a 'bleeder'. Like a stuck pig. So, I will have to go and get touch-ups done in a month or so.

It TOTALLY didn't hurt, either. Aren't tattoos supposed to hurt? Even a bit? Because mine didn't. Not even a teensy, tiny bit. My alleged husband says I shouldn't say that, because he says that for most people it DOES hurt, and I shouldn't go around 'bragging.' WhatEVER. He's just saying that because it hurts when HE gets one. Ha.

So, here's the initial photo. It's a bad picture. Taken over the shoulder in some bad lighting (it's on my left shoulder, just on the outside of my bra strap) And the bandage is still on, so it looks fuzzy. I'll try to get some better shots of it tomorrow.

So. That's it. I guess I'm a whole other person now. A trashy one. And I LOVE it!

NaBloPoMo Post 9 ~ Life Lessons

*Note: Photobucket is having issues. I really do have photos. I swear. If you can see them, great. If not, come back later.

Everything I ever need to know about life, I can find in my childhood vacation photos. For example:

When your problems get too big to go around.....

Make a big hole and go THROUGH them.

~~~

Choose your friends wisely.

Sometimes they bite.

~~~

Even though Grandma says she loves all of you the same....

there's really only so much Grandma to go around.

NaBloPoMo Post 8

Whew! Almost didn't make the post today! But I have excuses. Great excuses. Which I will now recite in point form. Really. I'm reciting this all out loud as I type. Seriously.

Ok. no. I'm not. I'm just joshing ya. On to the points...

~ Work. Lots and lots of things that cost only a dollar that need to be placed on shelves and hooks. LOTS of things. Tremendous amounts of things. This would be a lot easier if people shopped a bit faster, too. More shelf space. So.....go to your local dollar store. And think of poor little me when you buy something. Thanks.

~Sister2 is applying for a game show. I'm not gonna say what, because I don't want to jinx her. But she called me the other night and said something like, "I need someone that can, ya know, with the, ya know, words. Words. I need.....ya know...words. In a, ya know, application form. Words."
Apparently she needs someone that can actually use words to form a sentence. So, I suppose that's me. But she'd better buy me something awesome with what she wins.

~ I broke my ass. Well, ok. It's more bruised than broken. But it HURTS. Like a broken ass. I have a few other various bruises, too. But mostly the ass hurts. It's OK when I stand or walk, but sitting pretty much sucks.

~ My kids are trying to kill me. They strategically placed items on the stairs so that I would slip and fall and break my ass. I know they planned it. I just know it. So now I am wary. Very, very wary.

~ The broken ass pain triggered a migraine. Blasted. Curses. And other random and various cartoon sounding swears. I hate the migraines. It's gone now. For now.

~ I neglected to remove one of the pickles from my McDonald's cheeseburger. And I HATE the pickles. So I had to take a moment to gag and wipe my tongue with a napkin.

And that brings us to NOW. So, ya see. I did manage a post today. Whew.

NaBloPoMo Post 7

Not that I expect this to be my OFFICIAL post for November 7th....but I just got an extra pile of hours at work for the next few days, so....just in case, here'a A post.

NaBloPoMo Post 6 ~ The Swarming Effect

I know I bitch and moan about my sisters. And not without reason, let me tell ya. They've been a pain in my ass since the moment I was conceived. Literally. I had the basement apartment of the womb. But, there was one benefit to having been born with a couple of built-in henchmen.

The swarming effect.

Observe the photo above, with the three of us swarming poor Tigger, while those other girls desperately try to get our spots. Suckers. There's no way in.

This was not an uncommon occurrence in our childhood. While we often fought with each other like soccer hooligans, we also stuck to each other like glue when trouble was afoot, or if there was a goal in mind.

Like when we wanted a dog. We had the same speech every kid gets. "It's a lot of work. He would need to be walked. And fed. And who's going to do all that? You guys? No, It will be me, Mom, that has to do it. You are NOT responsible enough. What do you know about dogs, anyway?" So we spent 3 days at the library, studying every book we could find about dogs and dog care. We worked so hard, they broke down and got us a dog, Goldie.

We spent the next 12 years fighting over him.

Also...we have yet, to this day almost 31 years later, ratted each other out over anything. In fact, if one of us were about to get in trouble for something, and there was no way to lie her way out of it, the other 2 would jump in and admit to it. So, with three of us admitting something that only one of us could have done, my poor mother would throw up her arms and walk away muttering something about adoption agencies.

Another time when Sister2 and Sister3 were fighting...again...and Sister3's anger was somehow transferred to me, and I locked myself in my room so she couldn't hurt me ( I was the wussy of the trio), and she went outside with my shoe and threw it at my window and broke it, (Don't be alarmed. This was normal in my house when parents were not around.) without even discussing it beforehand, all three of us told our dad that kids were throwing snowballs at our windows.

He spent YEARS cursing those damn kids. Ha.

In kindergarten, when we were about half the size of a normal kindergarten kid, and likely to be eaten for by bullies for lunch, we ganged up. If we were picked on, we swarmed. I would kick, Sister2 would punch, and Sister3 would bite. MAN could she bite. Soon, NOBODY picked on the triplets.

If we had been smarter back then, we probably could have made some protection money from the other kids. Ah. Good times. Good times.

So, yes, I bitch and moan. And I won't stop. But I know I have a posse out there, for when I need one. A plane ride away. After they find babysitters and someone to cover them at work.

NaBloPoMo Post 5

Didn't think I was gonna post today, did ya? Almost didn't make it. I've been working most of the day. And would ya'll believe, I have ANOTHER cold??? Wet money, I tell ya. Wet money.

Anyway, just a quick photo tonight. A rare one of just ME when I was about 4 or 5. No sisters. It didn't happen often. And I am pretty damn cute when not outshined by those two leeches. So here ya'll are. Bask in my adorable-ness.

NaBloPoMo Post 4 ~ Don't Hassle the Hoff

There has been a STUNNING turn of events in the matter of my family photos. I have discovered an amazing fact that I don't think any of us were aware of.

The same year that we went to Disneyland, we also, of course, hit Universal Studios. I love it there. Except the Jaws, bit. That scared the poop out of me. And when I took Big Brat there a billion years later, it scared the poop out of her, too.

What WAS fun was all the little displays that people could pose in front of for photos. Like me and my sisters with KITT, the car from Knight Rider.

I'm obviously a little pooped out, and mysisters appear to be annoyed by that.

And a bit later,we were in a jail and bending the bars to escape...... Boy are WE strong, eh?

But WAIT!

Who is that IN the jail with us???? The right hand side?

That's not David Hasselhoff, in all of his 80's hair glory, is it????

This just may alter the course of my life. I have to call my sisters.

NaBloPoMo Post 3 ~ Inspirational Message?

I'm not sure what bug flew up our butts, but MAN do we ever look pissed. That's me on the left. It seems that, at that point, I was still taller than Sister3. I don't recall that. I thought that I was always the shortest. Ironic, since I am also the oldest. And, while that cheers up my day somewhat, I also need to remember that I am the shortest now. And that with the ever advancing years, I will probably continue to get shorter.

I think I will use this opportunity to tell ya'll why I am OK with being short. It's a very moving and inspirational story, so you may want to grab a hanky now. I'll wait......

So, it all started in Kindergarten. Our backyard gate was right by the crosswalk that we used to walk to school. And there was always a crossing guard there. The guards were always fellow students from our school.

And I worshipped them. I wanted to BE a crossing guard.

But, the rule was that a student needed to be in at least grade 5 to be a guard. So I waited. All through kindergarten, grade 1, 2, 3.....well, you get the point. I showed a tremendous amount of patience for a kid that age. Or a grown-up, for that matter.

Then the big day came. I was in grade 5. The announcements that morning said that if any grade fives wanted to be crossing guards, to meet in a certain classroom at lunchtime. I was so excited. All of my dreams and ambitions were finally within reach.

As I walked through the doorway of that classroom at lunchtime, the teacher in charge of the guards took one look at me and said, "You can't be a crossing guard. You're TOO SHORT."

I was crushed. CRUSHED.

But I'll tell ya'll something. I have never, EVER, been too short for anything else I've wanted since then. I won't allow it. It's not a disease, and it's not crippling. It's just a feature. I'm short, not incapable. And that's why man invented step stools. And also why I (allegedly) married a tall man. (Well, he has other features, too.) (Allegedly.)

Besides....I'm cute as a button.

So, there ya go. Very inspiring, yes? Feel free to use it as a bedtime story for your kids if they are stumpy like me. I mean, er, undertall.

NaBloPoMo Post 2

Well....since Lorraine decided to rub in the fact that she cannot participate in NaBloPoMo due to an upcoming visit to Disneyworld, I'm SURE not knowing that Disneyland is my favoritest place on the whole entire planet....no, the UNIVERSE, and that I have a poster of Walt on my office wall.....well, I have decided to show a wonderful and nostalgic photo of me (and my sisters, the hangers-on) in Disneyland.

I think it was 1982 or 1983. Somewhere around there. The 80's were really all a blur of hot pink clothes, jelly bracelets and bad moustaches.

I'm the one in the middle with the Mickey Mouse ears. NOT the Minnie ears. Did I ever tell ya'll how my dad wanted a boy? But got three girls all in one shot instead? And that my mom then had her tubes tied? So I grew up learning how to change the oil on vintage Corvettes and wearing Mickey Mouse hats while my sisters could flit off and be girls? No. Oh. Well, it happened. No bitterness, though.

I WAS the only one of us three that was allowed to drive the '61 'Vette later on. Because I had worked on it with him. Ha ha. Suckers. Hope your Pink hats were enough to console you.

NaBloPoMo Post 1

I am FAR too tired to post Halloween pics of my own kids right now. That would involve going to the other room to get the camera, find the damn cord, plug it in and do computer mumbo jumbo to it. Too much effort. They were cute though. I'll post them soon.

I am going attempt that NaBloPoMo (National Blog Posting Month) thing, though. Ya know. A post everday for the month of November. Attempt. I'm pretty busy peeps. Not a lot of time for typing and wittiness. But, plenty of old photos of myself growing up already on my computer. So, for the next month, I will, at least, post a wonderful and nostalgic photo of me. And probably my sisters, since I could never seem to shake them for long.

Starting with:

That's Halloween sometime in the early 80's. 1982, I think. Whatever. I'm the cheerleader. Awwwww. Sister3 is a bride. Sister2 is apparently a punk....or a hooker. Not sure which. Ahh. Good times. Good times.

(Yes, I know the letters are backwards. My dad put the slide in the scanner backwards. Yell at him.)