November 21, 2005

I’ve just realized I’m slowly but surely becoming a computer geek. Now I wouldn’t say I should go out and put up a sign, directing people to come to my home if they’ve got computer woes and that I’m able to fix them for a fee. BUT in the past few months, I’ve had to repair my own computer when certain problems have cropped up and caused me tremendous anguish (what can I say? I love my ‘puter). If there’s one thing about me, I’m persistant. I don’t give up easily. If I put my mind to something, I usually can accomplish it, if I want it bad enough. And I’ve wanted this real bad….the sound on my computer. It quit, out of the blue about 2 months ago. Poof. One minute it was there…I was happily surfing the net, listening to my music and then out of the blue, all was silent…well except for Treehouse TV in the background. I thought maybe one of my speakers came unplugged or something inadvertantly got unhooked from under the desk. After careful investigating, I came to realize it was my computer, not just a loose wire. You don’t know how much you miss something until it’s gone and boy oh boy did I miss my sound. I missed it like a dog misses licking his balls after being neutered. My friends would send me links and say, “OMG look at this…listen to what the guy says at the end.” Ya, well I can’t even hear what the dude says at the beginning because I have NO SOUND. I posted at computer help groups, followed all suggestions to the T and still no results. Then I thought, well my sound card is shot, so I sent hubby out to buy me a new one. The tech guy at the shop said, well a new sound card will not help…sounds like you have a corrupt file in Windows or Windows itself is screwed. Well, that is just not acceptable. Everyone keeps telling me to go to WinXP but I’m hooked on my old fashioned, out of style, fuddy duddy Win 98. I refuse to let it go without a fight. I’m weird that way. So Eff the sound card, Eff going to WinXP, Eff them all. Whoever “them” are. Just sounded good. Hubby’s friend also suggested getting rid of Win98 and, you guessed it, going to WinXP. Get over it people, I’m not switching unless it’s the last damn resort I have. I’m nothing if not persistant. So for weeks, I’ve sniffed out possible “fixes” and nothing. I downloaded this and that and the other thing and still no results. It was really getting annoying having absolutely no sound, hearing no music, not hearing the countdown or countup, whichever it is, when my computer reboots……4, 3, 2, 1…..BOOM BOOM BOOM. I love my reboot noises. And when I download a file, it sounds like BOOOOMP. I didn’t realize how much I loved that sound and how much I missed it. I know, it sounds like I’m talking about a long, lost love and it sounds a tad creepy but whatever. Weird, I mentioned I’m weird…remember? Stay with me here people. Anyhoooo, so after weeks and weeks of no luck, I was almost ready to claim defeat. I almost betrayed my Win98 and was seriously thinking about reinstalling Windows and this time it would be…….. XP. **Insert loud, shocked, disbelieving gasp here** Gawd. I came so close. But today, I had a new frame of mind and a brand new determination to get my sound back. So I searched my computer, found that I was missing a few “dll” files (excuse my super technical computer jargon…..ummmmmm ya.) and thinking I needed to replace a couple of “drivers” (again, pardon my techno lingo). So I began the tedious search of trying to find what I needed. Found one site that I was sure had a fix, downloaded the file and then NOTHING. I may as well have stuck my finger up my ass and twirled on it because it was totally pointless in downloading this file. I was crushed. Heartbroken. I want my sound dammit! So back to the drawing board I go and finally figured out what I was missing and went on another search. Found what I thought was the correct files and drivers and after 35 minutes of downloading crap (more tech talk), I was kinda hoping it would work. I rebooted my baby but my heart sank, no sound….BUT then after about 10 seconds….IT FREAKIN’ WORKED! I was so thrilled, I had actually fixed my computer! I’m telling you, I was extremely elated, so excited that I almost peed my pants (shhhhh, don’t tell anyone)….I may have dribbled, but anyways, who cares? What’s a little pee? I fixed my sound people! I may not know jack crap about html at this point but give me a computer with no sound and hey, eventually I can get it working for you. I swear it’s the little things in life that make us go, Woo Hoo! So does this make me a computer geek? Well I’m thinking I could be on my way.

Well the results are in….As mommy so eloquently put to Ryan today, “You have a good brain, YAY!” Not the most subtle way to let your child know that his test results came back negative for any kind of brain defect or malfunction, but hey, I was freakin’ happy. I was so uptight and tense for the past few days, that I had to let it out somehow and it kinda came out like I am a bumbling moron, but whatever. He does have some sinus issues that we have to keep an eye on and monitor him and if it becomes a problem (I refuse to discuss the “snot” factor of this problem in any detail…give me poo or vomit and I’m good to go, but start talking about snot balls and I gag…just ask Karen and Laura…they’ve actually heard me gag on the phone…and yes we were, or rather they were talking about the S word on purpose, to make me, gag and/or puke…that’s another whole story…holy long bracket sentence Batman) then we have to take him immediately to Dr K. So all in all, it was great news. We may never know why he suffers from all that he does or why he’s got delays in some areas. But you know what? Who cares? He’s a healthy, bright, happy, beautiful child who makes his family smile daily and even strangers who meet him for the first time. He’s flourishing at his new school and we’re getting the help that he needs, so that’s all that matters. He’s got a good brain! Yay!

November 20, 2005

That’s what my belly is doing right now. Little sudden jolts of flip flops. Tomorrow is the day. I’m so freakin’ worried that they are going to tell us something horrible about Ryan’s MRI results. I’ve kept my mind pretty occupied all weekend, doing whatever I could to NOT think about it. I’ve made graphics, blogged, talked on the phone, played online, went out with hubby, took the kids out today, put up Christmas lights with the kids, watched mindless tv shows, cleaned. But now, it’s caught up with me and I’m starting to do the stupid, “what if”. I’ve got to be reasonable I know but really, it’s hard for me. Intellectually I’m thinking, well gosh, if it were something bad, they would have rushed in right away, the same day I took the call. Surely they wouldn’t make us wait all friggin’ weekend. But then that small, insanely worried part of my brain, starts talking shit to me, making me paranoid. Tomorrow afternoon will not come soon enough. Sigh.

…..but we didn’t go see a movie though. The only show we could have went to started at 10:25pm and it was over 2 hours long. So, we ended up going out for dinner to Applebee’s. I always order a virgin strawberry daiquiris…my favorite. So the guy brings our drinks and mine is looking soooooo yummy. I take a sip and take a big lick from around the glass and very quickly my face turns to puckered unprettiness as I realize, that the dumbass who made my drink, didn’t dip it in sugar, but instead he had his head up his butthole and dipped it in SALT. Talk about GROSS. I was drinking water like I’d been in the Sahara for 6 months and hubby was frantically trying to get our waiter’s attention. But he was too busy telling the other customers that he would definately NOT recommend their vegetable soup. WTF? He had told us the same thing. Said, “Our soup of the day is vegetable but I wouldn’t recommend it, well I hate vegetables, so I wouldn’t get it.” GREAT SALES PITCH buddy. Anyway, I digress…..so we finally get him back to the table and I tell him that, well, there’s supposed to be sugar on the rim of my glass not salt. He pauses and looks at me, tilts his head and then agrees with me that indeed it should be sugar and not salt. Thanks for the 411 moron. After about 5 minutes, he comes back with my new drink and says I should probably taste it while he’s standing there. So I do, it’s now sugar and I’m happy. Then he says, “Well, you know what happened is, well, I usually work in the bar, but not tonight. But anyways, ya, the guy who made your drink dipped it in salt instead of sugar.” Well no fucking shit Sherlock. I’m thinking he’s going to leave us now because, well the big freakin’ mystery’s been solved and I can continue on with my life. But, hence, no, he keeps on yappin’. “Well see, salt and sugar look very similar (STOP THE PRESSES….I HAD NO IDEA!!!!!!!!) so when the bartender dipped your glass, he thought he was dipping it in sugar but it was salt because they were side by side. Usually when I work in the bar, I keep them apart so I don’t get them confused.” Well aren’t you a smartie patartie. Gee, thanks so much for you life story behind the bar, but listen, I’ve got my drink, my sugar and you’ve clarified that salt and sugar look similar and now I can go on with my life knowing that you’ve solved that puzzle for me. I really had no idea how the bartender could have mixed up salt and sugar. But again, I thank you for ’splaining it to me.

November 19, 2005

……..well not exactly. BUT hubby and I might be going to a movie tonight. It’s now 8:05pm and the little ones are in bed and the older ones are not going anywhere, so we can go if we so choose! Mr Man wants to go see Walk The Line, the Johnny Cash movie…..personally I want to see DeRailed with Jennifer Aniston, but hubby refuses to see movies that he figures are shit. He is of the mindset if he’s going to pay the bucks to go out, then he wants to see something of quality. I’m so thrilled about getting out without the monkey’s, that I’d go see a cheesy, low budget porn movie staring my old next door neighbors if that was the only thing playing. My point………I JUST WANT TO GET OUT. I’ll give you an update if we go or not…I’m sure you’ll be waiting with baited breath.

This is an excerpt from the book I’m kind of writing. I’ve made a slight effort at it because my friend Karen said I should. She didn’t pressure me or anything but after she suggested it, I was like, I’m totally going to do it! Well I’m still totally, kind of doing it, but I guess it will be awhile in the making. It was supposed to be for a certain website and it did have a deadline….ummm November 30th to be exact, but there is no way on God’s green earth that I will have it done. However, having said that, I’m still plugging away at it and someday, maybe, when I’m like 80, I’ll have it completed. It’s based on my life, all true, which when reading it, it sounds like I’m slightly mental. I swear I’m not. Well not, exactly not mental…..I mean I’m flakey at times but I promise in a good way and I am capable of mothering my children, well most of the time. Ha ha. Thank you in advance if you take the time to read it. I appreciate it!

Once upon a time at the ripe old age of 18, I “worked” for a vacuum cleaner company. I probably shouldn’t write their actual name but it sounds similar to Pirby. I answered an ad in our local newspaper. I was excited at the prospect of making “big money”. It clearly stated that. In all reality, I made ZERO dollars. I’m pretty sure I could have sued them but what did I know at 18? Not a whole hell of a lot. So I go to the interview and they talk about how easy it is to sell vacuums and how much moola you’re going to rake in. To a teenager, that sounds like Heaven! It would soon turn out to be hell, which, honestly, is a very far cry from Heaven.

So after hearing the head honcho guy spill his beans about how great it’s all going to be, I decided to sign up. I’m gonna be rich!!!!!!!!! Woo freakin’ Hoo! We are told to show up for our demonstrations the following day at 9am sharp. So my mom drives me over and I can tell she’s not exactly thrilled about this. I’m thinking, geez, don’t parents ever lighten up? She’s thinking, this is a scam. But she lets me find out all on my own, because, well, I was 18, I knew everything. Ha.

I get there at 9am sharp, along with a few other kids my age and a few a bit older. We’re all sitting around in sweaty anticipation about the prospect of learning about vacuums and then going on to sell them and be wealthy and early retirement, like at age 23 or something. How frigging naïve………..no, how frigging stupid. So Dave the Dinosaur comes in….I call him Dave the Dinosaur because the guy was HUGE and had big teeth like a Tyrannosaurus Rex. He wore all black, had a shaved head and quite frankly looked like a hit man in some bad B movie about the Mafia (abso-freaking-lutely no offense to the Mafia). But he was slightly impressive at the same time. So DTD brings out the “Pirby” deluxe model. If someone brought out that vacuum today, it would be the laughing stock……..all big and bulky and not very sleek at all. Like a big bumbling shitbox. Anyway, he places it in front of himself and begins to describe the Pirby like it was a mistress that he meets on Thursday nights. It was kinda creepy. He stroked it. It was weird. We’re all mesmerized by the sheer size of his hands…..I envision him choking some guy for not paying his rent on time. After his foreplay with the vacuum he proceeds to tell us that he’s now going to show us how to open the case, assemble the vacuum and how to put it all back in the case. Great. Then he informs us that he’s only going to show us ONCE. One time. One. That’s it. I look around and see the others looking a tad shocked as well. I mean this thing had more attachments than a hooker has toys in her cheap, hot pink, fuzzy hand bag. I’m thinking, there is no way we’re all going to remember how to do all of this with one shot at seeing how it’s done. Not a freaking chance. So DTD whips open the case and in about 90 seconds has this monstrosity put together. I’m getting a little light headed because there is no way any of us will remember what he just did. Then he plugs that bad girl in (he kept referring to IT as “she”, “her”….Ummm ok) and runs it several times over the carpet and his eyes are slightly rolling back in his head. I’m thinking this guy is going to start making love to this thing. And I’m pretty sure he’s moaning as he’s vacuuming. You know, I’ve vacuumed many times in my life and I can honestly say, I’ve never thrown my head back and moaned like I was makin’ it with Brad Pitt. Never. So after his sexual escapades with the vacuum, which I’ve secretly, now called “Whore in a big black box”, he tells us to pay attention closely because he’s going to put the whore, I mean vacuum back in her box. Her box? That’s creepy. Anyway, we’re all sitting on the edge of our seats, waiting for the moment he opens her box and puts her in it. And let me tell you, I’ve seen slower flashes of lightening in the sky on a dark night. He whipped that sucker, no pun intended back into that box like you wouldn’t believe. He shut the case, smiled and said, that’s all there is to it. Really? Because I’m pretty sure not one of us will ever remember any of this. We’re all still contemplating the fact that you’re clearly having an affair with your vacuum cleaner. So after a slight uncomfortable silence, DTD tells us to be ready at 6am sharp tomorrow morning because we are being picked up and traveling about an hour and a half away to begin the task of going door to door trying to sell these sex machines, or cleaning machines, whichever you prefer. It’s at this point that I should have removed my name from the list, called my mommy and went home and watched my soap operas. But I didn’t. My name remained on that list and I was ready at 6am sharp the next morning. Oh gawd.


Six o’clock in the morning comes early when you’ve not gone to bed until like 1am. But I was up and ready to walk out the door when the big blue Pirby van pulled up. I was the last person to be picked up. There were 8 of us all together. Dave the Dinosaur is driving and his partner Shirley is in the passenger seat. We’re in one of those work type vans and there are 6 of us in the back, all eagerly anticipating the huge amounts of money we’re going to make. Ya. We range in age from 18 to 21. Four boys and 2 girls. We talk loudly about everyday things, MTV and what we’re going to have for lunch. It was all quite exciting. I swear. So we arrive in our destined city and DTD parks the van in a vacant lot and begins to explain the ropes of selling things door to door.

I’m thinking that sex machine should be pretty easy to sell by the expressions on Dave’s face when he was pushing that thing across the carpet. He made it sound so effortless. That we’ll be raking in sales before we turn the corner. All we have to do is learn the technique of getting people to let us in their homes to show them our demonstrations on how the vacuum works. DTD explains that we will, on occasion have doors slammed in our faces but that comes with the territory and not to take it personally. Ok, no problem. So after about an hour of explaining how to sell people on letting us in their homes, we are paired up.

My partner is Robert, a 19 year old with bad acne. He’s a sweet lad though and perfectly harmless and really quite intelligent. So we’re shoved out of the van and dropped off on a street corner and told to “do the neighborhood” and they’ll come back in 2 hours to pick us up. Not a problem. We timidly walk up to our first house, ring the doorbell and wait. We hear muffled footsteps from inside and then the door opens. We both just stand there like brain dead morons. The woman asks us if she can help us. Ah, well, sort of, kind of, maybe. She looks at us like we’re the dog shit she cleaned up earlier and is now somehow stuck to the bottom of her shoe. She’s about to wipe us on her door mat. She decidedly, with precision, slams the door in our faces. That went well. We slump away from the door and without a word go to the next door. Ring the bell. Wait for the muffled footsteps. Old man crotchety opens the door and says he ain’t buying. Slam. Wow, another great success. On to door number three. This one’s gotta go well right? Ring the bell, wait for the muffled footsteps……..you get it. Young mother with 3 snotty nosed, dirty faced, droopy diapered kids opens the door. Her hair is in a crappy half ponytail and her white tee shirt is well, kind of brownish in spots and she’s got one pant leg rolled up and one down…..I’m guessing not quite on purpose. Oh she’s definitely not going for this. I speak up and say wrong house, sorry. I couldn’t bear to burden this woman with having to tell us to go fuck ourselves and that does she look like she really wants to sit and watch a stupid vacuum cleaner sales pitch while trying to contain her bratty rug rats ? I couldn’t do it to her nor to myself or pimply Robert. So we head back to the sidewalk and finally speak to each other. We’re not feeling really good about this at all. And we remember what DTD told us. In order to get paid, we have to have at least 3 sales pitches during the week…..EACH. Three! That’s huge. At the rate we’re going, we’ll never get three demonstrations under our belts. But we’ve got two hours to kill before the BBV (big blue van) comes to pick us up. So we keep on going, door to door and after about 20 doors being slammed in our faces, we get a hit! A married couple in their 40’s I’m guessing, want me to come back later that evening to do a demonstration, that they are in the market for a new vacuum. I’m excited! This is going to be great! If I get this sale, I get a commission and the sale and have a demonstration under my belt. Wicked awesome! We continue on until the BBV comes back to pick us up. Robert also got a hit for a demonstration, so we were on cloud nine when DTD came back to get us!


We spent the remainder of the afternoon driving around while our other team members were out on their door to door assignment. My appointment was for 7pm. I was soooo nervous but excited too. It’s fast approaching the time and DTD gives me a few pointers. Smile a lot and praise the vacuum like it’s some kind of goddess. Ok sure Dave. They drop me off and wish me luck and I’m thinking, I can do this and I’m going to sell it and make lots of money! Oh the mind of an eighteen year old. Seven o’clock rolls around and I timidly ring the doorbell and the wife answers the door and welcomes me in. Their front door opens into their living room and their living room has nice white carpet. Nice white carpet to practice vacuuming on. Lovely. So I take the whore out of her box and proceed to tell them all of the wonderful features and how it will change their lives (as per Dave…..FREAK) and how the price is so worth it. Not only is it a vacuum cleaner it’s a carpet cleaner. You just change the attachments, add the special carpet soap and the water. Well Mr. and Mrs. Naïve ask me to show them how to use the carpet cleaner part. I’m a little hesitant because good ole Davey really hasn’t shown us how to use it as a carpet cleaner. We’ve seen him moan and make love to it but never seen the carpet cleaning demonstration. Shit. But I’m thinking, I’ll just wing it, it’s pretty easy right? There are instructions in the box, so I’ll just glance at them. I get it all set up and add the soap. Now it really didn’t say how much soap to add, so I decided to just dump some in from the bottle. Never even thought, well maybe I should just add a cap full. Big mistake. I turn it on and am slowly gliding this big whore over their nice white carpet and the soap and water is mixing all around inside. Their 12 year old daughter is watching from the kitchen and I look over at her and smile but she’s go this look of, well, disbelief on her face. I see her eyes look down at the carpet. I then, slowly, avert my eyes to the vacuum and to my horror, there are huge billows of fluffy soap suds EVERYWHERE. It’s like a soap massacre and there’s no end to it. This machine is spitting out soap at an alarming rate and it’s now spilling into the kitchen on their shit green linoleum. Mr. And Mrs. Naïve and Now Pissed Off are looking at this mess with huge bulging eyeballs. I stand there like a stupid ass not sure what to do in this horrid situation. Oh wait……….MAYBE TURN OFF THE VACUUM. I quickly, but not quick enough, turn off the vacuum and survey the scene. It’s not good. Their once pristine white carpet is now soggy, slightly off white and soaking with bubbles everywhere and their puke colored linoleum is in no better shape. Daughter runs from the bathroom with bath towels in her small arms and we begin mopping the mess up. I’m thinking how in hell do I get out of the lawsuit that I’m sure will be filed against me? I do the only thing I think will get me out of this mess. I cry. I become hysterical. I figure if I act like a wing nut then they’ll take pity on me and think I’m most likely not quite “all there” and surely to God, they wouldn’t sue a mentally retarded teenager. The wife comes over and starts soothing me in her still slightly pissed off voice but I can tell I’m winning her over. The husband is not quite as convinced but wife is also soothing him and reassuring him, that she can get out the brownish stains that I’ve caused with the ever so wonderful Pirby. We get things relatively sopped up and I pack the whore away in her big black box and at the end of all demonstrations we are supposed to leave Dave’s card so the people can call him with their order. Well I decided I should definitely NOT leave Dave’s card because then they could absolutely track me down and begin that lawsuit so I told them I’d have to get it from him when he came back to pick me up. About 20 minutes later, the BBV shows up and I lumber out the door with the big box and the Pirby Goddess securely packed away inside. I tell the people that I’m just going to load the vacuum and come right back in and give them Dave’s card except I said his name was Chuck. I open the back door, load in the shitbox and jump in myself and tell Dave that it went SUPER and that we should get a push on it and put the pedal to the metal and blow this Popsicle stand and that the wifey poo will be calling him tomorrow with her order. He’s ecstatic! Whew, I got out of that one. Of course Dave is going to ask me what their names/phone number is and I of course wrote down fake names and a fake phone number. I might not be the brightest bulb at times but I am quick thinking at times, particularly if I might get my ass sued.


I got home at 1am and DTD tells me to be ready at 6am the next morning….well actually that morning. My mother is not very happy about this job, if you can call it that, at all. But she decides that I have to figure this all out on my own. I sleep for a few hours and get up and am ready to walk out the door at six. We again travel 90 minutes away and again have to go door to door in the hopes of snagging new pray, ummm customers. After a couple of hours of pounding the pavement, I get a hit! A stay at home mom with 3 kids decides that she really needs a miracle cleaner that will make her life easier. I’ve got just the machine for her. My appointment time with her is for 4 pm. Dave drops me off and tells me that he’ll be back in the standard two hours to get me. I ring the door bell, slightly more confident today but still a little nervous because of yesterday’s “mishap”. As I’m setting things up, the mom decides that I’m going to be her sounding board, her confidant. Ummmm, I’m 18 lady, and barely out of diapers myself and you want to tell me your life story and how you’re not really happy with your life and your husband can be a jerk, blah blah blah? I’m starting to get a wee bit uncomfortable but decided I would listen to her ramble on if it gets me the sale. The visions of being rich are so overpowering. As I’m just about set up, the front door opens and in walks the husband. And he looks PISSED. He comes over to us, looks at his wife and asks her who the hell I am, like I’m not even in the room. She starts to explain, mentions the word vacuum cleaner and then he freaks. He starts ranting and raving about how he works his ass off and how she just sits around and watches soaps and eats chocolates all day. Ok buddy. At this point, I’m thinking it best if I just pack my shit up and get out. I’ve been in the house for a total of like 20 minutes, so that means I’ve got like 80 minutes to wait outside for Dave. Oh joy. While jerk wad is yelling and pounding his chest like a retarded King Kong, I get the Pirby Goddess packed in her big black box and quietly sneak out the door while they’re still having their “disagreement”. I go stand on the street corner, with this huge black box and attachments hanging out the side because I didn’t have nearly enough time to pack it correctly, like I even could pack it correctly if I was given the time. Cars are driving by, and their passengers looking at the little shit standing there with the Vacuum Goddess like a big frigging dope. That was my last time holding that box. I quit the very next day. I still have nightmares about that piece of shit vacuum cleaner. ***Shudder***

Have you ever been in an enclosed space with 10 squealing girls, that range in age from 3 to 5? Hunh, have ya, have ya???? Well if you haven’t, let me explain it to you. Make sure you are doped to the max with Advil, Tylenol or Excederin. Something. Make sure it’s extra strength. Please. OMG I am pretty sure they broke the sound barrier. I know there were dogs 50 miles away that were howling. I’m so not kidding. The ran, jumped, slid, rolled, squealed, ran, squealed, held hands, squealed, chased one another, squealed, ran some more, screeched, rolled again, squealed, and giggled. Oh and squealed. Did I mention that they squealed? What a difference between a room full of boys and a room full of girls. I’ve taken my boys to big parties when they were younger and let me tell you, boys are loud but girls are LOUDER. Boys make GRRRRRRR sounds like a bear, holler to one another, laugh deep from their belly, stomp, run and jump. Girls, well, they’re shrill. One of the dads was chasing them and they’d run into the little playhouse and absolutely SQUEAL. I’m not sure if I’ve made this point….if I’ve gotten this across to the readers.

S Q U E A L-Definition:

[v] utter a high-pitched cry

Now do you see? Now do you see why you must, must be medicated? It dulls the senses. Makes it a tiny bit better, not quite AS shrill. It’s still ear piercing for sure but the edge is taken off if you’re riding high on Advil. Anyway, the party was a hit and all the girls had a wonderful time. They were loud in an eardrum bursting way that only little girls can do but they were happy. And that’s all that counts, really. **Say it 10 times and I swear you’ll believe it.**

Remember to heavly medicate myself this morning as I’m taking Madison to a birthday party where there will be loud, screeching, squealing, 5 year old girls. Eight of them to be exact. I can’t WAIT.

November 18, 2005

My son Ryan was a HUGE Teletubbies fan. Day after long day I had to be subjected to them all. Dipsy, the green Teletubby who is obviously the fashion dude with his large, obnoxious cow print top hat. Ya. Then there’s Po, she’s the little red one who rides around on a scooter. Huhn huh. Oh and her favorite song is Fi Dit Fi Dit Fi Dit….Ummm WTF? Tinky Winky is the big purple dude and he loves wearing skirts and carries a red purse. I’m not even going there. And of course there’s LaaLaa. She’s yellow and just abso-freakin-lutely loves her bouncy ball. She has a favorite song too and she sings Laa Laa Li Laa Laa Li Laa Laa. Wow. Who wrote that? Such deep, truly meaningful lyrics. Brings tears to my eyes. Oh wait, the tears stem from me driving icepicks in my eyes because I cannot handle the Teletubbies EVER AGAIN. Laa Laa was Ryan’s absolute favorite. Always chanting LaaLaa. And who can forget the Tubby Toast and the Tubby freakin’ Custard. And there’s NooNoo, the vacuum cleaner/dog/cat/dinosaur/anteater type thing that sucks up the Tubby Custard if the retardo Tubbies spill it. Big pink, greasy looking blobs….yum. Tubby Custard, Tubby Custard. Gawd, how I do NOT miss that show. When we moved out here to Calgary, we of course brought a crap load of stuff with us. And guess what? All 4 of Ryan’s talking Teletubbies came with us. Super. After a few years of being thrown, kicked, tossed down stairs, dragged outside, taken rides in the van and had chocolate milk spilled on them, they were a teeny tiny bit worn and slightly dirty. Madison played with them too and amazingly Laa Laa was her favorite as well. Whaaaaaateva. So a few months after we moved into our new home and were settled in nicely, Ryan and Madison come to me as I’m sitting at the kitchen table. They are both standing there looking a wee bit gray and I can tell something is up. I guess since I’m the mom, I should be the one to make the first move and say something. Okay. So I ask them what’s wrong? Something up? They look at each other and then look back at me. Ryan nudges Maddy. I can see he’s given her the “code” to be the one to speak up and tell mom. Okay, well spit it the frig out already. I’m not getting any younger here. So Maddy says, “Mom, we have to tell you something.” I’m thinking, what the hell did you two do now? What got flushed down the toilet? What happened to Matt’s waterbed? Did you cut the phonelines? Break the lamp? Flood the bathroom? Maddy says, “Mom Laa Laa is gone.” I’m thinking, THANK GOD. One down and 3 to go. However, I say, “She’s probably in the toybox, buried under all the other useless stuff.” Now I see both of their faces fall, lips kind of quivering. Oh no. Here comes the high drama of my life. Ryan pipes up and says, “We threw her in the garbage a few days ago because she had brown dirt on her face and we tried to get it off but it didn’t work, so we thought we would just throw her in the trash and maybe we’d get another one but we want her baaaaaaaaaack.” Maddy then says, “And now she’s in the duuuuuuuuummmmmppppp!!!!! And we’ll never see her AGAIN!!!!!!” Both start to bawl. The tears are flowing and they are hiccupping and chanting, we miss Laa Laa, we want her back, she’s in the dump, she’s gone forever. Oh my gawd the hysterics. I get them calmed down, tell them, that…….I can’t believe I’m even offering this….what kind of crack was I smoking……..That we can get a new one if it means that much to them. WHAT? Why did I just say that? I should have said, well serves you right. Laa Laa is at the freakin’ dump now, having shithawks fly above her dirty yellow body and are probably poo-ing on her face. But that seemed……wrong. I end up telling them, that I bet somebody was out for a walk (ya because people go for walks all the time at the DUMP.) and probably found her just lying there and picked her up and took her home and cleaned her up and are loving her as much as they did. Barf-o-rama. Anyway, they seem ok with that and their tears slowly subside and their hiccups became less frequent. The drama is over for now. And to my amazement, they dropped the idea of getting another Laa Laa. I think they didn’t want to replace her because they loved her so much. How sweet. Riiiiiight.
***Note*** Shortly after the writing of this entry, it came to my attention that Laa Laa WAS found! As Amazing and unbelievable as that sounds, it’s true. If you click HERE, you will see for your own eyes, that some other family DID find Laa Laa and brought her home to love her.

November 17, 2005

Okay so remember how in different ramblings, I’ve mentioned that I’m a freak? Like a freak worrier…remember? Well if you don’t remember, I’ll tell you again. I tend to worry. Alot. Sometimes too much. Just ask anyone who knows me. I honestly am a bit better than I used to be, but certainly not within a “normal” range when it comes to worrying. I get a call today from the receptionist at Ryan’s Ped’s office. She asks me if Dr. B went over the results with us. Ummm no. I didn’t even know they were back yet. So she says, Oh. Oh? Oh what??? What does that mean? So she says, that we can come in to see Dr. K. Okay. How come we can’t just hear the results over the phone? Well, we can’t do that. Ummmm, why not? If you’re just going to say, HE’S FINE, then why can’t we hear it over the phone? No, sorry, we can’t do that. Ummmm, okay I guess we have to come in then. So she asks me when we can come? Now. How ’bout now? No, it’s the end of the day, we can’t get you in now. Okay, how about tomorrow? No, we’re booked up. WHAT?????? I need to find out the results and you can’t squeeze me in? Like yesterday? So the next available appointment is Monday afternoon. MONDAY AFTERNOON. That is waaaaay to far away. Now I’ve got the whole damn weekend to conjuer up horrible scenerios about what’s wrong with my child. Lemme just tell you, that is NOT good for a compulsive worrier. It’s really not. I know hubby will come home and be the voice of reason and reassurance but hello???? I’m a WORRIER. So I tell her, that yes Monday will be just fine. I won’t be fine by then, because I’ll be a wee bit looney with worry by then, but, yes Monday is fine. What other choice do I have? She then ends the conversation with, Oh I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. Oh my gawd. You’re kidding me right? Deep breaths, deep breaths, deep breaths…..