<$BlogRSDUrl$>

••• Friday, February 25, 2005

CRAP!
Here it is, Friday already and here I am, writing the wrap-up for last weekend. Somehow, all the things I thought I wanted to say, don’t seem as interesting as they did four days ago.

I’ll start by saying that this week has been onehelluffa. After the Monday Meeting With the Muthas, aside from sleeping and eating, I pretty much didn’t sit down until Wednesday night, 9:00. My laptop is in my kitchen so I even worked my email, standing up. In fact, I really should be doing something else right now, so I’m going to try to make this short as possible. ::Short Post? You funny lady::

::Speaking of short, on the morning show I listen to every day, one of the DJ’s is reported to be a very tiny man, as in he looks 12. Yesterday his partners were giving him the business about something and he was getting pretty pissed. Then one of the guys said “I haven’t seen you this mad since that family found your pot of gold.” I chuckled at that all day. ::I guess you had to be there::

Since I’ve kind of lost my post weekend glow, I’ll just bullet the highlights:
1. Saw Napoleon Dynamite on DVD, finally. It’s now in my top five of faves. Of course, I loved the characters, but I continue to be intrigued by the fact that you never really know what year it is.

2. Cakers loved skiing. Actually, I don’t know if she loved the skiing as much as she loved the golf cart rides between the hill (well, incline) and the day care trailer. We spied on her for a bit during the lesson. Too cute. One time she stopped mid-incline to put snow ON her skis, then spent the entire ride up the Magic Carpet, brushing it off. One time I heard the instructor yell “Anna! Anna!” Then saw my Cakers lean forward, toss her fists to her side and yell “I not Anna! I ANA!” That’s my girl, my little Liger. (….like a lion and tiger mixed…bred for its skills in magic.)

3. Listening to great music on the radio. I’m pretty sure Northern Michigan has one of the only remaining FM stations, in the U.S. of A., not owned by Clear Channel. It’s called The Bear. It's classic rock at its best, mostly from late 60's and 70's and includes stuff you never hear on the corporate oldie stations. I'm talking Marshall Tucker Band and Traffic and Canned Heat and The Band.

When listening to the Bear, my husband and I like to play the "Who sang this?" game. It's actually kind of hard, but being four years older than he is, gives me the competitive edge. I had planned on reminiscing some more on the old tunes, but I'm afraid it would pale in caliber/interest level to Alison's topic related post, earlier this week.

4.Weekend Things I Wondered:
A. Why, as a whole, rural news anchors are a smidge homlier than their urban counterparts? They’re so pasty (as in having no color, not as in a Cornish meat pie). And stiff. And wear glass rims from the 80's. And why are they named after Northern Michigan towns and/or townships? And since we’re here, I also want to know why they sound like they're being broadcast from Uncle Pooty's pole barn? Isn’t the same audio technology used by urban stations, available to the rural communities?

B. Why the ski lodge sells pop and water from machines which only take perfectly straight, crisp 1 dollar bills? Where would a skier keep such a bill?

C. What the hell this woman was thinking?:
Cakers and I were waiting for our ride, just inside the door of the daycare trailer at the ski resort. The place was teeming with screaming, tired, one-socked toddlers. So, this woman comes in and asks me if I know where the cross country trails are. I don’t.

She then asks what building this is (Hello? Can’t you hear them calling?). I tell her it’s the Daycare Center. Raising her voice above the din, she says “Is there any body in there?” (And People, this is not a pleasant person. She's got bitch.) The question was so ridiculous, I didn't even answer.

She then clarified, “Are there any workers in there?”

I wanted to say: "Nope. No one. I just stopped in here looking for a pop machine that takes crumpled bills, and picked me up this little cutie ::Patting the Cakers on the head:: In fact, there are still a couple quiet ones left, if you're in the market for a toddler, with a day or two of ski school under his/her belt. Just so ya know, the best picks are hiding in the bathroom. I'd stay away from the four year-old with the mustache, if I were you. He’s trouble."

Instead, I said, with a bit o bitch o my own, "Of course there's someone in there." Freakin’ IDIOT!

Who's Got Big Balls?


Pssst...Kimmy, can you see this?

A couple people asked about the outcome of Tuesday’s game. We lost. Which means we tied for first in the conference, which ain’t bad. But we coulda and shoulda beat em, like we did before.

It was my son’s last basketball game on the home court, so it was doubly sad. The last home game of the year is called “Senior Night,” so before the game, each senior player walks out with his parents and the mom gets a rose and a kiss. Before we walked out, my son said “Mom, don’t cry.” And in front of the other Muthas, I dufus-ly enthused “Honey, you know I always cry at pageantry.” To which a stiff-smiling Mutha sniffed, “Well, I wouldn't call this pageantry.”

Yeah? Well how long did it take you to grow that mustache?

Now, About the Rest of Those Muthas
In comments, Caroline expressed the opinion that I should just turn the Muthas out. I wish I could, Caroline, but tradition holds that the Senior Muthas organize the banquet. Besides, the woman in charge is a friend and a sweetie. It's the other twits, who give my soul the shits.

The spark of the afterglow from the Monday's meeting has kind of burned out. (Sorry Teresa.) Besides, this is a small town and I am suddenly a little nervous dishing it up.

I will say this: I'd rather be looked at through a tiny butthole, than spend my whole life looking out one.

When all's said and done, regarding the Banquet chores, I'm getting off pretty easy, as follows:
1. Purchase the coach a gift.
I caught you a delicious bass.

2. Bring a gallon of milk.
This one tastes like the cow got into an onion patch.

3. Serve at the buffet.
Tina, come get some ham.

4. Say "Goodbye You Muthas"
...you're supposed to go home.....because you've been ruining everybody's lives and eating all our steak.

Liddle Skiddles
No, Heather, I'm not pregnant. If I was, I'd be calling my lawyer to start the papers for some Tubal Litigation, if ya know what I mean.

Kim says she can't see my pink hat picture, but now I think she was pulling my leg on account of her being blind and all.

Norma, I'm fine, dear. In my post haste, I neglected to mention that a bottle of fabric softener had tipped and leaked in the back of my car. I can taste it on my lips after getting out.

I'm reallyreallyreally busy at work and home, so maybe the posts will be few and far for awhile.

More Big Balls
Tonight we play a state ranked team in what they call Crossover, which means nothing on paper but apparently means much to my knotted tummy. Unfortunately, our two best guys are out. Which means the sun will be shining directly upon my baby. I think it's gonna be his night.

I say we show up and kick some ass. Girls only want boyfriends who have great skills. What say ye?

In case I wasn't the last human being on Earth to see Napoleon Dynamite, the italicized quotes in this post are from the movie.

P.S. This post has not been edited. Yet. Has been edited only 2x.
# posted by Marcia @ 7:19 AM


Comments: Post a Comment