Category Archives: Randomness

One ringy-dingy….two ringy-dingy


I find the subject of ringtones interesting. When I notice that someone has a generic, pre-installed ringtone I sometimes wonder why. Or, more accurately, I wonder why I would never dream of not personalizing my phone to the hilt. Am I really that bored? How can someone be so enthralled with the intimate details of phone settings and yet largely ignore other details like washing dishes, or paying bills on time?

At any rate, here are my current ringtones.

Default: Moves Like Jagger – Maroon 5 (Oh, come on…like you expected something different?)

Madalyn: Sweet Child o’ Mine – GN’R

Johnny: Super Mario Bros. theme music (original)

Robert: Star Trek: the Next Generation theme

Mom & Dad: Home Sweet Home – Motley Crue

I should add that the default is about to change, as it does every year around this time, to the BC Clark jingle. It’s just not Christmas in Oklahoma without it. My mom’s will change to her favorite Christmas song, “All I Want for Christmas is You” by Vince Vance and the Valiants.

By the way, not to be content with micromanaging my own phone, I have taken over others’ phones, as well, and assigned myself ringtones. When I call Robert he hears “California Gurls” by Katy Perry, and when I call Madalyn she gets the Glee version of “Just the Way You Are”…..not in reference to me, but to remind her that’s what I think about her every time I call. (For anyone unfamiliar: “When I see your face there’s not a thing that I would change, ’cause you’re amazing  just the way you are. And when you smile the whole world stops and stares for a while, ’cause, girl, you’re amazing just the way you are.”)

If I ever get my MacBook it will have Garage Band on it and, I’m told, I’ll be able to make my own ringtones. Make. my own. ringtones. You think my phone is customized now. You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.




It’s the most! Wonderful time! Of the year….


In general I tend to think Little Debbies are vile (no offense to my Little-Debbie-snarfing pals). However, they make two seasonal items to which I look forward every year. This is the first to show up. I’m too lazy to get up and check on their proper name. Shiny Happy Vaguely Pumpkin-Shaped and Sorta Creepy Patties or something.

Om nom nom.

The other item? It won’t show up until Christmastime.

Like Moon Pies, only not disgusting.

All this is is merely a way of saying how thrilled I am about the season. September through December is my absolute favorite time of year, for reasons far too many to enumerate. Suffice it to say they are not all snack food related, despite what my outward appearance may attest.

I expect better from you, Wednesday


Today’s preliminary results:

Calls from body shop saying glass is in: 0

Interesting emails: 0

Letters from college saying ZOMG WE LOVE YOU: 0

Dentists successfully reached to move appointment: 0

Calls from doctor saying ZOMG UR CROAKING/You’re fine, you silly cow: 0

Texts to husband returned: 0

Calls from husband saying cases have been settled and we can now use hundred-dollar bills to light our cigars: 0

If this continues I may be forced to do something drastic to alleviate the boredom.

I’ll call this one “Road to Nowhere”


Every once in a while there comes a post in which I fulfill the worst expectations of the so-called “mommy blogger.” Now I, personally, don’t consider myself a mommy blogger, at least not in the technical sense. I don’t have a wide readership to whom I write and I wouldn’t say the majority of my posts concern parenting directly. I do try to steer clear of the more unpleasant aspects – combing through the archives you’ll find very few mention of bodily functions, for example. However, to the child-free among us, a little kid talk goes a long way and has a rapid cumulative effect, and even a single post like the one that follows is likely to make the uninitiated reel in horror – and cement their opinion that all parents suffer massive loss of intellect and ability to have meaningful dialogue.

For those of you who fit that description, I give you the following pictures of adorable baby animals to distract you from the fact that I’m about to spend the next 600 words or so talking about vomit.

Oh, hai!

A couple hours after dinner tonight Eliza complained of a tummy ache. I hoped she’d just eaten too much but… The yakking commenced soon after (two words, to help you feel my pain: hot dogs) and continued periodically even after she went to bed early at 7:30.

I can has barf bucket?

After the first few upchucks it became clear that this was going to put a slight wrinkle in our plans for tomorrow. Then, as I considered it further I realized the ripples from this barf fest could extend through the rest of the week.

Mr. Quackers wants to talk about global warming or the origins of the ancient Indian caste system or some shit.

You see, I had promised the kids a special treat tomorrow. Last week I rediscovered a local coffee shop I hadn’t patronized in years. The two older kids have been there but it’s been so long ago they don’t remember it. I told them that, for fun, we should get up one weekday morning, a little early, dash through our getting ready routine and then go eat breakfast there before school. They were excited at the idea and we settled on tomorrow as the day. Clearly this is no longer an option, because even if this is a brief visit to Chunderland and Eliza’s made a miraculous recovery by morning she probably needs a little extra sleep, not being shaken awake earlier than usual and dragged out in the cold to get pancakes.

Oh, I don't good are the pancakes?

This leaves us now looking at Tuesday, but that’s not going to work. I have already promised Madalyn I will eat lunch with her at her school. And when I say “lunch” what I actually mean is “brunch”, as the cafeteria ladies start spooning slop onto trays at the ungodly hour of 10:50 a.m. there. This is not conducive to having a large breakfast because, contrary to my outward appearance, I don’t eat that much and there’s no way I’ll be hungry for Lunchables at 10:50 if I’ve eaten pancakes at 7:30.

Wait....there are times you ARE hungry for Lunchables?

There’s more to tell about how this sudden malady affects our entire week but I suddenly realize the story is dragging on way too long and that it’s about 90 minutes later than when I had originally planned o go to bed. A quick wrap-up: Wednesday’s out because I have an appointment in the city for which I have to get ready while the kids eat breakfast here at home so I can leave as soon as I drop them off. There’s some damned problem with Thursday, as well, which means Friday is the earliest we can now do our special breakfast. Not only this but also consider: if Eliza is still feeling punk in the morning we will have to skip going to see Johnny be honored for being Outstanding Student at his school this week. If she continues to throw up into tomorrow morning that means she will miss school Tuesday as she’s not supposed to go until it’s been 24 hours she last hurled.

Disapproving Rabbit disapproves of a grown-ass woman utilizing this many slang terms for vomit.

If I really stretch I can also theorize that she could really be sick and this could continue for days, causing her to miss dance on Tuesday, my having to cancel my Wed. appointment to stay home with her, and then my thought processes really start to veer off into Loonland and I begin envisioning hospital stays, the Ebola virus, etc.

Did you ever stop to think and forget to start again? Yeah, we're pretty sure she did that four paragraphs ago.

Now, after all that, I’m sitting here staring at the screen at 11:58 p.m. wondering how on earth to wrap this up and tie it with a nice little bow – and failing miserably. I think all my bows are in the washing machine along with my good plush blanket and the clothes I was wearing when Eliza turned my living room into a vomitorium. All that’s left is to admit defeat and hit “publish”

Prepare for primate doomsday


I was in my closet considering purses the other day (what, like you don’t mull over handbag choices?) and I happened to find, in one of the candidates, a miniature composition book that I used to carry around for use in jotting down notes or reminders. (I’m notorious for this, by the way; I am forever switching purses and leaving items that I don’t need or no longer want in the old one, then rediscovering the items months or years later, like a really boring time capsule.) Apparently the last time I used the particular bag where the book was found was May of 2008, as I found paperwork from my ’08 trip to AROTR in it. This lead me to spend the next five minutes pondering whether or not the innernets at large would consider that fact to be an indicator that I own too many purses.
Later on I was flipping through the composition book. Mostly the pages are filled with records of debit card transactions and random notes meant to jog my memory (“Drop pressing Get Tylenol JZ haircut”). However, one page bears the following inscription:
“I’m about to be made responsible for a pack of deranged rabid howler monkeys!”
That’s it. No elaboration or explanation. Just that rather pessimistic declaration which I, apparently, felt the need to record for posterity and possible further use (on this blog, no doubt).
If I had to take a guess I would imagine that the statement was triggered not by psychotropic drugs, as one might assume, but by the advent of Vacation Bible School, for which I always volunteer. I would’ve been with the 2nd/3rd graders that year, who, while considerably more civilized than the Kindy/1st grade group, are still a handful. Actually, now that I think of it, I remember why I would’ve been expecting the worst. The first two years I helped with Madalyn’s class she was in the Kindy/1st grade group, and a wilder bunch of heathens I’ve never encountered. Then I took the following year off, not because they’d broken me but because I had a newborn Eliza at home. So I missed the first year of her being in the 2nd/3rd grade class and, consequently, didn’t know how they’d behave and expected them to be just as exhausting as my first two groups had been. Therefore, as Monday approached, a sense of impending doom settled over me like a blanket of smog over Van Nuys, and probably lead to that note in my composition book. All for naught, that, as I ended up being pleasantly surprised at how much more mellow the kids were at two years older.
I could go on more about the composition book and how every. other. entry. in the transaction record section is FOOD, but I wouldn’t want the gimmick to die of overuse.

Textually Speaking


7/26/09, 9:17 a.m. PST
(580): Haven’t heard from you in a while. We’re on the road with my parents to Southern Cal for a family bbq.
(414): Been kind of a busy week. Where in Southern part is the picnic? And how can it be the end of July already?
(580): In Moreno Valley – east of LA county. 5 hour drive from A-town. Don’t know where the summer has gone!
(414): Are you the ony Beatle B***** at the reunion or are there more of you?
(580): Dad & I are the only B*****s, period. These are all H*****s, Mom’s people. I’m the only Beatles nut. Oddball as always!
(414): Them H*****s are pretty oddball, from what I hear from the other hill folk. Goofy as all getout. Goofy as the day is long.
(580): The word’s out, huh? I should’ve known.
(414): Biggest ripoff/disappointment: Revolutions Bar @ the Mirage. $10 for a rum & Coke? Please. If there had been more time (AND more money), I’d have liked to hav
(580): Message cut off. You’d like to have done what? Something dirty? 🙂
(414): …paid the cover charge and gone to the Revolutions nightclub next to the theater.
(580): Drat. Well, I guess that would’ve been okay too.

7/27/09, 10:48 a.m. PST
(414): I got my racing sausage bobblehead – but I still think all those H*****s are GOOFY.
(580): Says the man with the bobble-headed phallic symbol.
(414): At least they’re not giving out H***** family bobbleheads….that’d be too weird.
(580): Oh yeah? Well, you’re a poopyhead! So there! Ha!
(414): Actually I’m very fond of the H*****s. :p
(580): You should be. We’re AWESOME.
(414): At least we can agree that, with the exception of your children, ALL of the J*****s is GOOFY!

(580): Yeah, I’m totally on board with that.

8/15/09, 3:15 p.m. CST
(580): Tell Bobby Jack he’d better not be telling all our secrets. I vaguely remember how girls talk when they get together.
(918): He’s already passed out. That seriously happened on ur wedding night….
(580): I dunno….I was downstairs partying with two Elvis impersonators, a showgirl and a Bolivian midget.
5:05 p.m.
(580): WTF? Did you all leave him in a ditch somewhere? My children are asking where Daddy is. I don’t have the heart to tell them.
(918): LOL He is on his way home!
(580): Partially sober, I hope. And still wearing pants would be a huge bonus.
(918): Consider that our gift to you. 🙂

Pure Heaven


Earlier this evening I created a list of my five favorite scents. The first four are all found in nature: pine, honeysuckle. eucalyptus and lavender. The fifth, however, is the Good Home Company’s Pure Grass.

I forget how I discovered Good Home’s products. They have been featured on Oprah’s favorite things but that’s not where I found them. I knew about them long before that. I must have found them in some local store that no longer exists. I bought a bottle of their Pure Grass laundry scent, which is used in place of fabric softener. It’s rather pricey so I only used it on the bedsheets. I loved it; may have bought it on more than one occasion. Then, somehow, I forgot about it. I think perhaps the store where I’d bought it closed and it faded from my consciousness. It was years before I thought of it again (in that case, it may have been Oprah who spurred the recollection, though I don’t usually watch her show). However, the thought that I should search for it online passed fleetingly through my brain and I forgot about searching. This happened several more times before I finally remembered to actually do the search. I found Good Home’s website and ordered more laundry scent and some sheet/clothing spray, both in Pure Grass, of course! Again I saved the laundry additive for sheets and blankets only to make it last longer.
It has been more than a year since that bottle was used up and somehow I keep neglecting to get more. I think of it every time I get an email from the Company but those emails rarely coordinate with my actually being able to drop $20 on a bottle of fabric softener and not feel guilty about it. But, tonight, when I sat down to make the list, Pure Grass popped into my head right away, and I have a strong memory of the scent. I can’t describe what it smells like except that it’s a clean smell. I don’t even know why I like it. There’s just something about it that makes me want to curl up underneath my scented sheets with my nose buried in my pillow case, flex my claws, and purr. It doesn’t just smell nice; I find it strangely soothing. I keep thinking about how nice and relaxing it would be to climb into bed tonight if the bed smelled like Pure Grass. And ever since I made the list I’ve been craving that smell. I told Robert on the phone to be expecting me to place an order with Good Home very soon. I may even get wild and crazy and try one of their other scents, too, in a room freshener or counter spray or something. Just not on my bed…..that territory is reserved for Pure Grass and Pure Grass only.
(And, yes, I just wrote an entire entry about fabric softener. And you just sat here and read it. Sucker. 🙂 )