I'm glad I don't have this much swagger. . .

Seriously. . . I remember those days with 4 kids and a mini van and a house decorated in Fisher-Price with a touch of Lego for that special ambiance.

Now I get to sit back, relax and watch my daughter styling with her own offpring. . . only she's much more 'tricked out' that I was. Yep!  She has her own 'swagger wagon'.

So dear daughter--I'm dedicating this video to you and your whole pimpin' parenting generation. . . because, well, you're cooler than me. . . .

Stuck on the roof. . .

I could just have easily have entitled this post:  'Why I am like a cat'. . . but I'm not really a big cat fan and I really don't feel I have much in common with cats--with this one exception.

I totally get how a cat can get stuck up in a tree.  And after my latest episode--my husband finally gets it too.

Here's the story.  Hubby decides it's time to clean out the rain gutters and overhangs up on our two-story home roof--before the winter storms start coming and dumping more rain, leaves, and snow up there.

And since none of our little kiddlets live at home any more (we've recently become 'empty nesters' but more on that later) he calls upon ME to go up on the roof with him to hold the ladder.  (This is for the roof top UP ON TOP of the roof top)

Now everyone in my family knows that I am a bit 'phobic' about heights.  Especially when I am out in the open  and dealing with vertical challenges.  Flying in an airborne contraption is fine, looking out of tall building widows, or standing on mountain tops where my feel are on solid ground is fine--going it alone up a rock face, tree top, or roof is a bit more than I can handle---something about EDGES and falling off makes me a bit FREAKED OUT. . . .

And as both my husband and I learned--it's not the going UP that's the problem. . . it's the coming DOWN!

Soooooo I asked this man who has known me for over 32 years---Why in the world would I want to go up on the roof?

He makes this ridiculous statement:  'Because you've done it before.'

Me: What are you talking about?  In what life did I ever go up on the roof with you?

Him:  Oh--just a few years back, we did the same thing.  You went up on the roof with me and held the ladder while I cleaned out the rain gutters.

Me:  No dear, you are wrong.  You've always had one of the kids go up there with you.

Him:  Nope!  Not one of the kids.  It was a woman--it was you.

So now I'm thinking what a clever man.  Who the heck was he having a tryst with up on the roof?  (after all, it's the one place in the house I would never go)  This bozo has got some explaining to do.

He is absolutely reassuring me that I will be just fine--that I've done this before.  And I guess in my bewildered state--and the fact that there was no one else to go up with him--I climb up on to the roof with him and hold the ladder while he goes up on the second roof.

I think it only took 15 minutes or so for him to do whatever the heck he was doing--but by the time he came back down all smiles and pronounced: 'All done'  I was thoroughly panicked.  I think I may have started hissing and spitting like a cat.

In any case, I was NOT about to come down the extension ladder that I came up on.  It was not going to happen.  I figured armed with a sleeping bag, a tarp, and the phone number to Domino's Pizza, I could live out the rest of my days up here.

That's when it dawned on my husband that quite possibly his wife had in reality NEVER BEEN UP ON THE ROOF BEFORE and by all that is holy, how the snot was he supposed to get her down?

He was apologizing profusely and coaxing me with all kinds of things like opened cans of tuna and fresh caught fish (which had worked on the neighborhood cats) to get me down from the roof.  But it wasn't working.  In fact even access to every one of his investments and IRA accounts (which I already had) was also a 'no go.'

I calmly asked him to just go ahead and call the fire department and get one of those well built men to come in one of their big honkin' trucks with the little 'bucket thingys' and I would consider coming down by that route.

In retrospect my husband was using every trick known to man on how to get a 'mad-as-all-get-out cat down from the tree' ploy.  Here are the guidelines in detail:

· 1

 Avoid mass panic. Given time and privacy, the cat will likely find a way down on her own. (Exceptions are if the cat is injured or if she has a leash wrapped around her neck; go to step 4 in those instances.)  

Hubby did manage to avoid mass panic--but had I HAD a leash--it would have been wrapped around HIS neck upon coming down and he darn well knew it.

·  2

If several hours have passed, try to lure the cat down by opening a can of her favorite food underneath the tree. Call out her name in a calm, reassuring voice.

Fortunately it didn't take hours and the food piling up on the back porch was getting ridiculous.  Besides I was getting quite embarrassed of neighbors possibly learning every pet name this man could think  to call me.

·  3

Lean a wooden ladder up against the tree near the cat so she can climb down. Leave her alone with the ladder for at least 15 minutes so she can climb down on her own.

Well, folks the ladder was already leaning up against the roof.  That's how I got up there in the first place.  And truth be told, I think my husband was afraid of leaving me alone in my sorry state.  I don't know what he thought would be worse.  Leaving me up on the roof--or getting me down from the roof with access to his neck and other soft tissue.

·  4

If the cat is too freaked out to use the ladder, put on work gloves and a thick coat to protect yourself and climb up the ladder to retrieve her. Make sure the ladder is stable before you climb it.

This had already been done, since we were working in cold, windy weather conditions.  But my husband managed to don a pair of work goggles --just so I couldn't spit in his eyes.

·  5

Grab the cat by the nape of the neck to reduce your chances of getting scratched and to induce calmness in the cat.

When my husband came back up the ladder to grab my hands (or the nape of my neck) and try and use gentle coaxing to get me to come back down--he knew this trick would not work either.  One look at my face told him that he might want to keep his hands to himself unless he was willing to lose body parts.

·  6

If your efforts only send the cat farther up the tree, call an animal shelter. A professional animal handler can rescue the cat quite quickly.

This was actually considered--but then I somewhat came back to my senses and realized that I did NOT want my 15 minutes of fame to be splayed on the local 6 o'clock news as 'Weird Women Rescued Off Own Roof'.  I also realized that the chances of the 'animal shelter rescue man' resembling Antonio Banderas or any hunky, good looking stud-muffin were slim to none. . . so I needed to get down from the roof and fantasize indoors where it was warmer.

After what seemed like an eternity--I ever so slowly and shakily came down the ladder--OF MY OWN FREE WILL and  made it back to solid ground.  And yes, my husband is still alive as well--if that's what you were wondering.

But I don't think he will be inviting me up on the roof with him anytime soon. . .

Ode to Spring. . .

Spring is finally here in the great northwest. . . and in spite of some chill and rain that seems to keep coming at random intervals, my back yard is in bloom!  YEA!

YEP!  I'm lovin' it!

Blogging is cheaper than therapy. . . and keeps me 'regular'

I've heard tell that all bloggers go to Heaven. . . no, that wasn't it. . . I think it was blogging is not for the weak and simple-minded.

Wait a minute--if that were true, the blogosphere would be a huge giant void.

Perhaps it was blogging makes you go blind.  Yeah, that sounds about right.  I'm sure there are various and sundry reason why folks 'blog'. . . For me--it keeps me from doing a lot of laundry and ironing.  Not to mention,  it also saves me from having to call a shrink every now and again. . . (of course Zoloft will do the same thing)


But I digress. . .

Apparently I have some folks now who are taking my 'blogging temperature' by how frequently I blog and if I am 'regular'. . . When I fail to blog as often as 'normal', then I must be backed up.  (which is not a good thing)  And I really don't want to find out what a blogging enema would do.

If I blog too much,  then I am said to be binging and purging and that can lead to becoming a blogging bolemic.  (again not a good thing)

It's a very fine line that one must tread to find just the RIGHT amount of blogging space to take up at any one time.  I'm sure I've made some serious blogging faux pas.

And not to be distracted--but my heck!  Isn't BLOGGING a funny word?  I mean, who came up with that one?  (actually I think it was shortened back in '99 or something from 'weblog'.  Instead of folks saying 'I'm writing a web log'  it was much easier to say 'blog'.

Just like instead of saying, 'Could you be so kind as to please pass the creole gumbo casserole.' most family members will say, 'Uh, give stuff!'

OK!  Back to the topic!

I want to reassure all my little blogger fans out there that I am totally fine (as far as the incredible world of blogging goes) and have a plunger in hand and will do the virtual 'swishy' as needed to keep the blog posts flowing freely.

But what I don't put out in quantity--I make up for in quality. (yeah, that's the ticket!)  Which is why my postings may tend to ramble, not make any sense, and tend to appear randomly and for no apparent reason.

So don't be alarmed when and if you see me post something. . . or NOT posting something..  Just sit back, relax and enjoy the fact that you are only reading about my ridiculous life. . .  be thankful you are not actually living inside my poor, addled brain.

Wait!  Maybe you ARE living in there--and that's why I have to do all this blogging in the first place. . .

No, I am not obsessed with Antonio Banderes. . . well, maybe a little.

Now I have been accused of mentioning this guy on occasion.  You know, at parties, gatherings, a few conversations with friends, and maybe mumbling in my sleep. . .

I have no earthly idea why.  I mean--just look at this guy!  What on earth would there be to like?

I mean--he can't help how he looks. . . or talks. . . or moves through water. . .

I'm sure he had nothing to do with it.  He can blame his perfections on genetics or being incredibly lucky enough to find an amazingly talented plastic surgeon. . . or both.

But whatever it is---it certainly works for him!

I admit to watching The Legend Of  Zoro on more than one occasion (and even the bomb, Zoro II) as well as Once Upon A Time In Mexico and even the crappy Spy Kids movies.just to get my lil' Antonio fix.   

The Shrek movies were fun and featured Antonio's voice as the pussycat.

I mean--here you can even see Shrek giving him a BIG SQUEEZE because, well, he's just so doggone cute.

(although Shrek's opinion of cuteness is circumspect--as he is hugging the ugly donkey too--but you get the point)

I don't know. . . there is just something about him that makes me go. . . hmmmmm. . . or maybe it's yummmm!   Anyway--I am clearing up the matter once and for all for my hubby, family and blogger friends that NO, I am not having an affair with Antonio.  (well, truth be told, he hasn't asked yet)  And I am NOT obsessed with him.  I just think he's hunky and adorably cute in a manly, better than chocolate way.

And a girl's entitled to her opinions, isn't she?  I mean I feel so sorry for the poor guy.  All that walking around looking like something that can't even be printed on my blog because there might be children present. . .

Antonio, don't bother calling, hon--because I'd just have to turn you down. . . and for Pete's sake--can you just grab a towel and stay out of the water???

Remember when it rained?

Well, if today is any indication for the great northwest (where I reside) the rainy season is upon us. . .

But I actually welcome the fall--and even the rain (to a certain degree, of course)

And when you have a brilliant artist like Josh Groban who can create and perform such a beautiful song about those little moisture droplets. . . then what's not to like?

This is just BEAUTIFUL! Bring on the RAIN!

The wonderful world of Karma. . .

If a picture is worth a thousand words--then I don't think I need to expound much. . . suffice it to say with all the crapola going on in our country. . . the failing economy, the political fighting, the corruption and greed in both government and business, the uncertainty over health care and energy resources. . . .

Well. . . Karma is about to be unleashed and probably go on a feeding frenzy.

I'm not going to say I told you so--because, well, that would be gloating. . . and Karma has a way of finding the gloaters as well. . .

Just remember, a while back when I posted this gem on 'Global Warming'?  Many scientists and researchers in the field have now told the tale that due to sunspots and other SUN-RELATED phenomenon--we are going to be going through a period of 'global cooling' for the next few decades. 

So while America scrambles to pass bills so it can cash in on the taxes and revenues to be gleaned from implementing rules and regulations (like cap and trade) and punishing the peasants and businesses to death with penalties and collapsing the free market by creating a few dozen green jobs while thousands of jobs are lost and now  have to go OUTSIDE the U.S. in order to be able to survive. . . (Which by the way, is QUITE ironic, since most countries do not have the strict laws in place to keep the environment as clean as possible as we do---so since we are dumping thousands of jobs that we can no longer do HERE in this country. . . we'll just get some OTHER country to provide the labor and yucky environmental hazards and call it good!)

Those few of us that have some actual brain cells that WORK might just want to go grab a jacket or two for the winter--and have a bone and some kibble to throw at Karma when he comes round to collect his pound of flesh. . .

No, I am NOT twittering! (But thanks for asking)

Are you kidding me? No, really! Are you seriously KIDDING ME? Cuz, you're KILLING me here!

I've been asked repeatedly if I 'twitter' and I am going to TWEET my answer once and for all in really simple language so everyone can understand where I'm coming from.

Oh! Maybe I should throw an explanation in here so those of you 'twits' who are uninformed about 'tweeting' will know what I'm talking about:

is another ridiculous vehicle for millions of people with absolutely nothing on their minds to be able to share their 'thoughts' to other equally mentally challenged folks who could care less. . .

In other words--never had so many folks with so little to say, said so much banality to so few.

Perhaps I'm being a bit snarky here. But the bottom line is that you basically share your 'tweets' (thoughts) about anything and everything at any time of day or night with your 'twits' (those who follow you) It's called 'twittering' and it is causing real socialization and actual conversation to teeter-totter on the brink of collapse.

"But Showme," (my friends who want to become twits apparently) will say to me. "You could have a real following. You can tell us what you are thinking about all the time and we would have access to the real you. You'd be a SENSATION!"



Put down the crack pipe and just THINK about that for a minute. I'm not sure anyone on planet earth is ready for the 'real me'. And even if by some miracle, a huge following (or heck, ANY following) was created in my twittering wake--let's face it--I just couldn't stand up to the pressure.

Holy Tweetmeister, Batman! I can barely keep up with my e-mail accounts, facebook, and this blog! (not to mention the real life I live out there somewhere past Twitterville)

I just can't see myself twittering on a daily, hourly, minute,millisecond basis. (at least not YET!) My life is just not that doggone exciting.

"But that's the POINT!" My friends shout at me. "You don't have to really say anything. You can write really dumb, random stuff."

Oh, really? And just what do they think this fabulous blog is already doing for me? I already write really dumb, random stuff. So why do I need a Twitter account? It's just one more thing adding to the pressure of my life to put statements out there on the interweb for. . . other folks who apparently love reading really dumb, random stuff.

Thanks, but no thanks.



I mean, what if I run out of things to say? What if my tweeter gets broken? I suppose I could make stuff up. Hey, wait a minute. . . I could make up really GOOD stuff. Juicy stuff! Horrific stuff! Stuff that could make the entire tweeting universe sit up and take notice. . .

Then again, I'd just like to lie back on a sandy beach somewhere and have a hunky cabana boy bring me cool drinks and chocolate drizzled yummies while I laze in the sun and surf. . .

So no. . . I don't think I will be 'twittering' anytime soon. . . But for those of you about to twitter--I salute you!

UPDATE! UPDATE! UPDATE!

Well, as I live and breath! I came across an article from someone who feels the same way I do about 'Twitter'. She's a life coach to boot! It's a pretty thought provoking article and to read it for yourselves (since I won't twitter about it) just click on the link (words) below:

Am I a Twit For Not Twittering?

This will explain my obsession with HD TVs!

Well, last year (for Valentine's Day) dear hubby let me indulge myself in 'high definition' splendor and I got a nice, fat, juicy Toshiba flat panel HD TV complete with all the bells and whistles.

Since then, I have been living in H*D* Heaven and there is no slowing down on the enjoyment front yet.

Fast forward to. . . NOW when college son comes home and shows me this clip from my ole pal 'Andy' from 'The Office' (otherwise known as Ed Helms) and HECKAFIRE! If this doesn't explain the Hi Def TV craze in simple, easy to understand verbiage--then I just don't know what else will!

He gets me. . . . he really gets me!

Wah! They booted off Danny Gokey. . . I'm CHEESED!

I'm having a bit of a hissy fit right now. . . one of my favorite soulful singers
did not make it into the finale last night on American Idol:



Danny Gokey warmed the little cackles of my heart right from the very beginning. I thought for sure it would come down to Adam Lambert and Danny Gokey and I really like both of them (for different reasons)

This season has had some outstanding talent and my favorites right from the beginning were Danny Gokey (of course), Adam Lambert, Kris Allen and Allison Iraheta.

It should be quite a show next week between Adam and Kris (but I was secretly hoping for a showdown between Adam and Danny) much like the fight of the two Davids Last year.

I predict Adam will win the title (I thought so from the very beginning)--and I think all three of these guys will do just fine and score big record deals. . . but I'm still gonna pitch my little temper tantrum because I think Danny went a bit too soon. . .

His voice ROCKS!

Don't trifle with my Trifle!

Well. . .I made some fresh fruit/berry Trifle with fresh whipped cream and raspberry pound cake. I have some visiting relatives and dear daughter and her family coming over tonight to visit. . .

But now I'm having a bit of a dilemma. I mean, come on! It's just to doggone pretty to mess it up by EATING it!



Do you think folks would mind just sitting around staring at it???



Nah! They'll want to just grab a big spoon and dig right in. . . after all--it's MY family we're talking about. . .

Oh well--it was pretty while it lasted and I'm glad I got the BEFORE picture. . . I'm sure the AFTER picture will be pretty ugly. . .



Actually, it's not too bad looking. . . but it was just as I predicted--that bowl was WIPED CLEAN! (I caught youngest son with his FACE in there, trying to lick it out)

More CRAZY bumper stickers. . .

You know, humor is not lost on me--even while driving down the road.

I'm amazed at the witty (and not so witty sayings) that people choose to put on the back of their vehicles. What kind of statement are you making as people are checking out your rear?

Well some folks apparently are not afraid to make statements like these:

'It's lonely at the top, but you eat better'

'Proud Member of PETA: People Eating Tasty Animals'

'Dyslexics Are Teople Poo'

'The weather is here--wish you were beautiful'

'Vote Jack Kevorkian for White House physician'

'Back off! I'm not that kind of car'

Your proctologist called, he found your head'

'The IRS: We've got what it takes to take what you've got!'

'If you're psychic, think 'honk'

'Time is the best teacher; unfortunately it kills all its students'

'If we are what we eat, I'm fast, cheap and easy'

. . . and here is one that if I ever DID have a bumper sticker on my car--I would want it to be something like this:

Some people just don't know how to drive. I call these people 'everybody but me.'

Mad World. . . Adam Lambert. . .AWESOME!

Oh MY! This guy is unstoppable! I am so impressed with Adam Lambert.

He just gets better and better! His 'Mad World' performance was simply MAD!



I'm predicting this guy is gonna win it all this year. . .

Stay out of my PERSONAL SPACE!

I swear, I just can't get a BREAK! Does this happen to anybody else, or is it just me? The other day I was taking youngest son to the orthodontist and we had one of those very early morning appointments so my young 'blessed precious' wouldn't miss any of his 2.3 hours of school. (but that's ANOTHER story)

Anyway--we get him checked in and taken to 'the back' and I go sit down in the lobby to wait. Mind you, this lobby is HUGE and has like 75 chairs and so I go find one in a corner to sit quietly by myself and read my book when this guy comes in and out of the entire cavernous, empty place, chooses the chair RIGHT NEXT TO ME to sit his foul smelling self down.

This guy smelled like the bottom of an ashtray used in seedy bowling alley. I looked up from my book to see if there were any hidden cameras in the place to capture my reaction to this personal space invasion.

It's going to to be obvious when I get up and move that it's because of HIM and I am in the uncomfortable, but necessary position to do just that, when the receptionist calls his name and he gets up and goes to check in, thankfully.

THEN some bedraggled mother with a middle schooler, and several toddlers comes barging in and comes all the way over to the other side of the room (where I am naturally!) and parks her brood right down by ME! What is this? What is happening here? Did I shower longer than necessary this morning?

The ENTIRE PLACE IS EMPTY and she sits down with her 3 unruly kids right next to ME! Do I look like I want to have a conversation with my hat pulled down over my head and a book covering my face? Am I too friendly and approachable? (I'll have to work on that)

So I get up and go out to the restroom for a few minutes and come back to find that she's still there slapping the kids around, minus the middle schooler--who must have been called to the back.

I walk to another empty area to sit when another person waltzes in and watches me carefully. Oh no! I'm on to you, buddy. I'm gonna watch where this guy sits first. So I wait while he stands and watches me. I decided to go with the fake--I move over to a chair, watching him follow me over there and bend down like I'm going to sit and he moves in a few chairs to my right. That's when I spring up and make my move with my cell phone in hand like I just got a call and go out towards the rest room again.

By the time I came back he was seated and looking a bit nonplussed. I chose a seat next to the door in the corner where there could only be one person who sat next to me and I put my coat and purse on it, just to be safe. Then I once more, tried to pull out my book--and just as I was thumbing through, trying to find my place--a woman comes and moves my stuff off the chair and sits next to me.

"I give up!" I yell. That's when she tells me she's the dental assistant and has the results back of my youngest son's exam.

So I calm my respiration to a more normal rate and listen to her and collect my son and leave.

It's not that I don't want to be friendly. (well maybe I don't) But I just need my personal space. I don't ask for much--just 3 to 4 feet between myself and a complete total stranger when in a questionable hygienic setting.

Youngest son got the point rather quickly and made himself scarce around the house. . . .