Ch-ch-ch-Changes

I am one of those people who gets a bit pissy when things change without warning.  Change can be a good thing but sometimes, change is bad.  And right now, I'm looking at the word "change" and it just looks funny.  Have you ever looked at the way a word is spelled and thought to yourself, "that just does not look right" and you grab a dictionary to make sure it's the correct spelling and it is but it still just looks funny and somehow I've once again gone off on a tangent that has nothing to do with the topic at hand, which is Change and that word still looks funny to me.

Anyway.  The latest thing to change, and not for the better in MY opinion, is Facebook.  I kind of have a love/hate thing going on with Facebook.  On one hand, Facebook has allowed me to reconnect with people from high school, some of whom I was happy to hear from while others...meh, kinfolk, friends from the racing world, friends of Thing 1 who are more than happy to be throw him under the bus and rat him out for a small payment of Devil's Food Chocolate Donuts and before anyone thinks I'm creepy for "friending" Thing 1's cronies, let me make it quite clear that THEY sent the friend requests and not the other way around.

The downside to Facebook is that there are people who think if we went to the same elementary school together or lived in the same neighborhood back in the 1970's but were NEVER even on a nodding acquaintance have decided that we must be Facebook Friends.  And I don't wanna.  Seriously, I got a FB friend request from someone who was a member of the slacker, stoner loser group that hung out on the corner where the mailbox was, which is why the name of that group was known as The Mailbox Gang and why she thought I would be interested in being FB friends with her is beyond me.  And honestly, there's a couple of people from my HS that I'm FB friends with that I really don't want to be anymore because about the only thing we have in common is that we went to the same high school at the same time.

So Facebook has decided to change their format for the third time to focus on apps and games and chats which to me means Strike Three Yer Out!  There's a rumor that Facebook is going to a subscription membership in July and count me out.  You couldn't pay me to have to pay to use Facebook.  It's moderate fun for me but that's about it.

Another change that has happened in the last few days was with my XM Satellite Radio.  Now I love me my XM Radio so much although I was pretty pissed off when XM merged with Sirius and my beloved Fungus 53 Punk Rock station was eliminated.  The only time I listen to regular radio anymore is when I'm driving the Red Rocket which doesn't have satellite radio.  I pretty much just listen to about 4 or 5 stations on XM: B.B. King's Bluesville, Boneyard, Little Steven's Underground Garage and Deep Tracks.  Well, a couple of days ago, I noticed that Deep Tracks seemed to be on a Who kick.  At first I though it was just a block of Who songs but it was All Who, All the Time.  I mean, I like the Who just fine but I can only listen to so much Who before it gets old, real fast.  So there was a break in between Who songs and the station identification thingy said I was listening to The Who Channel and I'm all what the hell where's my Deep Tracks?  Seriously, who wants to hear non-stop Who?  Not me.

Luckily, I found out the Who Channel is only temporary and it's just a promotion because the Who will be performing at the Superbowl which is a stupid promotion if you ask me and I know that the Powers That Be at XM didn't ask me because if they did ask me I'd tell that that it's a stupid promotion and to have like an hour of Who at the most but not DAYS of Who just because they're going to be smashing guitars, which is SO 1969, at the Superbowl.

And the icing on the Cake of Change?  I went to get TheManTheMyth his breakfast from the Crack House (Del Taco) and they changed the menu!  I always order TheManTheMyth a Number 1, which is a Del Combo burrito, fries and a drink.  But now the Number 1 is some sort of taco meal and the Del Combo combo is now a Number 6.

I tell you, the world is going to hell in a handbasket with all these unnecessary changes.

Make it stop.

One Hundred

Yes folks, today marks my 100th, that's "One Hundred and th," posts.  Who's all patting herself on the back at her ability to be able to come up with 100 things worth blogging about even if nobody bothered to comment for the first, I dunno, 75+ posts.

When the Offspring were in kindergarten, to mark 100 days of school, they had to do a poster that contained 100 things.  I think for both kids, we glued 100 buttons to a piece of poster board in patterns.  Knowing me, after Thing 1 moved on and Thing 2 started kindergarten, I probably white-out'd his name and wrote in Thing 2's name, whichever one she was going by at the time since she was going by the moniker "Bill" as well as her given name of Thing 2 in those days, because I knew we'd be doing the "100" project and I'm all about recycling.

Ok, I'm not going to be writing 100 different fragments of my week even if it IS "Friday Fragments" and if I knew how to link my blog to the trillions of other bloggers who participate in "Friday Fragments I would but I don't so I won't so you can all breathe a sign of relief that I'm not going to bore you with 100 different items in one post, 'kay?

Let's see, Thing 1 had his post-surgery doctor visit and we got new pictures of his bionic knee:

 

Pretty cool, eh?  A friend of mine told me that her husband has screws in his knee and that you can feel the tops of the screws under the skin which made me go "ARRRRRGGGGGHHHHH" and flail my arms around.  This after sitting in a Vietnamese tattoo parlor yesterday and watching an Asian Gangbanger get his eyebrow pierced without me even flinching.  I so don't get body piercing.  I think it's gross.  Every time I see someone with a pierced belly button, my gorge rises.  And lip piercing.  I've never seen anyone with a pierced lip that their lip didn't look all infected and they talk like that character from the Fat Albert cartoon who sounded like he was saying "Eeba ooba bobba."  Remember that?  So yeah, I give body piercing 2 thumbs down.

I'm sure by now you're yourself, "Self, what the hell was Kelly doing in a Vietnamese tattoo parlor?  I must know!"  Ok, I was in the neighborhood and said to myself, "Hey, let's go see what's happening in this here tattoo parlor and if I'm lucky, I'll get to watch some gangbanger get inked and pierced and therefore have something to blog about!" since I'm always on the lookout for blog fodder.  Nah, I'm kidding.  Not about being at the tattoo parlor, that was true, but about why I was there and no, Mom and Sisters, I did not get another tattoo.  A friend of mine did and she needed someone to hold her hand and her jewelry and she knew I'm always up for adventures like this.  Although I am considering getting another one but it's not high on my list of priorities.  But if I do get a 2nd one, I don't think I'll go to this particular place.  The clientele (other than us) had me constantly on the lookout for drive bys.

And on that criminal note, I will leave you with a photo of my mom, my sister and me taken with a famous murderer.  I'm on the right wearing L'Eggs Sheer Energy pantyhose with Candies. Not only was I a Fashion Don't but obviously I've Got Friends in Low Places.

Slug Bug Silver!

Because we're dorks in this family, we like to play a little game we like to call "Slug Bug."  Yes, yes, this game has been around ever since I can remember, which lately means sometime yesterday, but my darling daughter, Thing 2, has really taken it quite seriously which isn't all that surprising because she's one of the most competitive people I know.  Actually, she and I play it; TheManTheMyth and Thing 1 think we're dorks (see first sentence).

Anyway.  If you are one of the few people in the Western Hemisphere who does not know what the game of "Slug Bug" is, it's when you see a Volkswagon Bug/Beetle and you slug the person next to you in the arm while shouting "Slug Bug!"  It helps if you know the person you are slugging because strangers do not always find it amusing to be socked in the arm by someone yelling "Slug Bug!" and have been known to retaliate by slugging you back but not in the arm and when you finally regain consciousness, you've got one hell of a black eye. Don't ask me how I know this.

Anyway, in OUR family, we just have to touch the person instead of slugging them and you have to call out the color of the Bug as in, "Slug Bug Silver!"

 

This way, the person who has just been lightly slugged will know what to look for.  It's very important to specify the color so that nobody is cheating by claiming to see a Bug that isn't there just for the sake of winning. Yeah, I'm talking to you, Kaylyn.  And if the Bug is a convertible, you must specify both the color and that it's a convertible, as in "Slug Bug Baby Blue Convertible!" and you have to get all that out while tapping the other player before they can blurt it out before you.  Although one time Kaylyn muddled up her words and it came out, "Slug Bug Blaby Blue" and so now, all light blue Bugs are now "Blaby Blue" and you must say it like that.  It's a rule.

Nobody keeps score, unlike the time when Kaylyn and her Uncle Gaga decided to play a game of 100 PT Cruisers.  Whoever got a total of 100 points from spotting PT Cruisers first was the winner and let me tell you, it got ugly and there was plenty of tears and finger pointing and cries of "Cheater!" because someone, coughKaylyncough, has a tendency to cheat and pad her score since the wood paneled PT Cruisers and the convertibles PT Cruisers seemed to be worth more points although it was never decided how many points they were worth but as I said, it got ugly so we thought it would be best NOT to keep score in Slug Bug although Kaylyn still cheats by resting her hand on my arm or leg while I'm driving so that if she sees a Slug Bug first, she's already got an advantage and have I mentioned that she cheats?

Even when I'm out driving with non-family members, we'll be in the middle of a conversation and if I see a Bug, I will reach over, touch the person and in mid-sentence, say "Slug Bug Black" and then continue with what I was saying without missing a beat.  Yes, I get some odd looks but hey, I win!

One night, TheManTheMyth and I were sitting on the couch, watching TV and that commercial for Volkswagon with the vintage talking Beetle came on and very calmly and quietly, TheManTheMyth, reaches over, taps me on the arm and says, "Slug Bug Black."

  

He wins.

Stuff

Ok, so I bought this book on the recommendations of several people.  It's called, "Throw out Fifty Things" by Gail  Blanke.  It's one of those "How to be more organized by de-cluttering" type of books and I do love learning about how to be more organized and less cluttered.  If there's a magazine article about organization and de-cluttering, I'm reading it.  If there's a book about organizing and de-cluttering, I'm buying it.  There used to be a show on HGTV called "Mission Organization" and I never missed an episode.  So my point is, I'm all about organization and de-cluttering.

Well, kind of.  I don't always put these organizational tips to actual use.  Oh yeah, I read these articles and books and I get joetivated (a Perkins term that means "motivated."  Long story) to simplify and organize and de-clutter and how many times will I use the words "organization" and "de-clutter" in this here post.  Keep count because there will be a quiz.

Because I inherited the Family Homestead if you can call a 1950's suburban Long Beach house a "homestead" and I do, I also inherited stuff.  This weekend, TheManTheMyth was cleaning out the side garage and brought out several big plastic bins filled with, you guessed it, stuff.  In these bins are things that belonged to my grandparents and when my Gramma died almost 15 years ago, it seemed very important to keep this stuff.  I haven't looked in these bins in almost 15 years so I sat down to see what could be tossed.  In one bin was all my Grandpa's diplomas from medical school along with a genuine signed Papal Blessing on my grandparents 25th wedding anniversary.  I can't toss out a Papal Blessing; I'll go to hell.  I also found a portrait of my Gramma as a young girl that was done by an inmate at San Quentin (my uncle, who's a Carmelite priest, does Prison Outreach in case you were wondering how and why an inmate at San Quentin is doing portraits of my Gramma).  I can't really toss that out either.

I can't really throw these things out yet I don't really have a place for them because I'm trying to de-clutter and get organized so back into the bin they go and I guess I'll stick them up in the attic.  Which is not one of those walk around-in type of attics where kids can go and play and explore on a rainy day but is more like a crawl space under the eaves of the roof.  Maybe some day, my great-grandkids will go up in the attic (because we've all agreed that one of my children will continue to live in this house after I'm gone and their kids after them) and find these bins and then THEY can deal with this stuff.

Oh, on a completely unrelated note but I'm including it because I thought it was hilarious, yesterday at the park, I got chased by a gang (gaggle?) of thug geese.  Seriously.  I had just got out of my car and had opened the door to the back seat to let Lucy out when they came running up and at first I just stood there going all "Oh, how cute!" and then they came closer and closer and I started backing up and they just kept coming and honking and I ran around to the other side of my car and they came after me!  So I ran around to the other side of the car and they chased me!  We played a game of run around the car while being chased by geese and I was laughing at how stupid I must look and thank God there were no witnesses (I hope) to see these shenanigans (I love the word "shenanigans" almost as much as I love "organize" and "de-clutter) and the whole time this was going on, Lucy just sat there in the back seat and made no attempt to come to my rescue.  Probably because she knew these geese would have kicked her ass and so she stayed put and watched the show through the open door.


Ok, so how many times did I use the words "organize" and "de-clutter?"

Danger is (not) my Middle Name

If you've ever had to put something together, whether it's a toy for your kids, a piece of furniture or even a meal, then you know you have to read the directions so that you know what you're doing and so that the finished product won't come out looking like a disaster zone.

One time, I put together a bookcase all by my lonesome just by reading the directions.  Wait.  Scratch that.  I didn't "read" the directions because the directions were all diagrams and pictures.  Yeah, it took me all morning and yeah, I smashed a finger and had to kick the parts of the bookcase to show it how pissed off I was that things weren't coming together as smoothly as I had hoped but when I finished putting everything together and placed the bookcase in its spot and filled it with books, I felt all smug and proud of doing something that any half-wit could do but then again, I'm not "handy" so this was a Big Deal for me so cut me some slack, Jack!  Here's the fruits of my labor:

 

Yeah, I know, big whoop.  A couple of screws, a couple of wooden pegs and an Allen wrench.  A monkey could have done it.

The worst directions, even more stupid and useless are the kind of directions that were on the Thai Peanut Noodles I made for lunch.  I've never made these before and I skimmed over the directions on the back of the box:

Step 1:  Remove all envelopes from carton.  Add 1 cup water to carton (in tiny letters to inside fill line). And FYI, the fill line was on the OUTSIDE of the carton. 

Step 2:  Except for peanuts, add contents of all envelopes to carton.

Step 3:  Make sure you put the sauce in first.

Now hold it right there! You can't list the instructions out of order!  You'll have a disaster on your hands and there'll be anarchy in the streets!  It's just wrong!

There was an episode of M*A*S*H* where an unexploded bomb landed in camp and Hawkeye and Trapper John attempted to diffuse it.  The directions they had said something like "Step 1:  Cut the blue wire in half.  Step 2:  But not before you do A B & C or else the bomb will detonate."

I guess a more intelligent person than myself, and yes there are a couple of them out there in the world but only a couple, would have read all the directions completely before just tossing the water, which wasn't enough by the way, noodles and sauce all willy-nilly into the carton and then nuking it for the time suggested.  Which I did not.  Read the directions all the way through, I mean.  Because I like to live on the edge.  It's how I roll.  Danger is my middle name.  Ok, it's not really.  It's actually Elizabeth.  Heck, the priests at St. Hedwig's wouldn't even allow my parents to have me christened as "Kelly" when I was a baby because that was not a female saint's name and I had to be christened by my middle name and can you imagine the uproar if my parents had named me "Kelly Danger Perkins?"  Especially since I was not exactly what you'd call a Daredevil when I was a kid.  I was more of a wuss.  I saved my Living Life on the Edge escapades for when I in my 20's and older.

So anyway, my Thai Peanut Noodles that I made?  They came out pretty good despite my not following directions.  Although a cup of water (to the outside fill line) was not enough. Next time I make these, I'm adding more water even though it's not on the directions.

See, I told you I like to live life on the edge.

Sleep deprived ramblings

Ok, so last night when I went to bed, I turned off my light and as I lay my head upon my pillow, it occurred to me that I was not in the least bit sleepy which was unusual because I had been going like gangbusters all day and should have been asleep before my head hit the pillow but instead I felt like I had had a shot of Mountain Dew with a Jolt Cola chaser.  I thought I was nice and relaxed because I wasn't jittery but my mind was going in a million directions which meant I wasn't going to get a nice bout of Beauty Sleep that I so desperately needed.

I was thinking about Thing 1's post-surgery doctor visit and then I thought about how I have to go down to City Hall to pay off my parking tickets that I get on a regular basis because I have the balls to actually park in my very own driveway which the City of Long Beach doesn't allow if you have a corner house because when the houses were built back in the 1950's the garages were set too close to the sidewalk and the driveways are undersized so if you do park in your driveway, as I like to do from time to time so that Lucy can get out of the car a little easier, you end up sticking out over the sidewalk and then the Parking Enforcement people come along and give you a ticket for blocking the sidewalk.  Yes, I could park in the street (the garage is not an option at this time thanks to 9, count them, NINE dirt bikes currently in residence of which only 5 actually belong to us) and avoid yet another ticket but I like to think of it as doing my part to generate income for the City of Long Beach.  Because I'm a giver that way.

Eventually I did end up falling asleep but only in fits and spurts (Heh heh, I said, "Spurts!"  Heh heh) and pretty much just lay there, going over everything I need to do today, from about 4:30am until the alarm went off at 6:09am. 

Now I'm attempting to get Lucy fed before I have to take Thing 1 to the doctor and of course she's not "ready" to eat and is back to her old tricks of turning up her nose at her food.  Doesn't she realize that she's on a schedule and that I have THINGS to do?  Dogs!

Well aren't you?

So, last night (or the night before when 24 robbers came knocking at the door, depending on when you're reading this) was the Miss America Pageant which totally threw me for a loop because I seem to remember the Miss A Pageant being in September which just didn't make sense because the winner was crowned Miss A 1975 when 1975 wouldn't happen for 3 more months but whatever.

I used to be a HUGE Miss America fan.  I never missed watching the pageant, I had books about Miss America, I would purchase the Official Program so that I could acquaint myself with the contestants ahead of time and make my picks for Top 10 and I even found a gen-you-whine replica of a Miss America crown.  And FYI, wearing a crown is not easy.  Unless you tape it or staple it to your head, it slides off no matter how many hair pins you use.  Trust me.  I know this first hand.  And remember when the Sears Wishbook catalog had a Miss America costume for girls with a red velvet robe and scepter?  I would have KILLED for that costume but just like the skateboard I asked for one year, I didn't get it (Bitter Moment #23).

Several years ago, my seester and I even held an Official Miss America Viewing Party and everyone came in either Evening Gown, Swimsuit or Talent Ensemble.  I've been tearing my house apart looking for the pictures from that night and I can't find them anywhere.  There was a great one of me in my beaded evening gown that I found in a thrift store in Palm Springs that I'm pretty sure was made for a Drag Queen pageant because it was A) big enough to fit me and 2) so long that even though I was wearing platform shoes, it still was about 3" too long.  Anyway, in that particular photo that I can't find, I'm in my Drag Queen evening gown, with my Miss America replicrown taped and stapled to my head and for the piece de resistance, I'm...wait for it...TWIRLING A BATON!


Speaking of Miss American and baton twirling, every year that I remember to watch the pageant (and this year was the first time in about 6 or 7 years) I keep hoping against hope that one of the finalists will be a baton twirler.  Instead, year after year after year the talent is almost always singing.  Snore.  I want to see a tap-dancing baton twirler, dammit!


The best part of the evening is always the Question and Answer segment.  This is almost always the make-or-break portion.  You can have Miss State kicking butt in Swimsuit, Evening Gown and Talent and then she goes and blows it all away with some bizarre, rambling monologue that has absolutely nothing to do with the question that was asked.  One year, the contestant was asked which sports figure she considered to be a good role model.  And she said something along the lines of "Sorry, I don't follow sports; I'm an ARTIST" and then just stood there with a "Oh yeah, I NAILED it!" smile on her face. Even the Emcee had his flabber gasted and looked around like, What?


Every year, when the new Miss America is walking down the runway, doing her pageant wave and trying valiantly to keep her crown from falling off while juggling an armful of roses, in my head, I hear "Miss America" by Styx which was a total burn on the pageant:


"Well it's true just take a look, the cover sometimes makes the book
and the judges, do they ever ask to read between your lines
In your cage at the human zoo, they all stop to look at you
Next year, what will you do, when you have been forgotten


Well, aren't you, Miss America?"


Great, now I have to go and download that song from iTunes.  And what the heck did I do with those photos?