I Stuff My Bra

I have huge tits! Their enormity sometimes works in my favor, sometimes against. Even when I was fifty pounds lighter I still had a nice rack. They were so round and firm! Now they are so oblong and gelatinous! Yesterday I was working at my school. It was a teacher-only day, no students. While I love my little ones, days without student contact are fulfilling in a different way. Lots gets done! I was working on an art project that our darlings will do on Monday. I said "art" but if I am involved there will be no "art"....let's call it a craft project. Crafts, I can do. We are going to make banners in honor of Chinese New Year. They are gonna love it as much as I loved putting them together. Anyway, back to my boobs. I was listening to music on my rather antique-ish 4th Generation Ipod. My click wheel (Ethel, that is like a dial on a radio) is particularly sensitive. I had no pockets and I needed to be mobile for my project so I tucked my Ipod away in my brassiere. It was a tight fit! After assembling all my supplies I sat down to put the banners together ala assembly line. Every time I reached for the stapler my song would change! It made me giggle every time. I would like to thank the following folks for making my day fly by: Adam Sandler, Avril Lavigne, The Beatles, Blue Oyster Cult, Counting Crows, Eartha Kitt, The Glenn Miller Orchestra, Janice Joplin, Marc Cohn, MXPX, Raffi, Tom Waits and Tony Bennett.

Dexter and Me

I love to read and I love dogs. So when I saw the book "Marley & Me: life and love with the world's worst dog" by John Grogan it was in my shopping cart before I even finished reading the front jacket. I have a Marley in my life. His name is Dexter. Dexter, (not his official name, just what we call him) has a pedigree longer than anyone I know. He was bred for grace, silence and skill in the hunting field and to be an impeccable gentleman's dog. He is none of these. His official name is Kemble's Socrates and he is an English Pointer whose lineage reads like the Queen of England's. (inbreeding included.) He is a registered gun dog who is afraid of the pop of bubble gum. During thunder storms he turns into a quivering mass of drool and panting plastered to my side. If a balloon pops in his vicinity he is inconsolable. And I am head over heels in love with this neurotic mass of a dog that is 75 pounds of sweetness and love wrapped up in a dog. And he with me. I will never be loved by anyone the way Dexter loves me. I know that I am loved by a few humans. Humans who know I am a little neurotic, a little obsessive/compulsive, overly sensitive, self centered and with a mean streak that's a little bit more than just a streak...and they love me in spite of it. Dexter loves me because of it. He loves everything about me. I am perfect in his eyes. I could be a serial killer coming home after a killing spree and he would congratulate me on a job well done! He accompanies me around the house heralding my arrival in each room with a bark and a howl. Gotta take a dump? I'll be right here waiting for you when your done, and oh, by all means, take your time, I'll come in periodically to check on you and get a kiss. Time for bed? You go right ahead. I won't leave your side till I know you are fast asleep. I will protect you all night long. When I am crying (not a rare occurrence these days) Dex is the first man on the spot. Without a word he has crawled up into my heart and fixed just a little bit of what is wrong. I have loved many, many dogs in my life but this one will be with me forever. One day, hopefully way in the future, even as I am instructing Dr. Kathy to yes, go ahead and euthanize him now, he will be wagging his tail for me, nudging my hand for just one more stroke and looking at me with eyes of complete adoration and trust. I love you too Dexter.

"Down There"

The only Bush I trust is my own.

Schadenfreude With a Side of Crow

Okay, I stand corrected. I haven't killed anyone with my car yet, but one of my bleaders (thanks, Julie!) has felt compelled to drag up ancient history and remind me of that little "hit and run" incident involving a young man on a bicycle. I knew I shouldn't have told anyone! (Note to self: when in doubt, keep it to yourself.) Although said reader had a point: I actually DO value the life of a cat as much as many people I know. If I am going to be totally honest here then I might as well tell you that I quite often get pleasure from others' misfortunes. I feel so liberated, yet disgusted with myself. Schadenfreude is just one of my dirty little not-so-secrets.

Shout out to Mike...the muffler is nearing completion and I consider it my finest work!

Also, I think my Ipod is talking to me...that can't be good.

My Driving Style

I have just about had it! Frightened passengers next to me when I drive! Clinging to the door handle as if that was gonna save them. Slamming on that imaginary brake. Shrinking and huddling up into a small ball of a person as if that's gonna make us not scrape the car next to us as I try to get by. I have adopted a quote of my friend Mike as a defense against those annoying side-seat drivers. "Number of people killed by me, zero. Number of people killed by (you know who you are) one. Number of cats killed by me, zero. Number of cats killed by (I'm talking to you here Griz) one. So if one more person shrieks at me to "GET OUT OF THE BIKE LANE!" They are going to find themselves tits up in the muddy bike lane.

P.S. Griz.....don't even bother to mention the rat incident, cuz I know you want to.

The Princess and the Pool

There are three bodies of water at my fancy schmancy health club. The lap pool, which is the one I prefer is just a bit too cold. The therapy pool which is very relaxing is a bit to warm to get any kind of workout. And there is the vat of hot boiling oil that they call the hot tub. Get in it, stay in too long and your will become porridge. I try to model myself after a modern day princess. I never do something myself when I could hire someone to do it for me. I rarely carry money. My people tend to my needs.
Or maybe I should be referring to myself as Goldilocks, who thinks things are rarely "just right." I have already activated the "night-night baby" launch sequence and tomorrow this will probaably make no sence.

DEXTER, LAST PEE PEE!

NIGHT-NIGHT BABY

Heavy stuff: Gals AND Artillery

As I continue to obsess about swimming...here we go again. It seems as though, in regards to swim wear, I spent the first half of my life flaunting my body and the last half hiding it. It used to be: the skimpier the better Now I look for a designer original by Omar the tent maker. Comfort was always important as well. Then along came the tankini! Land's End has done it again! I will never buy swim wear from anyone else. They have combined the comfort of the tankini with the coverage us big gals crave. It gives me the freedom to strut my generous ass around that pool like I own it! I wonder if they ever considered marketing it with the name of "The Sherman Tankini."

Rain v. Ethel

Ain't no sunshine when she's gone.
It's not warm when she's away.
Ain't no sunshine when she's go- o-ne,
and she's always gone too long.
Anytime she goes away.

:( :( :( :( :( :( :( :( :( :( :( :(


I know I know I know I know I know
I know I know I know I know I know
I know I know I know I know I know

The Christmas Tree Syndrome

It happens to us every year. It's harvest time for our Christmas Tree. We go to the tree farm reminding ourselves over and over that the tree we choose will look at least three times as big indoors as it does outdoors. We look for the unloved, puny, Charlie Brown Christmas tree. (I like to rescue everything that needs rescuin') We find it! The most forlorn, pathetic and miniscule tree on the farm. We slaughter it and haul it home knowing that we are taking it to a better life. We get it in the garage and it is enormous! The most majestic, luxurious piece of greenery in all the land. It is a perfect specimen of Noble fir which needs to have about four feet hacked off before we can even get it through the door.

Now, the point of my story (and I do have one) is that I experienced the Christmas Tree Syndrome during an after Christmas sale at Macy's . I have been in need of a new purse for years. (And a wallet for that matter but that's another story.) I am not sure why I have waited so long to acquire a new handbag. I'm not sure if I don't care or if I care too much. Either what I have is good enough or I cannot find one that is good enough. I am nearly incapable of making any kind of decision. When the bagger at the grocery store asks "paper or plastic?" I either stare at them in disbelief as if they have just asked me for the meaning of life or respond blandly with "surprise me." Oh yeah, the purse...so I choose the only one of it's kind on the sale table, it looks a little lonely and a great find at more than 50% off and say to myself "that'll do." I get it home and it is about the size of a Samsonite pullman! I lugged that thing to and from work today and will continue to do so for years to come. I can fill up with more stuff that I don't need.

Me and Loretta Lynn

I am proud to be a coal miners granddaughter. My grandfather, Harry, one of his many names, was a coal miner for nearly 40 years. He was born and raised in The Ukraine. Back then everyone called it The Ukraine but I hear now that it's just Ukraine. He immigrated to Canada, first Halifax, Nova Scotia and then to Lethbridge, Alberta. He chose Alberta because that was where all the "high paying" coal mining jobs were. He arrived in the 1920s with the idea of settling in and then sending for his wife and two young daughters. A few years past and not a word back to the old country from Harry. My grandmother, who had the balls of a Clydesdale, sold everything she owned and packed up her two little girls to hunt him down. They came across the Atlantic in the belly of a boat from Odessa to Halifax never seeing the light of day because they were all too seasick. He was found in Lethbridge, Alberta "shacked-up" with another young Ukrainian woman. Those Alberta nights can be long and cold and lonely. My grandmother immediately kicked that (loosely translated from Ukrainian) "home-wrecking whore" to the curb, probably read Harry the riot act with few punches thrown in as punctuation and the two went on to produce a much-loved son and live to celebrate 50 years of marriage. They were wonderful grandparents and I am a better person for having been loved by them.

I have been thinking about my Grandpa a lot this weekend for two reasons. His cause of death was a pulmonary embolism and that is what took away Pam Gardner this week at the age of 51. I did not know Pam, but my dear friend Warren knew her well and loved her and so I know I would have loved her too. Also I have been thinking about the Sago miners and their families and while coal mining provided them with economic survival, it will be difficult for them to survive their grief. I'm so sad for the miners and their families. If I were a prayin' gal I would be doing just that.

Reindeer Excrement

Oh Art, you were so right when you told me that kids say the darnedest things! In second grade we are currently learning about Arctic animals. Life cycles, migration patterns, habitat and what have you. (Ethel, that was for you.) We were watching a video about Caribou and we were lucky to witness the miracle of birth.. Without much fanfare or description the baby just fell out, laid there a bit and then stood up. I stepped out of the room for a minute and when I came back a darling seven year old girl exclaimed to me. "Mrs. Kirkpatrick, A reindeer just pooped out another reindeer and it came back to life!!!!!" Second grade is my favorite age.

Post Secret

There is a web page I read every week. It can be found at www.postsecret. blogspot.com. It is a site that displays postcards that folks send in with their secrets on them. I believe it is meant as a place to unburden oneself. It is sometimes funny, sometimes disturbing and sometimes a little to close to home. Today I saw myself clearly in one of them. I read it over and over convinced that I had sent it in but could not remember doing so. it makes me feel afraid and comforted at the same time.

Prophetic Cookie

My son and I had dinner tonight at, as my dad would say, that Chinese joint. We go there about two or three times a year. For the past year or so my son has been monitoring the graffiti on the mens room wall because there is a quip there that he (okay we all do) finds quite amusing. We marvel that it has been allowed to linger for so long. It says "Ping (not his real name) jerks off in your food. I know, I work here." "Ping" is the restaurant owners name, as well as the name of the restaurant. As you are being seated there is a refrigerated, windowed case that proudly announces and displays "Pings Special Sauce" for sale. Every time we pass it we giggle like 13 year olds. Actually, my son is entitled to giggle like a 13 year old because he is. I on the other hand am middle-aged. My fortune cookie tonight said "Use your eloquence where it will do the most good." I took that as a sign that blogging needed to be done.