NEW RELEASES
We are very Cosmopolitan here in the Desert
The entire Bright extended family went to the Christmas Parade that our city holds downtown every year. I’ve lived here my entire life and I didn’t even know this parade was held until last year. It gets a pretty good turn out, too. It’s free and it’s fun. And it’s free. With all the money spent every year at this time, finding free entertainment is a joyous occasion indeed.
The thing about this parade is that it’s very local centric – and because of that I find it terribly amusing. Some of the participants in the parade last evening were the local Accordion Club. Hee hee – really. Also, there was the Beagle Adoption Society, the members of the Raiders football team fan club (chuckle), the Greyhound Adoption Society (the beagles are definitely funnier than the greyhounds – the greyhounds just seem stuck up while the beagles are natural comedians), some sort of crazy bicycle club including a “bicycle” that was shaped like a rowboat and the oars moved the vehicle, the bookmobile, and the ladies from the Roller Derby.
There were a few people I know. For example, Mrs. World, Diane Tucker. Sassy was just delighted to see her because she’s always thrilled to remember that she knows a real Queen. Sassy even got to try her crown on once.
There was also a fair collection of city vehicles lit up and decorated such as a street sweeper, a garbage truck, and City Parks and Recreation.
But my favorite entry by a mile was Dune Sea Garrison/501 Legion. I had to look them up on the Internet. Holy Crap! It was an entire group of Star Wars characters: Darth Vadar, Luke Skywalker, Han Solo, countless Storm Troopers, Boba Fett, Princess Leia, Chewbacca, R2D2, various generals, Darth Maul, Anakin Skywalker, Sand People, Obi Wan Kenobi – both young and old, and the evil emperor. HOLY CRAP – it was awesome.
The Bandit and My Honey nearly burst they were so excited. While I think it was fun and cool to see them in the parade, I am wholeheartedly against supporting My Honey’s desire to find out where they meet and join up. It’s one thing to go to see his band play, but I don’t want to have to tell people that we can’t come over because he’s putting on his Storm Trooper outfit.
What Year is This?
Our evening was just disturbed by some real, honest to God, Christmas Carolers. With two guitarists and battery operated candles.
I didn’t even know that those people still existed.
Rock Breaks Scissors
This weekend was the Christmas party for the local chapter of RWA in which the Sisters belong. Ava and I were there – Isabella was “with child” so she was unable to attend, but we know that she was there in spirit.
She missed out on a delightful lunch and fun company, but more importantly, she missed out on a moment when I was speechless. That comes all too rarely, I assure you.
Ava and I lingered at the table as the meeting broke up. I think we were both loathe to go home where there was sure to be loud and uncontrolled short people and harried fathers that were most likely ready to flee the country. The restaurant began to clear the tables of linens and such, and still we lingered, talking and laughing as is our usual habit.
Out of the blue a busboy stopped at our table and looked me in the eye and said the following:
“I dreamed about you last night and you broke my heart.” This was said with a straight face and included a sweeping hand gesture.
I just stood there staring at him. Ava, on the other hand, guffawed loudly and smacked me on the shoulder.
Now one might say that I should be flattered. I would be flattered if say Daniel Craig stopped by my table and said something that absurd. Or Viggo Mortensen, or Bono, or (dear God it makes me tremble to think of such a thing) a 1969 tag team version of Robert Redford and Paul Newman. However, this is not my luck. I get hit on by short, goofy bus boys.
Ava teased me about it for hours. She wanted to know if I told My Honey that I was running off with a busboy.
I really don’t think that he would be able to keep me in the style that I’m become accustomed.
And then it occurred to me. The harsh truth. My ego is crushed.
They just wanted us to get the hell out of the restaurant. I’ll bet that the whole lot of them did Rock Paper Scissors in the kitchen to see who had to scare the middle aged women out of the dining room.
And the Winner is . . .
While Amylynn drives around our fine city playing the “Gas Game”, I play a game of another sort entirely. It takes place in my mind and consists of coming up with an award that, of all the people in the world, I am the only clear winner. One of my favorites is the “Anti-Mom Award”. I know there are quite a few of you out there that believe you are a contender – but you are NOT. Tonight, I have sunk to an all time super star low or high – since I’m vying for a prize.
It’s the holidays and most of you who have children know that it’s “Holiday Concert” season at school. You know the drill, you go sit in the auditorium at your kid’s school, along with all of the other parents and listen to a bunch of children sing, play instruments, cry or whatever. You all show up with cameras, video recorders, grandparents, non-performing siblings, flowers, tissues and whatever else you can shoe horn into the car.
I never bring a camera, video recorder, grandparents, or whatever. I always show up late and try to leave the second the last note leaves my child’s mouth or instrument. The only part I listen to is my child, I refuse to listen to anyone else’s child because, really, I hardly want to hear my own let alone yours.
Tonight, during the vast majority of the concert, I texted Amylynn. I let her know that I was going to jam a pen in my ear. Then I had to text back because I decided to jam a pen into BOTH ears. I said a little prayer to god (the one who invented chocolate), the gods (the ones who invented chocolate with sea salt), ghosts (don’t ask) and Santa Claus, I really felt covered. I asked to be stricken deaf – right then and there. I must have been bad this year because it didn’t happen.
At the beginning of the event, the music teacher annouced really loudly that any child in the auditorium, who was not performing, was to sit quietly and not disturb the performance and was to be controlled by the parents. Yea, right. There were so many kids running around the gym that I thought it was lunchtime. I yelled at several of them and their over dressed, over electroniced parents. The only thing I hate worse then 4th and 5th graders singing holiday carols off-key is loud shrieking children.
Before anyone gets ready to comment, I’m not interested in any advice. I’m not going to change, ever. I’m never going to look back on these ordeals and miss them. When Ed says “Honey, let’s pull out the old video recordings I took at the kid’s holiday concerts while you were texting Amylynn” – I’m going to stab him in the ear with a pen.
And the winner is . . . drum roll please . . . Ava Louis – Anti-Mom of All Time!
I Would Like the Padding in my Cell to be Pink
I am writing this post from Hell. Ava thinks Hell is a 4th grade holiday concert, but I’ll bet Ed will agree with me that Hell is actually talking to a cell phone company.
I got my cell phone bill today. It is 418.68. After the paramedics used the defibrillators on me, I got on the phone with the “Customer Care Department”. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHA. This trend in naming departments and their employees absolutely slays me. Do they really thing that naming it Customer Care will convince me that they:
A. Know what they are doing?
B. Really care about making you happy while they’re making minimum wage.
The answer is unequivicably NO. As I write this, I’ve already been transferred 3 times and sat on the phone 47:01. That’s 47 minutes of my life I’m never getting back.
Other things I could be doing with 47 minutes that would be LESS stressfull than talking to my cell phone company:
A root canal, child birth, giving birth while having a root canal, hiding in a bathtub during a tornado, grocery shopping with my kids.
Deep cleansing breaths…………..Namaste.
I have been assured that the bill has been rectified. Who would like to lay odds with me that I’ll be calling Sprint in about 30 more days and blogging about it?
This is a Romance Site After All
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Dear Santa Amended
Santa Claus
North Pole
Earth
RE: Amended Wish List
Dear Santa,
After the week I’ve had, both professionally and personally, I’d like to change my request. While I do believe that the windshield wipers are a practical gift and, with the parameters that I have listed, may only be obtained from you, I have reconsidered my request.
Instead, I would like some of those chocolates filled with liquor (it’s been a very disappointing week). That way I can take care of two sins at once. I understand that this may put me on the Naughty List for next year, but that is a chance I’m willing to take.
I know that this is a tad late, but I also have faith that you will be able to accommodate this wish.
Your ever faithful servant,
Amylynn
Dear Santa,
Dear Santa,
For Christmas this year I need a little magic. I know that this is in your wheel house, Santa. You’re a magical guy.
All I’m asking for from you is one simple little thing, but it’s going to take all the wizardry you and your elves can muster.
This year I would really like windshield wipers that work for longer than three swipes. I don’t know how this always happens, but the wipers I currently have always fail on the driver’s side. Directly in front of the steering wheel, there will be a mud streaked, filthy view of kaleidoscope lights. If I do some tag team driving, I can have the passenger relate the activities out of their perfectly clean, streak free arch of window and we can all just hope that things go well. Or, I can lean very far to the right, but really, if I’m going to be doing yoga in the car, I might as well be texting and drinking while I’m driving. It doesn’t seem to matter what brand I buy or how much they cost. They’re all crap.
Do you think that wish is even a possibility?
And for Ava, I’d like to ask for a Hello Kitty helmet. She knows why. I’d get her one myself but my passport has expired. (Cryptic for you readers, but Santa will understand. He’s magical, you know.)
For Isabella, I’d like to arrange for a dragon. It would be helpful if this dragon weren’t too terribly large, but really I don’t want to be too picky. I know dragons are hard to come by. Besides, we’ll share.
Thank you very much, Santa. Of course, there will be a snack waiting when you get here. I have it on very good authority that you like cupcakes. I have a really good source.
XOXO
-Amylynn (your biggest fan)
Santa Claus and the Economy
I sat the nine year old and the twelve year old down the other day to have a talk about Santa Claus with them – no, not that talk – the one that involves the economy. I explained how the economy is bad and how Santa will not be bringing a lot this year. They know about the economy because Ed and I are always talking about it and how bad it is.
The twelve you old, bless his little heart, said he got it and not to worry. He hasn’t told me he knows about Santa yet but I’m pretty sure he’s figure it out. . .
The nine year old said nothing. Now, those of you who are familiar with the nine year old girl – know that silence is always trouble and cause for worry. If either of my children devise an evil plan to take over the universe, it’s not going to be the boy . . . it will be the girl for sure and it won’t be pretty for the rest of us. I don’t know who she takes after.
Yesterday, she lowered the boom.
Girl – “Since the economy is bad shouldn’t Santa help parents out by bringing more gifts instead of less? After all, he’s magical . . . unless you’re really Santa Claus.”
She peered unblinkingly into my eyes, looking for a tell tale twitch, a dilation of my pupils, anything really, trying to make me crack. Sweat started to bead on my upper lip.
Me – “I know it seems like it should work that way, but Santa has a lot more kids this year then he ever has before to deliver toys to.”
Girl – (deeply suspicious) “Why.”
Me – “Because a lot of parents need his help this year, who have never needed it before, because of the bad economy.”
Silence.
Not good. That answer was total crap but I couldn’t think of anything else. I’m afraid to go home . . .
My Evil Genius
My cell phone was buzzing as I stepped off the elevator this morning.
“Hi, Honey. What’s up?” I said to my husband. I’m still sounding chipper because so far no one has pissed me off. I suspect that will change soon.
“Where are your son’s shoes?”
“I don’t know? I guess because you’re calling they are not in his room.”
“No, I have turned this house upside down and there are no shoes.”
“Well, he wore them yesterday and he came home with shoes, so they must be around there somewhere.” I’m being exceedingly patient. I would like that noted.
“I’m telling you. I can’t find them.” His voice is getting louder and more insistent.
“What do you want me to do about it? I’m at work and I’m obviously not coming home to look for them.” I stated the obvious. Sometime that helps with irrational people. “Have you looked under his mattress?” (Look – he’s a mischievous child. He hides stuff there all the time.)
“No.” My Honey’s sweet, melodious voice is becoming quite strained. “I’m telling you, if I can’t find his god damned shoes, he’s not going to school.”
AHA! It’s all coming clear now. “Did you ever think that might have been the whole plan?”
“I don’t know. All I know is that there are no shoes in this house!”
Again, I would like it noted that I am using a very calm voice. The voice the Negotiator uses when talking down a jumper. “Honey, I did not put all his shoes in my purse and take them to work with me.”
“I didn’t say that. I’m simply stating that there are no shoes in this house. I’m telling you – no freaking shoes.”
I called back 45 minutes later. A pair of shoes was located at the bottom of the Bandit’s laundry basket. The Bandit is at school as we speak – presumably torturing someone else. From what I understand, he can whip his band of Merry Men into quite a pre-school frenzy. (Dear Daycare Lady, I will be available for your calls after 9:00am tomorrow.)
The rest of the shoes are still AWOL and the Bandit is remarkably closed mouth about it.
I have a very desperate need to put that one pair of shoes in my purse and take them to work with me tomorrow.
I wonder where the Bandit gets it?