Wait...yall are together?

About 5 years ago my kidlet's dad and I split up. It was a very sad time and it was really hard on everyone involved. I'm still sad about it. Fortunately, we had a very civil, smooth divorce process. Heck, when it came time to go to court to finalize everything, we sat together until it was our turn to stand before the judge. I never wanted any nastiness and it was extremely important to me for he and I to remain friends. I had spent 1/2 my life with him for Pete's sake and we had the kids to think about. At first he was really angry with me and didn't want much to do with me which I can perfectly understand but after a while, he mellowed and now I think we have a very nice relationship.

This past weekend, I was taking young kidlet to his house for the week and I proposed that the three of us go to dinner together at a local hamburger joint where our oldest kidlet works. We proceeded to walk to the restaurant and have dinner then roam around the center where the restaurant was located because there was a festival going on. As we were strolling we came across some old friends that we hadn't seen in a long time. While we were catching up, I mentioned to my friend that I had remarried 3 years ago. She was completely flabbergasted that I was remarried and yet there I was, strolling and having a nice time with my ex.

I've encountered quite a few people that seem surprised that me and my ex can enjoy one another's company and have nice times together with our children. I say "why the heck not??" It's good for our kids to know that we can still be friends, they have a good knowledge of what parents do for their children and how they work together and above all else it shows them that no matter what happens between Mom and Dad, the kid comes first. And Mom and Dad will always be there for them.

I've been witness to many contentious divorces among my friends and in the end it seems like the people that get hurt the most are the kids. The parents knowingly or not put their kids into the fight and I don't think that it's right at all. The kids didn't ask for their parents to break up. They didn't ask to be shuffled from one parent's house to the other. They didn't ask for a setup where they have to contend with refereeing the parents. And THAT is why I want to do everything in my power to show my kids that their dad and I are a united front. And we can actually get along. Just because we broke up, we can still be friends and do things together with our kids. Because that's how we started out and that's how we'll finish.

What Kind of Drunk Are You?

I've posted plenty about my love of beer and while I'd like to say that I never really over indulge, it's happened once or twice (or 12 times) in my lifetime. For reasons unknown I let my mind wander and examined the different phases of tipsy-ness that might or might not have happened to me in the past.

First, there's the happy, loving, 'let's have fun' kind of tipsy.

This is the kind of tipsy that I can appreciate. I'm not hurting anyone, I'm happy in my own little world and I'll be a great buddy to hang around with. I've cooked some of my best dinners when I was in this phase. And I would be willing to feed anyone and everyone who crossed my path because I want all of the people around me to enjoy and share the happiness. And I love to sing. I'm not sure how great that is for the people around me, but I've had a blast getting on stage and belting my heart out.

I must admit that I've had other kinds of moments while tipsy as well. I can get a little...mischievous.

That's when my inner bad girl comes out and I'm tempted to prank people. I don't prank harmfully - I'm a nice pranker. I do silly stuff like fill people's cars with packing peanuts or wrap their bars of soap in plastic wrap where it's not obvious and laugh as they try to figure out why the soap isn't sudsing. I may or may not have been known to put a little bit of olive oil on doorknobs or stuff the end of the toothpaste tube with salt or short sheet a bed or two, or hide behind bushes and jump out and scream as cars pass. Maybe. I might have done some of those things in the past.

I might have had a tipsy or two where I was a daredevil. Maybe. You know the old adage about having a few cans of courage? Yeah. I have the scars to prove it. My dirt biking skills were really put to the test after a few cans. And car surfing is something that I'd never do normally but might have done in my youth. Heaven forbid if my kids ever even think of doing the stupid stuff I've done.

I think that my most recurring tipsy is the love bug tipsy.

I love everyone and would give them anything. You like my new priceless, super rare, only one in the world ring? Please, take it! I insist!

I once traded a really nice pair of expensive gold earrings for a pair that were made out of plastic beads and sea shells. I regretted it the next day. But I don't take things back. You can't accuse me of being an Indian giver. I've been at friends' houses and our beer supply was running low so I zipped out to the store and rather than buying a 6-pack or 12-pack I bought 2 cases. I drank two then left the rest at their house. I've done that a lot of times. I'm kinda thinking that I'd like that to happen at MY house once in a while. Sort of recoup my losses. I've given away jewelry, clothes, furniture, a clock, shoes and more. If someone takes a shine to something that I have and they really, really love it, I'll give it to them. I want them to be as happy and in love as I am.

I draw the line at hanging and slobbering all over people. I won't do that. I'll hug and I'll give kisses but I'm not sloppy about it. And I don't get right up in yo' grill when we're talking either. I'm always worried about spewing beer breath - yuck. I've been beer breath-ed and spittled on way too many times and know to keep my distance. Yep, I'm a real princess. A love bug princess. Of course, that's only when I'm drinking which isn't that often (once a week or more ;-)   ) Don't go getting all indignant on me now. I can almost bet cash money you've been there at least once. And if you ever get that way again, let me know and we can give hugs to one another. Maybe I'll give you my shoes or something.

Luckily, my boss is a pretty laid back guy. And luckily, I work in the art department so everyone in here is pretty easygoing. Creative minds need outlets other than just the normal work stuff so it's OK if we goof off every now and again. I have two computers at my workstation because I work so hard, I have to have a backup in case I overheat one of them. Work is all I know! I work 10 hours in an 8 hour day! Where there's work - you'll find me! Is that enough bullshit for ya? Anyhoo...........here's my "busted" story for the day.

I use a Mac for all of the graphic work that I do. If you're familiar with Macs you'll know that there's an awesome program on it called Photobooth. I luuuuurrrrve Photobooth! I take a picture of myself every day just because I can. I try to be creative in my poses so that when I go back and look at the pictures I won't get bored. While I was looking through my photos today I became aware of my eyelids. They felt sort of...greasy. My skin is going through some kind of change now that I'm pushing 50 and instead of having normal to dry skin, I've turned into an oil bucket. Thus the oily eyelids.

I am totally in love with blotting papers, too. They're my saving grace. Rather than piling on 750 pounds of powder to take away the shine, I use my trusty blotting papers to suck up the oil slick and I look fresh as a daisy. Plus, I can look at the paper after I've blotted and see just how many gallons of facial oil I produce each day. I wish that stuff could be collected and sold as an automotive lubricant or something. I could claim that my face is eco-friendly and that it provides a valuable resource rather than relying on fossil fuels! Sorry, I got off the subject again.

As I was looking at pictures and using my blotting paper, I decided to try using the paper on my oily eyelids. I did and I noticed that the paper sort of stuck to them so I decided to take a picture of the papers that were stuck to my eyelids. Do I look like Groucho Marx?

Guess who walked by about the time I took that picture? Yep, my boss. He simply laughed at me and continued on his way. I wonder what he thought. Probably nothing because he's seen me do some pretty stupid stuff. Like, taking pictures of my lobster socks.

Or taking pictures of myself in the negative. I laugh at those negative pictures a lot. Look at my eyes! I look demented! And my nostrils are pretty funny, too.

He's also seen me taking crazy pictures when family has come by for a visit. Did I mention that I LOVE Photobooth? You can do the funniest pictures with the special effects the program offers.

Like I said, I'm very lucky that my boss is so easy going. And I'm lucky that my computer has Photobooth. And I'm lucky that I have thousands of blotting papers at my disposal. And that they work on my eyelids as well as my face. Simply put, I am a very, very lucky girl!

Walk softly and carry a big stick

Lately I've been working on a top secret art project that involves cedar wood. As you can see in the picture above, the cedar limb shown has two perfectly round holes in it. Sort of looks like a pig nose or something, doesn't it? Anyway, I noticed the holes in the limb a while back when we were clearing branches and those holes gave me an idea for an art project.

I trekked through the woods surrounding the little house and found a perfect cedar tree that had lots of bee holes in the wood.  As I cut through the branches I heard the wood bees inside buzzing furiously. A few flew out but most of them stayed put.

Fast forward 2 weeks. I had Manchild cut the limbs into more manageable lengths and when the sound of the saw stopped I heard those dang wood bees buzzing again. They were PISSED!!! I guess I would be mad too if my home was being dissected by a very loud, vibrating saw. I only saw one flying around but there had to be 5 or more in one branch.

Now that I'm a citified quasi-country girl, I can better handle bugs and critters than in previous years but I still get the willies when things start moving quickly or buzzing. And my branches with those bees were buzzing like hell. I decided to put the limb pieces in a bag and seal it up because the last thing I needed was to be cruising the interstate at 80 mph and discover a bee flying around in my car. There would be a massive crash for sure. If I saw a bee flying around in my car, I'd likely to try to climb outside of it and drive with my foot just to get away from it!!

 Luckily the bag held the bees and I made it home without incident. A day or two later I was telling my co-workers about the cool art project I was working on and I tried to describe the sound that the bees were making but I was met with blank stares so I decided to bring a piece of the wood to work so they could hear what I was talking about. I'm smart enough to know that there was a chance that the bee would decide to make it's escape and doing so in an office populated with 90% women would be a calamity so I fashioned a cap of sorts to seal the hole.

I laugh just thinking about how awful the scene would be if a big ol' fat, mean looking (but harmless) wood bee came out of my branch and started flying around the office. There'd probably be a bit of mass hysteria. And I'd probably be visited by the nice protective services officers again for having another critter in the office (I once caught a bat and had it in a box at my desk and they took it away from me. I also found a fox in the bushes outside of the building but I didn't try to catch it.). I wonder if anyone has been written up at this company for critter violations???

Anyway, I think that my bee branch was a hit and luckily the cap stayed firmly in place. Each time I banged on the branch the bee would loudly complain (geez, I wonder why) and everyone finally understood what I was trying to explain. Now all I have to do is complete my art project without harming any of the bees. Maybe I can use a pipe cleaner or something to gently dislodge them from their homes. I'm hoping that a few of them will take up residence in a tree at my house in the city. They're wonderful pollinators so maybe I'll wake up one morning and have a fantastic back yard garden overrun with flowers. I don't have any flowers now so those bees are going to have to get busy but I have faith in them. Hopefully they won't hold a grudge over me repeatedly banging on their branch just to hear them buzz. At least they couldn't see me so they don't know that I was the one disturbing them. Bzzz bzzz bzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Personal grooming busted?

I like being at the little house in the woods because there's no one around. I could walk around outside nekkie and no one would see me. But I wouldn't do that because I don't want to cause a mass migration of freaked out critters to Belize or somewhere far away.

Some mornings when the light is just right I like to sit on the porch and take care of a little personal grooming. I tweeze and trim with wild abandon but usually, a disturbing thought enters my mind. 'What if there's a hunter creeping through the woods and he sees me?' That would be a sight!

Imagine this... a middle aged, slightly overweight naked woman, hunched over her protruding belly trying to trim her toenails. That in itself is a real sight because since I had back surgery a) I can't bend over and b) I can't reach my feet unless I contort my body in very strange ways, and even then, I can't reach all of my toes. And of course, I don't want Manchild to see me nekkie in broad daylight! That's why they make soft pink light bulbs - so that the flesh looks smoother and lovelier. Really! The next time you're in a strip joint, notice how red lights are used over the stage. It helps hide a multitude of sins. Never been to a strip joint? Try it! It's fun. And there are some very nice girls that work there (as mentioned in my post 11/2011 Strip Clubs Have Nice Girls (NO, I do not know how to link things!)).

And speaking of being in unconventional stages of undress, it's not just me. Manchild mows the yard in his boxers! You heard me right - his boxers. He doesn't bother to get dressed, he just slips on his ratty, stinky sneakers and away he goes

I respect that he's so comfortable in his own skin. He lets it all hang out and never tries to suck in his belly. And his theory about wearing boxers when he mows is that he's going to get all grassy and dirty so why mess up clean clothes? Makes sense I guess.

Now that the weather is warmer the trees have plenty of leaves so I feel like I'm hidden from view. Hopefully, a hunter won't spot me grooming myself like a hog in the sun. I can't verify the safety of birds, though. There might end up being a bunch of retina-scarred birds around the little house in the woods.

Yes, I DID give him a corndog

My family is known for giving stupid gifts. The kind of gifts that make you scratch your head and think to yourself 'what the hell were they thinking???' It's always fun to see what's in the pretty wrapping paper because you just never know.

In the past, I've been given oatmeal packets, picture frame ornaments with horribly bad pictures of the giver in them, ink pens with someone elses name on them, whoopee cushions, horribly cheesy B movies and regifted items.

A few days ago my nephew celebrated his birthday and I was scrambling to find something to give him. In the spirit of stupid gifting I decided to wrap up two corn dogs and give them to him. I'm hoping that he thought it was the strangest, stupidest gift he had ever been given. But hey, it's the gift that keeps on giving. He can use them for a snack in case he gets hungry! Just think, I saved him from a day of hunger. I'm a regular Mother Theresa. I might just make the corn dog my signature gift from now on. I might even invest in some mustard packets to round the whole thing out.

Be sure to let me know when your birthdays are dear readers. You just might get a foil wrapped package of lovin' goodness. Compliments of Mother Theresa Elizabeth.

Ball kickin' brats

Once upon a time in a quiet neighborhood there lived a loud family. The mom could only speak in loud screeching voices. The two boys screamed nonstop.  Their dogs barked uncontrollably. They were loud.  Nearly every single morning the garage door would rumble up and then a loud crash and glass breaking followed when the mother would throw out all of the wine bottles she had emptied the night before. Shortly after that the boys would emerge and begin to play their version of soccer. This entailed lots of screamed instructions - pointers if you will, as to how best score a goal. As the screamed instructions got louder the frequency of dog barking increased. It was a virtual symphony of breaking wine bottles, screaming little boys and barking dogs.

Oftentimes the soccer "goal" just so happened to be my fence. Bam, BAM, BAM went the ball against my fence. Scream, SCREAM, SCREAM went the boys kicking the ball. Arf, ARF, ARF barked their yippy little dogs. It was enough to drive this crazy woman insane. The only redeeming thing that happens when all of this is going on is when the screaming boys' ball flies over the fence into my back yard. Because when the ball is in my yard, it becomes property of the dog (heh heh heh). And little poochie loves her some soccer balls.

She can take a brand spankin' new ball and shred it in no time at all. Now, I'm not a total Hitler - the first time the ball came into my yard I promptly returned it. And I promptly returned it the next 30 times it happened but it's happened so many times now, I get secret pleasure in allowing Lucille to tear the hell out of them. I might let her chew on it for a good 1/2 hour (and longer as each day passes) before I return it.

I also let her tear the balls up because I don't like those brats kicking the ball against my fence. They're going to rattle the screws right out of the boards if they keep it up. I heard their screaming mother yell at them to stop kicking balls against my fence once but the little monsters ignored her. I've yelled at them to stop it but they don't listen. They're probably deaf from their mother yelling all of the time. So every day I get to listen to multiple wine bottles crash and break, I get to listen to 2 (or more) bratty little boys scream soccer tips at the top of their lungs, I get to listen to the ball bang against my fence repeatedly and when it gets quiet I get to listen to Lucille systematically rip the hide off of the ball and destroy it. That last sound is music to my ears by the way. And when the ripping and shredding noises stop, I casually toss the boys' soccer ball back over the fence to them. Have fun you noisy brats - have fun.

Designated Drivers

WARNING: If you're a perfect parent who would never dream of drinking alcoholic beverages in front of your children, would never allow yourself to accidentally get a little tipsy in front of your children,would never let your child drive under the age of 16, would never ever consider taking your child to a bar/restaurant meant for adults only then you should just click off right now.This story is a joke (sort of but kinda not) - not real so don't go all ape shit and call CPS on me.

I'm not a Martha Stewart mom. Not even close. My kids have seen me cry, get mad, make mistakes, get tipsy, act stupid...be human. I don't claim to know what I'm doing in the life skills department, I'm not a great cook, I have a sloppy house but let me tell ya - my girls know that I love them unconditionally, we have lots of fun together, they are well mannered and self sufficient,  have never been pregnant or jailed, aren't drunks or druggies - they're good kids so I must have done something right. Right?

The other day Manchild came up with the perfect solution for our need of getting home safely after going out for a night of music (and beers). He suggested that we teach Kidlet (who is 13) how to drive! Since she's always out with us when we hear tunes, and since she doesn't drink beer or alcohol, she should be the one to drive us home! That would help keep us safe or avoid getting a DUI or causing a crash in case he and I had a little too much fun. Can anyone say "REDNECK????????"   I mean, that's the kind of statement I expect to hear on the cheesy reality shows on TV right now not by a law man!! But I must admit...it's brilliant.

Being the lawman that he is, Manchild was thinking out loud about how he would react if he stopped a car and there was a kid driving it. He said he'd laugh then ask the kid why they were driving. Then, he'd look at the "adults" in the car and verify that they were not safe (blotto) for driving. And if the kid hadn't been driving badly, he'd probably send them on their way. I myself, think that this scenario might pass in the country but NO WAY it'd fly in the city.

Do any of you remember Toonces the driving cat from Saturday Night Live?

Maybe we could teach our cat Ruby or Pork Chop how to drive instead of asking Kidlet to do it. That way, she wouldn't have any moral dilemmas about driving her parents home after they had taken her out...TO A BAR. No, wait...Toonces always drove off a cliff so maybe that isn't such a good idea. Oh wait, you thought I was going to elaborate about how it's morally wrong to take my kid to a bar, right? Nope. As much as my girl loves the blues, and as much as she wants to stay inspired to keep practicing her guitar, I'm going to take her out to hear music as much as possible. As a bonus, she gets to meet lots of wonderful musician friends, learn some cool tricks and hopefully, learn not to overindulge and become a drunk ass. Oh yeah, and maybe learn how to drive a car.

Speaking of 13 year olds driving cars, when I was a kid living on a farm driving was a way of life. We drove tractors, motorcycles, bicycles and farm trucks. I think it was a good skill to have! When I began drivers education classes I already  knew how to drive. My instructor basically set me free and let us just cruise because he knew I knew what I was doing. Kids these days (or should I say city kids) don't have a clue about driving! Going in circles in a mall parking lot does not constitute driving lessons. They need to learn how to dodge cows and mesquite thorns and potholes. They need to learn how not to get stuck in the mud. They need to learn what to do when a tire blows out or a bale of hay falls off the back of the car (because I imagine that there are lots of city folk hauling hay bales on the backs of their cars). You know, practical stuff!

Last weekend the road to the little house in the woods was very muddy. Manchild was showing Kidlet how to drive down that road without getting stuck. There were multiple tire tracks where other vehicles had tried to make it through but nearly all fo them went off into the ditch or had deep ruts and indicators that they had to be pulled out with a tractor. We slowly went down the road without a slide to the side, easy peasy. He was trying to impress upon her the importance of knowing how to drive in mud in case he and I keeled over one day and it happened to be muddy and she had to drive us out. Maybe it was the precursor to showing her how to drive on a regular road. I know it's coming any day now.

The big question is what car she's going to drive. There's no way in HAY-DEES that she's going to drive my Charger. Heck, I don't let anyone drive it. She could drive the Tahoe but we'd have to carry 5 pillows so she could sit on them to see out of the thing. That leaves the tiny little car which would still require pillows to lift her up high enough to see out. And it's kind of zippy so if she gassed it, it'd still crash like any other vehicle. As I write this, I have decided that Manchild will be the one to teach her to drive initially. I'd be too nervous. Maybe, I could sip beers while he teaches her so that by the time she drives down an actual road, I'd already be unfit to drive and it would be a real test for her. I'd sip a few all in the name of educating my kid. Because that's the kind of great mom I am.

If you happen to be out in the middle of Nowheresville and it's late at night and you see a teeny young person driving a car don't worry. It's probably Kidlet driving us home. And she'll be well schooled in the art of driving even if she's a few years away from having her drivers license. I've got to go now and share this idea with the other rednecks that live out by the little house in the woods so they can be safe, too.

What To Do

Well, warm weather is returning which means that I can be found most days sitting on my back patio burning stuff and drinking beer while cooking dinner. I always seem to get into a thoughtful mood when I'm out here, passing the time until Manchild gets home. The dog is stretched out on the grass soaking up the sun, I can hear the trickle of my fish pond and smoke from the grill and chiminea is wafting slowly around.

I've been trying to decide what I want to do for my birthday. It's a big year this year. I'm turning the big 5-0. I've always loved birthdays for many reasons but this year is super special to me. I didn't expect to make it this far so I really want to celebrate in a big way.

I used to love having parties. I'd dream up reasons to have them; The sun shined for 5 days in a row? Let's have a party! I got some new shoes? Let's have a party! I lived in a house that was perfectly set up for such occasions. We built a huge game room with a wet bar and pool table, foosball and table tennis, a giant screen TV and rockin' stereo system. But I don't live there any more. And it seems that since I moved away, my desire for partygiving has dimished greatly. I just don't seem to have it in me anymore.

The last big party I hosted was when Manchild and I got married. We did it up right, too. We had a great band and tons of food and we had a blast. But I haven't had a party since then. I'm not even sure I want to anymore. The optimal place to have one would be at the little house in the woods but I know that people don't want to drive for an hour to get there. I'd have one at my house in the city but I'm not sure I want to fret over people spilling stuff on the (stupid) white carpet that my house has. And I don't want to fret that no one would attend, either.

Is it just me or does everyone sort of worry that no one will show up if they throw a party? I hate to admit how much I stress over that. Even back in the days when I was known for throwing some roof raisers, I still worried no one would be there. Now that me and my friends are a little older, I wonder if I throw a party will everyone leave by midnight? And even if they did, would I be OK with it? Maybe so because with each passing year my bed time seems to creep up by 1/2 an hour.

I have plenty of time to plan since my birthday isn't until August but for some reason I seem to be stressing about it. August is really HOT in Texas. More than likely, people won't want to hang outside because even when it's dark it's still 1,000 degrees outside. The mosquitos here are large enough to saddle and ride. I only have enough seating for 10 people outside. And  are there even 10 people who would want to come to my party? Since my divorce, I've had a lot of friends drop off of the radar since we don't run in the same circles anymore.

Birthdays to Manchild aren't any big deal. They're just another day. I've spelled it out to him how important they are to me but I doubt that he'd go to any lengths to make my 50th super special so it'll all be up to me. Again, what do I do?

I guess I'll try to quit worrying about it for now since it's so far off. But I am open for suggestions!

Yep, men have them too

I had an in-your-face reminder today that men do indeed have monthly cycles. PMS crazies. You name it, they have them. I can say this with authority because I've been married for lots and lots of years so I've seen how down right annoying a man can get when his hormones are acting up.

Men might not cry or stomp their feet but they can get moody, depressed, angry or be a plain ol' asshole for a few days. And it's hard to snap them out of it. Ladies, what works for you when you're having a spell will NOT do anything for your man. They don't want to be coddled or loved on. They want food and to be left alone. The best thing to do is let them be with their guy friends or leave them alone in their man caves. Do not pass the threshold of the room that they are in. Wait for them to emerge. Think of it like a bear slumbering in their den...you don't want a face full of claws do you? Leave them alone.

Now, I know it's hard as a woman to leave a guy alone when he's sulking. We want to "help" him out of his funk but it just won't work. You'll end up getting snapped at, then you'll get all in a snit because your feelings got hurt and he won't care or try to make you feel better because he didn't want you bothering him in the first place!!! It's a vicious cycle.

I did come up with a non-verbal means of communication when a guy has gone on too long with his bitchy behaviour. I simply place a picture of this on his desk and walk away. I don't say a single word. It gets the message across on it's own. Feel free to borrow it and use it on your man. He might not snap out of his funk immediately, but you'll feel better for showing it to him.

The big time is just around the corner

In what has become the norm for Manchild and I, we took Kidlet out to hear some blues last weekend. We went to hear a friend that we've been following for a while. He's an amazing guitar player and I like for Kidlet to hear him because his story is inspirational. You see, he's only been playing for 6-7 years but he's phenomenal. I mean, he's got skills like someone whose been playing for 20 years. I keep hoping that Kidlet will be super inspired to practice like a fiend so that she too can become a good player. And I will be the proudest stage mom there ever was. (I'd probably even ask to get onstage with her so I can sing backup and relive my glory days.)

This particular musician has seen us listening to him multiple times and he knows Kidlet's guitar teacher so he knows that my girl wants to be a future blues shredder. This time when we were hearing him he offered the most amazing thing - he planned on asking her to join them onstage and play a song with them!

Oh...mah...GAWD!!!!! REALLY?!?!?!?!?!?!? How freakin' cool is that????? A 13 year old girl being asked by a group of "grown up" band dudes to join them!!!! I already loved the guys but I loved them even more at that point. BUT   there was one small problem...Kidlet doesn't know a song yet. She's been practicing and has learned a chord or two but not enough to play an entire song.

Besides that, she's pretty shy. I think she would have just melted into her shoes if he had actually announced out loud that he wanted her to play with them. Thankfully he had asked Manchild first and was told that she wasn't ready yet so she didn't have to be embarrassed in front of everyone. Now that she's had an offer, she's going to have to up her game and stop talking smack about how much she'd like to get up on the stage. Because that's an option now. If she ever learns more than a chord or three. Go rocker girl, GO!!!



Honey's in danger!



http://digital-art-gallery.com/picture/10248

My honey man is in law enforcement. I never EVER thought I'd wind up with one of "those" but he is and I am. I'm nervous every day that he's on the job. Lately, things have been even scarier because there's been some bad, bad things going on the the area where he works. Like MURDER bad! So far he hasn't been directly involved in the investigation but the department did assign him the task of foot patrol right where someone was murdered! He was a walking target and boy, was I pissed. At least give the guy a car to sit in. That would offer a little bit of protection! Everyone in the department and departments related to law enforcement are on edge. Understandably so.

Even though those guys carry big guns and wear bulletproof vests, they can't be safe 24/7.  Each time they approach a vehicle or house, there could be a bad guy waiting to take a shot at them. Being on guard and keeping a sharp eye open takes its toll on a person. But they never get the recognition they deserve and that makes me mad. My hubby puts his life on the line every day to protect and serve but his is a somewhat thankless job.

A few posts back I wrote about the herd of sexy firemen that roared into my neighborhood. If Manchild knew how much I was ranting and raving about those dudes he'd probably throw up. He hates firemen! Not really, but he dislikes how they get all of the attention and glory and cops get such bad raps. If people behaved and did what they were supposed to do, cops wouldn't have a reason to get them into trouble! And yet, they get the blame for being jerks.

I have great respect for the police now that I have an up close and personal picture of the dangers their job entails. Imagine walking up to a car, not knowing what kind of person you're going to encounter? Do they have a gun? Are they running from the law? Are they crazy on drugs? Or imagine having to go up to a house and knock on the door to find someone, not knowing if that someone is inside aiming a loaded weapon at you. Sometimes, the news being delivered isn't what the person wants to hear and they want someone to take their frustrations out on. Who are they going to go after? The person delivering the news! It's always an unknown for the law enforcement people out there.

Believe me, those guys and ladies have compassion contrary to popular belief. My guy carries a trunk full of stuffed animals to give to kids when he encounters families in crisis. He's rescued animals, fed people, given people rides and much more and none of those things were in his job description. He'd much rather give a warning than have to arrest someone. Now, if the person is being a belligerent asshole then sure - throw their butt in jail. But for the most part, cops just want people to walk the straight and narrow.

I'm sure that my honey is going to have to work some long, dangerous hours to protect and serve the community in the upcoming weeks and months. The murders that have been happening have rocked the community so not only does he have to avoid getting killed by some crazy murderer, he's got to calm down lots of trigger happy, nervous citizens. And that's on top of the regular stuff he's supposed to do. So if you see a cop, rather than tossing attitude or hate their way, think a moment about how much they do and have to deal with. Don't act sketchy or make sudden movements. And for Pete's sake, a smile or a 'thank you' goes a long way for these people. Every time someone thanks my man for doing what he does, he comes home and tells me about it. Unfortunately, I don't hear those kind of stories very often. I sure would like to see that change.