Friday, April 22, 2011

"Just have dinner with him" she said

Today is a very special day.  

Do you know WHY today is a very special day?

I posed this question to my Angel of the Morning this morning and guess what her reply was?

"It's too frickin' early to play stupid guessing games, MOTHER."

Such a JOY she is in the morning, I tell you.

You're probably thinking that the answer to the question is "It's Earth Day!" or even "It's Good Friday!" both of which are good and technically correct answers neither has anything to do with WHY this is such a special day.

I'll give you a hint:
Yep.  22 years ago today, TheManTheMyth's Carefree Life as a Bachelor came to a screeching halt. 

And he still hasn't recovered.  If fact, if I want to see him cringe and wince, all I have to do is remind him that we've been married TWENTY TWO YEARS.  And I say it in a Very Dramatic and Ominous Voice.

It's fun to do that.

Being the Non-Romantics that we are, we'll be celebrating our TWENTY TWO YEAR anniversary the same way we celebrate Valentine's Day.  And by that, I mean we Don't.  Aren't.  Whatever.

I don't need a fancy gift or flowers from TheManTheMyth to know how much he loves me.

I KNOW he loves me; I tell him so every day.  I say, "You Love me!" and he recites back, "Yes dear" in a robotic voice.

See?  There's the proof RIGHT THERE.

I had no idea when I went to a friend's birthday party 24 years ago that I would be pestered all night long by some guy who just would NOT leave me alone.  He even threw himself at my feet so he could be in a picture:
I finally had to leave the party to get away from him.  About 2 weeks later, my sister tells me, "Keith wants to ask you out."  My answer?  "Who the hell is Keith?"

Once I figured out who she was talking about, I wasn't particularly interested because I had just come out of a long term relationship and really didn't want to date anyone.  My sister tells me, "Just have dinner with him, it's not like you're going to MARRY him."


Wednesday, April 20, 2011

Just Call Her Angel of the Morning

Thing 2, my darling daughter Thing 2, is many things.  She is beautiful, intelligent, clever, compassionate, affectionate, a natural athlete (which is her brother is Not and don't think she doesn't remind him of that) and she's one of the funniest people she knows.  Just ask her.

But there's one thing she is Not.  She is not a Morning Person.

This is someone who, if left undisturbed, would sleep until the afternoon.  She loves her some sleep and actually refers to herself as a "Professional Sleeper."

So you can imagine how much fun it is around here on weekday mornings when she has to be awoken at the ungodly hour of 6:45am.  

Oh, the Horror.

Seriously, it's like trying to rouse a vampire in the daylight.  There's the hiss and recoil as the light hits her and I half expect to see her skin blister and peel and her feet and legs roll up and slide back under the house.  

Oh.  Wait.

That's for the Wicked Witch of the East.

My bad.

When she emerges from The Cave, she is wrapped from head to toe in a heavy blanket.  Her face is hidden by the folds of the blanket.  She stumbles down the hall towards the living room, turning off lights as she goes.  

Breakfast is eaten in silence as she is incapable of forming words, let alone sentences.  Any attempts at conversation on my part is met with growls, scowls and grunts.

This morning while she was eating her Eggos, I was commenting on something of no particular importance because I have been known to babble now and then and she puts down her fork, turns to me and says, 

"You're really chatty this morning.  STOP. IT."

So being the kind, caring Mom that I am, a Mom who understands her daughter's desire for peace and quiet in the morning, I kick it up a notch and start babbling about anything and everything, just so I can watch her irritation levels rise to Def Con levels.

The drive to school was also a barrel of laughs as I continued to babble and she continued to seethe and say things such as, "Why are you doing this?  You know I'm not a Morning Person.  God!"

As she exits the car, I call out, "Have a Nice Day!" and while she didn't flip me off, I could tell she was considering it as she stalked off.

That's my little Angel of the Morning.

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

I'm such a Twit

Okay, I have a Twitter account, @AnotherKelly.  I've had it for, I dunno, maybe 2 years.  

Hang on, lemme check.  Oh.  March of 2009.  So yeah, 2 years.


I rarely tweet (twit? chirp?) and I don't know all the lingo and and I don't follow trending topics or chitchat back and forth with people.

In other words, I'm not one of the Cool Twitter peeps.

But I'm okay with that.

Lately, I've been puzzled (what else is new?) because I keep getting notices from The Twitter that So-and-So is now following me on Twitter.  But here's the kicker:  they are all church-related.

And I'm thinking to myself, Do these people/groups even READ what I tweet?  Because I use The Profanity.  A lot.  Mostly the Eff Word but sometimes I also take the Lord's Name in Vain.  So where in the Sam Hill would they get the idea that we share similar interests?

Let's see, have I expressed an interest in going to India as an evangelical Christian Missionary to save the souls of the heathens?

That would be No.

Am I interested in Bible Study as a member of faith-based organization?

That would be No.

Am I even part of a faith-based organization?

That would be No.

Am I even a Christian?

That would be No.

You can see my confusion as to why religious (read: Christian) groups want to follow me on The Twitter.

So after the latest notification, I decided that maybe I should take a look at my Twitter page and see what the hell is going on.

Oh.  It's my Bio description.

Cheezus, you throw the words, "Baby Jesus" in your bio and these church groups think it's an open invitation.

Did they not read the entire sentence?

I'm make Him cry, Goddammit!

God only knows what these groups would think if they saw what I post on The Facebook.

I don't think they'd be sending me any "friend" requests.

I'm so going to hell in a bucket on a bobsled.