clickmom

knob

My dad, because maybe he is testing the strength of my heart tonight, told me that scumcle called him and told him that when he went to see grandma she told him that she was "bored and unstimulated" at the nursing home and wanted to "break out." Scumcle is worried that she not being intellectually challenged. Dad, being the good dad that he is said something to put scumcle in his place (go dad!) but still, what a shit head scumcle right? I wish I could just forget about scumcle and never hear from him or about him again. But I would still want my statue back.

I took Josh to hang out at lil sis's today. In a uncharacteristically stupid and harmful move Josh decided to drop half filled with water plastic pail on my 9 year old nephew's head. What's that word for a big head bump? According to my thesaurus any of these will do: lump, knob, swelling , protuberance, bump and burl. And I think burl is only something you get on a tree, but I stuck it in that list because of how the word just kind of flows off my tongue like sweet dessert liquer. Buuuurl. It seems quite fitting actually. If there was a medal for speedy head buuuurl formation my nephew could have gotten the gold. Because no sooner did the sickening sound of weighted plastic colliding with skull hit my ears than did the neph call out "Oww! I have a bump!"

And he was knot kidding. (guess who is getting tired as she types tonight!)

OMG folks, I though the kid was going to go all airhead commercial on my because that thing got swollen fast. Lil sis commanded me to run for ice, which I did and thankfully it all unswelled pretty fast too. Man, I hate being the mom of the kid that did the idiotic thing. It doesn't happen often, but when it does, it sucks! And Josh, who normally does not put himself in the position of needing to apologize finds it very difficult to choke those magic words out. He almost got his own little mommy special delivery protuberance because he did not cooperate in the apology part of the after party but fortunately he did eventually choke out a lame- apology along with a whisper of a "I didn't mean to hurt you." Just in the nick of time.

When the husband's visitors came last weekend one couple brought their almost 7 year old daughter. I sat Josh next to her at dinner in hopes of getting them friendly. Finally the pretty young thing turns to Josh and coyly says "I have a lot of clothes." (hair flip) Josh sees her wardrobe and shoots back with a "I have a lot of video games." Ooouch, score points for 21st century technology! So pretty young thing, not to be out consumered by a lowly prepubescent male offers up an all encompassing "I have a lot of toys." Josh, not one to beat around the bush leans forward on his elbows and stops her dead in her tracks with this come back of the week: "So, tell me, exactly where are we going with all this?"

game

Let's play a little game. The game is called "Make a list of the last things clickmom needs!" Okay.... GO!

Now, how many of you put car accident on that list?

Wow, you guys are good! So here is my day in a nut shell-

1. Wake feeling quite sure I must be thin after an industrious 24 hours of detox diet. WHoops! It's gonna take more than a day!
2. Posh Club for super hard workout. (Go me! Go (away) my fat!)
3. Blissful cranial sacral therapy for myriad of skeletal issues.
4. Happy visit with grandma where I wheeled her to an ice cream shop and got her a sundae.

Sounds good right?

5. Leave nursing home just in time to run into grocery store for missing dinner ingredient before school pick up.
6. Pull backwards out of parking space and get rear ended by some little speed demon maybe trying to
a. reach 50mph into the parking lot and
b. could have possibly (judging by the angle of his car after impact) been trying to speed past behind my truck as I pulled out of the spot.

After the jolt and the crash I was so angry I was shaking. And the guy WHO HIT ME was throwing his arms up in the air like it was my fault! So I dialed 911 and the cops were there in about 2 minutes, so I guess they weren't all ticketing unseat belted drivers today, and he took our info and a brief statement from each of us, sat in his bar lined crook containment car filling out forms, came back and told us to call the station in 5 to 8 business days for the report. And then he looked at me and asked me if I had any questions and I asked him if there was fault assigned in his report (because I will be damned if I am going to pay for this guy's damage!) and he said "I haven't decided yet." And folks, I managed to restrain myself, you would have been so proud. And I didn't tell the youngster cop, (yes I could have been his youthful mother) to stop chewing gum like a pig or people were going to start making pig jokes, or that if he keeps up the tanning he's going to look like a leather chair by the time he is my age, or even what dreamy big green eyes he had, I just said okay and got into my truck and counted to a zillion waiting for him to move his vehicle out of my way so that I could go pick up the kiddies from school.

And now I am sore. In more ways than one.

needanewname

I hate my cable company. HATE THEM!! Because they sold out and now I have to change my email address. Which totally sucks. And worse even, I can't keep the redfrog part of it either. Some email name stealing person (and I have been using redfrog since I was 10 people!) already has MY name. I could cry. And I'm gonna shoot someone at the cable company! So I can get my email moniker back! Damn it!

My real name, (this is the girliest thing I will ever say, so prepare) sucks. I hate my real name. It isn't me. Never was. My mother chose it because she thought I needed a short first name because my original (long story) last name was long and she was worried about how many letters I would have to remember when the time came for me to learn to write! And my current last name, well my husband guilted me into changing to his name and the meanest mother I ever knew had this name, so I make all the kids call me by first name instead of Mrs. Mean Lady name. Besides, together, they are an incredibly typical combination and there are many others with this name combo out there (though we seem to be a gifted bunch according to a google search anyways. Lots of white collar professionals) and surely their names and my still 17 years later protested married name are already taken too. And if I had my actual name on my email then it would be utterly not creative. feh.

Here are some email names I am mulling over.....

someonestolemyname@comcast.net
givemynameback@comcast.net
ihaditfirst@comcast.net
thereisathief@comcast.net

or on a more personal note....

ihavebadteeth@comcast.net
takemydog@comcast.net
mykidsarebetterthanyours@comcast.net
stillwhiningaboutchanging@comcast.net

or just to be funny

yousmellbad@comcast.net
mybuttitches@comcast.net
toejam@comcast.net
disco4ever@comcast.net

Suggestions needed and welcomed.
(Obviously)

ticked

The good news is that grandma was in good spirits today when I went to see her at the nursing home. The bad news is that scumcle drove up and went in himself while I was parked and chatting on the phone with lil sis. When I made my over to the entrance and had to sign in I saw his John Hancock on the line above mine. I cried "Shit!" and gave the nice young woman behind the desk quite the startle. Now they know about my potty mouth. I tell you folks, I am an open book, (yeah duh, I blog) even my potty mouth.

I had therapy with the new new undead therapist before hand and during that therapy I performed a little rant. You see, I drive by the g-d foresaken rehab almost every single day and yesterday I noticed a big banner outside declaring the week after Mother's day "Nursing Home Week" And I almost drove off the road just so I could hit that banner. Really. I was that pissed off. There may have been an obscenity or 4 rolling around my tongue there. Good thing I was cruising alone. Good thing.

Now, back to "Nursing Home Week",

WTF???? WTF-INGF??? F me!

I can't take it people. Can not take it. First of all, what the F is wrong with us as a society that we have to have a week/month/day to legitimize ourselves? Take, for example, grandparents day. Aren't these people included in Mothers/Fathers day? Mine are. Do they really need their own day? Or how about secretaries day. I don't have a personal secretary, but the husband does, and she is a doll! I love her. I really do. She knows it too. And I am hoping that the husband tells her every once in a while how lost he would be with out her. But now he has to buy a card or maybe some candy or what????????? WTF does one do to celebrate the one single special day of the person who you ask to type and file things? Shouldn't he just be nice to her all the time?

Or (do not hate me for this one) think about it, think about it..... first.. Black History Month. What about the other 11 months of the year? Does it not trivialize black history to relegate it to one month a year? Should black history not be infused with all the other histories we learn? Can't we just do it all in chronological order no matter what color or ethnicity we are? Seriously, history is confusing to learn as it is, why piece it up like that? So, we have Black History month once a year, and then we can go back to the history that what? The "real" history? The "important" history? See, having a month is so dismissive. Yuch.

How about (fill in the blank with your choice) pride day? Aren't we proud to be gay or Puerto Rican or what ever we are the other 364 days? Does wearing a costume or a flag and seeing your comrads in a parade on that one day make you more proud the rest of the year? Shouldn't pride in who we are and where we are from and what we represent be a daily thing? The kind of thing that makes you try to live a good clean life, be virtuous and contribute to society so at the end of your life, on your last breath you can look back and say "This is who I am and look what a great representative I was. I am a fine (fill in the blank). I am a good person." And then you can rest in peace. No?

Whatever you think, I will not be celebrating Nursing Home Week. ppfftttt.

And PS mother's day can stay. We should make it a whole week. (Kitten calls it Mother's Day Weekend and I have admit I stole that from her this year just so I could weasel out of doing dishes for the whole weekend) The other holidays can go.

Represent who you are with peace, love, and kindness. Week/Month/Day or not. Okay?

zzzzzz

Dear Bed,

I love you.

Seriously, I Love You. You are exactly what I need when I am tired, sick, cold, lazy, loungy, sleepy, smelly or clean, lonely, happy, sad, stressed, relaxed, whenever. You are always there for me day after day with your cushy back supporting goodness and you even come with a variety of weather appropriate blankets for all my seasonal needs.

I wish you were a man.

Ready or not here I come! Ready to dream about cats, revenge, paintball guns and cats, bb guns and cats, traps and cats, ransom notes and cats, mob style kitty toe amputations and cats, foam hair removal products and cats, poisoned tuna and cats (kidding! no jail for this momma!). Sweet dreams to you too!

Love, Clicky

dear kitty kitty

Dear Cat Owning Neighbors,

Funny thing happened around here, and that is that my back yard became quite the foul smelling stench pit of all odors vile. And I was confounded, for I have owned dogs for a couple of decades now and I had never experinced any dog related odor so obnoxious repulsive and downright nauseating. But being a responsible dog owner, I enlisted a small army of chore slaves children and we de-pooped the yard. Looked great, still rather odius.

Today when the gardener came I mentioned the fragrance funk and the gardener said he was pretty sure he knew the source of the smell. "Really?" I innocently asked. "What do you think it could be?" and the gardener asked back "Are you a cat person?" After I threw up in my mouth a little and convulsed from my head right down to my toes, I calmly said "No, I would rather live in an infested with tarantulas rotting cardboard box don't care much for cats." "Well, says the gardener, I have cats and that smell is most definitely of cat origin. I'm pretty sure the neighborhood cats are using the wood mulch in the play area as a giant litter box."

pause here for effect

keep letting that sink in

review

play area=litter box

children's play area=litter box

for neighborhood cats.

If I had a gun I am sure I would use it.

You can take that as a warning,
or a threat,
keep your cats inside,
I am not kidding you,
Clickmom

Walking with knees pressed together

Today I pulled into the dermatologist parking lot to find not one but two hard to find parking spots available. Yay, right? One spot was partially blocked by a rude mal-parked honda odyssey driver who parked over the line dividing his space from the next space. I slid into the clearly defined other spot thinking I would more than likely find an empty partial spot next to my truck when I returned if the odyssey was still there. But I was wrong. I sat in the car for a moment because I had arrived un-fashionably early when some chick pulls in right next to me and makes a mad dash for the building. I open my door and realize that not even a slender three year old could make it out of that door crack, let alone me, and I call to the lady and say "Hey, I assume you don't want me to slam my door into your car! Am I right? Cause you parked in my spot and now I can not get out!" So she dashed back, got into her car and drove away. The I went in for my appointment and crossed my fingers for either an empty space or a mini cooper .

I sat in the dermatologist's office waiting room getting more and more nervous as I watched the people all walking through the out door with their heavily bandaged noses, chins, and foreheads. Finally, a torturous (mostly because Rachael Ray was on the waiting room television and no matter where I sat in the waiting room, I could still hear her) 20 minutes later, they called me, brought me into a room, and gave me a paper mini vest to put on (opening to the rear) and a bigger flat sheet of paper to lay across my lap. Yeah, nice. Right out of the "How to completely annoy a fat chick" handbook. I took one look at the paper mini vest, which didn't even come down to my waist, stripped my nice warm real clothes off, papered myself up and put my down coat back on. It was undeniably freezing in there. And when the dermatologist came in she laughed when she saw me half papered half down coat covered and turned off the AC. (Yes, it's in the 30's today and she had the AC blowing) She said something about her last patient being in menopause. Hahaha. I don't care.

Anyways, to make a long (gruesome) story short, I should have suffered through the brazilian and will not be taking spin class this week. Dermatologist said she couldn't tell for sure, it had all the markers of a melanoma, and it was either nothing or something I caught very early. Biopsy results will be back in about 2 weeks. Ouch.

When I got to my truck I discovered an astro van, and not the hoped for mini cooper, beside my truck. The astro van, while still in my parking spot, left me slightly more room than the odyssey. I figured I could crawl over the passenger seat, but then I remembered what had happened in the dermatologist office and instead opted for chancing the astro's door (would they really notice another dent?) while I (not carefully for the van at all) but carefully not to move my nether regions any more than absolutely necessary stepped into my truck and slowly lowered myself into my seat.

Home again, home again jiggety jig.

NaBloPostingRightUnderTheWire

Last November, the first time (and I know one can have their first time once) I did NaBloPoMo I was completely hooked on the randomiser. I recall staying up late at night, clicking and clicking and laughing and bookmarking blogs that I liked and just feeling completely joyous about the whole thing. Oh yeah, also I totally grooved on the extra traffic the randomiser brought my way. (Stat whore, remember?)

This year, not so much. The randomiser has failed me, let me down, broken may heart. First of all if you haven't posted every day then I think you should remove yourself from the post fest. It's only fair. Also, "I got nuthin" does not qualify as a post. Also, why does my randomiser rotate through the same 20 or so blogs over and over (and over again)? Where are the other thousands of people? Did we do something wrong when we signed up? Tell me, I can handle it.

Every day I check my stats and no randomiser hits. Also, no change in stats. I was hoping to make some new friends on the randomiser, and now I just (a tear rolls silently down my cheek) feel so alone. sniff. Is anyone new out there?

As a matter of fact (having more spare time than I recognize) I managed to take notes during my last very completely dissatisfying randomizing session and now I have a list of reasons how the randomizer has failed me.

Ready?

11. Manic Mommies every 6 clicks
10. People just signed up yesterday and joined NaBloPoMONTH 1/2 way through after not posting since Oct 16th.
9. signs off her posts TTFN
8. First line of post "I cannot believe that I'm 23 years old!"
7. Male blogger who doesn't think WIll Smith is sexy. Don't even go there.
6. Everyone but me is getting tagged for some meme.
5. Knitting
4. someone got NaBlo combined with NaNo and is writing part 38 of his novel.
3. I don't go to musical events in Hudson Valley
2. Aprons

and the number one reason why the Randomiser has failed me

1. No hablo espanol.

I want to know what a girl has to do around here to
randomise blogs that don't try to sell me something, convert me, preach frugality, dis Will Smith (or Matt Damon, Hello??), knit or sew (except sock zombies because they (and their maker) are funny) also, what I want (what I really really want) is blog that strikes a chord, maybe it gets me all choked up, maybe it tickles my funny bone. If you make me laugh out loud, even better.

cranky photo rant

My paper has several people that call themselves "photographers". I am the only one of those several that catually has any actual credentials. (B.S. in Photography, thank you very much) the other two "photographers" are folks who thought to themselves, "Gee willy! I love taking purty pictures! I think I'll call myself a photographer!" and they got the same low paying job I did and went to work for the paper. They bug the shit out of me. One is just weird and the other tries too hard to be my buddy. He does it nicely, as if I am as inexperienced as he is and I want to let him know that I am the pro. He is the wanna be. Their photos, to be honest, pretty much suck don't do much for me. I am a tough critic. The guy has been getting better, he's trying, but the woman... grrr...

My editor sent me this photo from a soccer game I shot last week.
That big fat dressed in black woman in the back is me. The guy just showed up- at MY assignment and shot MY game! Wait a minute! I thought I was invisible in black! OMG, do I need to cut out the carbs. This is the shot I was taking the split second after that novice's lame shot:

See?? See what I mean? These people are driving me nuts pretending to be photographers!! I mean, not only do I photograph the players and the ball close together, but I am actually able to do it under very distracting circumstances. I was able to take superb photos of that game despite being on the same side of the field as the man who is undoubtedly going be People Magazine's hottest man of the year. Not only that, I remained composed even though the guy was running back and forth in front of me time and time again. I don't know if you can imagine, but I stood steady and focused for the entire game all the while being teased and tormented by an unattainable hottie like this:

Now who is the Pro?

playing it cool

We had another meeting scheduled with Matt's guidance counselor today. It's the obligatory spring time meeting. I. Hate. Her. I can't help it, she has this power over me, every word out of her mouth makes me want to leap out of my chair, climb across the table and slap her up the side of the head. She has a bed attitude. That and she misprounces our last name every time.

Also, it is personal now. She sent me a letter a couple of weeks ago, in which she suggested that I might want to get myself some counseling to help myself cope with the "stress" I imagined Matt was feeling when she added another class to his schedule and after a few weeks I took it back out. Hahaha. You can imagine I went into this meeting with a very itchy trigger finger.

I took the guidance counselors angry/insulting letter, printed out a couple of articles on Asperger's from reputable web sites off the internet (All of which, naturally, supported everything I ever said or did) headed down to Staples and xeroxed a dozen copies of both the letter and the articles to pass out at this meeting. You know, just in case. Not that I was planning on challenging anyone ~ahem~ I just needed to go into this meeting boy scout prepared. In the meantime, the husband is bogged down at work, and really couldn't afford to take the afternoon off, but he came anyway, in order to keep me in line and make sure that the Middle School wouldn't feel the need to take out a restraining order on me. This would be a reasonable fear given my less than stellar history with conflict resolution and the adrenaline fueled condition I was experiencing going into this meeting.

Don't you know that 20 minutes into the meeting, I was telling the husband to calm down (he was threatening to call in the lawyers) while watching that angry vein throbbing on his red faced forehead. The husband settled back down, and I stepped in. I told the counselor I didn't want to have an adversarial relationship with her or anyone in the school and reminded her that we are all gathered for the same reason. Then she said something that pissed me off. She made me whip out the letter and the articles, and I did end up distributing the precollated packets.

Walking down the empty Middle School hallway after the meeting Matt (who had been invited to this meeting by the idiot counselor) leaned over and whispered in my ear "That was great Mom! When she said she wasn't angry and you said 'Oh, yes you are and I have your angry letter right here to prove it' and then you held up the letter and gave it out!! Ha! You were great!" and I realized that I was great in that meeting. I have put her in her place before, but that was always over the phone. This time I told her a thing or two in front of her peers. I saw Matt's English teacher nodding in agreement with me too.