One Bag Of Hammers Short of a Lesson

The warning labels on things crack me up. You see some of the most ridiculous ones. I mean is it really necessary to put a warning 'Do Not Eat' on a bag of hammers? And who was the bright bulb that made the warning 'for external use only' to be placed on a curling iron? That is the truly disturbing part I think, that for every warning label out there someone as equally ridiculous caused it's existence. 'Do Not Use While Sleeping' on a hair dryer....Really??? Well darn and here I thought I could cut some getting ready time while I took a nap. "Do Not Eat Toner" on a printer cartridge...you know because I wanted a mid afternoon snack and nothing else was available in the office. Good job guys. Seriously to all of you out there that are responsible for these consumer warnings, good job! Clap, clap, clap!!!! You should all be rewarded with a swift kick in the ass. What ever happened to natural selection? In the wild these people would have fallen off of the evolutionary chain. Instead now, we are catering to these people, putting asinine warning labels on everything to protect their precious little lives. Let me pose a question to all of you out there that are not responsible for causing companies to create ridiculous labels, should we continue to protect these people? Seriously, are they really a benefit to the gene pool? Anyone ever seen the movie Idiocracy? That one hits a little too close to home when you think about some of these warning labels. With these exceptions and special circumstances being created for the dumb is it really surprising that reality TV is such a hit? Let's encourage children to have idols like Snookie, and Paris Hilton, yeah that's a great idea raise your daughters to be dumb sluts but hey at least they won't have any false expectations of meeting a intelligent kind hearted man. Nope they will grow up looking for their next baby daddy that will treat them like crap and be a firmly absent figure in their child's' life because they are just immature children themselves. Oh yeah, way to go America...we're just one bag of hammers away from a lesson.

Eff That Corner

All my life I have been afflicted with nicknames. I am not sure why, I suppose that I just have one of those personalities that cries out to be named in some other fashion then the name I was given at birth. Not all of the nicknames have been favorable, my ex-husband has been the creator of quite a few of these, but they are there none the less. The one I find the most amusing and most frequently used is Baby, I'm not sure why but it seems like everyone calls me Baby at one point or another. I find this extremely amusing since I don't exactly see myself as the 'Baby' type, but you know, I'll roll with it. The most amusing out of the Baby moments is when an employee who I have not, and never will, meet face to face starts calling me Baby over the phone. Sometimes I just feel like laughing because it seems so second nature to them. One of these days I'm going to say..."Nobody puts me in a corner!" In simple response to one of the many "How are you doin, Baby?" moments that I get. My favorite nicknames though have been Kitten and C-Dub. Kitten by several of my exes, who have come up with this separately and on their own, but always for the same reason. Then C-Dub because I rocked out a Cat Woman costume one year for Halloween, and everyone went from calling me Cat Woman to C-Dub because it was shorter. By the way...the people doing the new Batman movie totally missed out when casting for Cat Woman. Little did they know that I was tucked away in north west Arkansas just waiting for them to call me. Hey guys, if Anne Hathaway doesn't work out just send me a message, I'll be all over it.

Bunnies + Yorkies = Horror

I hate bunnies. This is a new hatred, and really it has less to do with the bunnies and more to do with the horrific experiences the bunnies bring with them. Yes, that's right bunnies = horror, bet you didn't know that little factoid, well you didn't unless you live smack dab in the middle of bunny breeding country and you have a couple of small dogs. You know, Yorkies were bred to be ratters, tiny little dogs that were encouraged to have a blood lust for tinier furry creatures. Nothing that tiny should ever be encouraged to have a blood lust by the way. I mean seriously, anything that could be drop kicked should not be given an attitude that big, it is just cruel. Anyway, the bunny horror/hatred began several months back when they started nesting in my backyard under various bushes. Little did I know that bunnies are the worst mothers in existence with the possible exception of that one bird that pushes her chicks off of a cliff. Did you know that bunnies barely cover their young? They also make their nests where anything can find it. Oh, and let's not forget that they only come to check on their offspring once a day. Epic fail on the mothering scale bunnies...epic, epic fail! I mean, come on, what kind of mother has their babies in the home of things bred to destroy them? The horror that I have been living through with pulling Yorkies off of bunnies, erecting fences around nests, hearing bunny screams as they die in my hands, and then cleaning up bunny parts and blood off of my floors after the dogs throw it up has been a real treat. Does anyone know how emotionally jarring cleaning up bunny parts is, especially after the bunny has died in your hand??? I have been going through this so frequently that now if I am sitting in my back yard enjoying a cup of tea and I hear a bunny scream I move at the speed of light. I have become trained to listen for the sound of screaming bunnies to spring into action. Moral of this little tale of horror...don't live in bunny breeding country. I have so got to move.

Life As I Know It

After quite an extended absence I have come back to you. You may all heave that collective sigh of relief now. Life, as always has continued in a fast paced and interesting manner. My child is amazing, my dogs are still fuzzy little punks, and after a decade my husband is now my ex husband.

So now I find myself cut adrift in northern Arkansas, loosed back into the dating field a few years older and far more bitter then I started. I believe they call this jaded. Funny how the twists and turns in the road will sometimes have you waking in circles.

I went out to a bike rally last night with my girlfriends. It was one of those life lesson moments. The lesson being that I should not add myself, alcohol, and bikers together. Mainly because I have a 'I don't give a fuck' kind of attitude on my best day and last night was not my best. I was in fine form though, breaking hearts, hitting on exes, drunk texting, talking shit to everyone, and just being a all around joy to be around. I suppose I should be grateful that my friends did not just abandon me. However, the entertainment aspect had to be worth something.

My new goal...never get so drunk that I wake up in bed unsure of how I got there again...or where my pants are. Not a goal most people have to adopt but a goal none the less.

My Dogs and Seafood

My dogs are spoiled little a**holes that only maintain existence and rank within my household by being painfully cute. I mean that sometimes they are so cute it hurts your heart a little, and suddenly it does not matter that they spilled their food all over the kitchen floor because they refuse to share the two dishes or that Woody in an act of defiance and rebellion ruined the foam dog bed by hiking his leg on it. No, all they have to do is lay their little heads against my chest and give me that ‘I adore you and base my entire being off of your existence’ look, and I just melt. And can they ever guilt me for scolding them! I feel bad just thinking about the poor little guys shaking and looking at me all big eyed. They are kind of like kids, they listen about as well, immediately forget what ever it was that you told them, make a considerable mess, and provide more joy and heartbreak then anything that small should ever have the right to do. Carpet Sharks.

My kid needs a lesson in sportsmanship I am sitting in my office typing this and he and the Significant Other are in the living room playing the Wii and I can hear him in here gloating because he is winning. I would not be as intent as I am about teaching him that gloating is not the nicest way to go about winning anything but I can hear him over very loud music and I should not be able to. How ever on a side note, what the hell?!?!?! My six year old is beating The Sig at the Wii? Crazy.

We were going out for lunch yesterday and The Sig insisted upon cajun seafood. Down here that is like asking for a restaurant to serve water. However we decided on a restaurant that we both enjoy and I had some remarkable blacked tilapia. That is one of the things that I love the most about living down here all of the well cooked seafood., and the sushi. I eat more sushi in a week than most people do in a month. And when I go crazy from mercury poisoning you will all know why. But hey, we only live once and you never know for how long.

Brain Surgery and Public Toilets

I have to have brain surgery. Anyone who has questions about this can call or email me. Other than that I do not really feel like going in to it any further. Just know that if I am writing less than normal it is due to the lack of feeling in my fingers and very bad head aches.

I have noticed that I rarely get to use private restrooms. This thought was sudden and also very disturbing. I was going to the restroom at work when it hit me, you see our entire floor shares one restroom, and though the company I work for is half of the floor I do not know what their extracurricular activities involve. I get to work at 7:30 and leave at 5:30, then if I go out and about with The Sig or as a family with the little man in tow then we are always some place public. I waited in a 20 minute line last night after watching Benjamin Button. Or the gym…I hate the restroom at my gym…because you know not only has foreign butt been on that seat it has been sweaty foreign butt. So I have figured out that only about 10% of my bathroom time is spent in a private bathroom. That little factoid really unnerves me. Although I am not sure why, I know that it has probably been that way my entire life.

Speaking of The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, what an amazing movie. I can not wait for it to come out on dvd so I can own it. Oh, and how beautiful was New Orleans! My mother and sister went to see it and they told me they recognized houses that we had past when I took them on a walk around the Garden District. Seriously though, Brad Pitt was phenomenal bringing to life a character that could have been very unconvincing by most. The story itself wove in and out of age and time like a fine thread picked out of an amazing tapestry reminding us that life is what we make of it. I encourage anyone that has not seen it to do so!

Where is Wickkett?

So much has kept me away, a wrongful imprisonment in a mental institution of a family member, viral meningitis, and life in general. Sorry about that but life happens I suppose.

I hate the kids on the school bus. Oh, I am sure you think I am being harsh. Trust me, I’m not. The school buses now have assigned seating and my little man is forced to sit next to a older boy that hates him. I would be over reacting if it ended there. The older boy also continually tries and sometimes succeeds in getting my child in trouble. Why doesn’t this little heathen receive some kind of punishment for thi8s clearly unacceptable behavior…because he is the bus drivers cousin! The little man asked me “Mommy what does this mean?” and then he flipped me off. It turns out the older boy on the bus kept trying to get him to do that to the bus driver. Now the people out there who know me can tell you…my anger is scary. The Sig says that I just go nuclear, and he is right. It takes a great deal to make me angry these days, and even more then that to get me to go nuclear. I have become a very different person in this past year. That being said I must make a slight amendment to how my anger reacts when it comes to my child. I can go from bubbling to nuclear in 2 seconds flat, and it is only the thought of jail that keeps me from waiting around to talk to that bus driver and child. Like I said…I hate the kids of the bus.