Time Out

You know, it's funny (interesting, not ha ha - well, maybe ha ha - I'll let you decide) that I spend a lot of time worrying about what other people think. Often about me, yes, but many times, just in general. I find it fascinating that ten different people can experience the exact same event, and come away with ten completely different interpretations of said event. Yet, with all of this thinking that I do, I have to admit that I haven't given much thought to what my readers are thinking when they read this blog.

Personally, I have been called the Queen of Sarcasm, and I feel like that title is especially fitting because I married the King of Sarcasm. And together, we reign over our kingdom of insanity and calamity with sharp tongues and often self-deprecating humor, that to an outsider, may seem a bit harsh. But truly, our vile and wicked wit is an excellent bonding and coping mechanism that works quite well... for us. Together, John and I stand and laugh in the face of whatever life may throw at us - because together, we know we are strong enough to handle anything (and neither of us finds crying very productive).

My very favorite analogy of our shared sense of humor (from my standpoint, of course) can be found here.

When I started writing here, my audience was a few close friends who know me (and my off-the-wall statements) quite well. Most of them also know John, and on several occasions, those friends have laughed with me as they said that they could actually hear one of us making whatever crazy comment I published. And, as many writers know (although perhaps not quite as many will admit), praise of our talents inspires a drive to further produce. So I find it exceedingly rewarding to find that, over time, my readership has grown. Tens of people (and I know this, because I can track you) are reading now!

And it suddenly occurred to me that some of you might not "get" me. So I just wanted to take a minute, to urge you, the reader, to take everything I write with a grain of salt - maybe two.

I married a 12-year-old.

John (to me, just minutes ago): "Be quiet! Nobody wants to hear you jabbering when there's NASCAR stuff on!"

Occasionally, I get a little personal.

To my dear friend Mike (who took it upon himself to call me tonight and tell me that it is time for me to write a new post):

Dude! This is MY blog! If you want to dictate when new posts should be published, you should maybe start YOUR OWN blog.

And truly, if I could have found a way to post this without actually creating a new post, I sooooo would have.

Much love,
M ;)

Things I have learned - so you don't have to:

1. A Galileo Thermometer is a very pretty object d'art to sit on an open shelf.

2. Cats are not as delicate and sure-footed as advertised.

3. The liquid inside a Galileo Thermometer object d'art is somewhat akin to baby oil.

4. A wood floor covered in a liquid somewhat akin to baby oil is VERY slippery.

5. Dogs are even less delicate and sure-footed than cats.

6. Three dogs all trying to traverse a slippery area together is HYSTERICALLY funny.

7. Cleaning a liquid somewhat akin to baby oil off of a wood floor is a proverbial bitch.

8. You slipping and sliding while trying to clean the floor is not so funny.

9. Especially when there is broken glass everywhere.

10. An unbreakable plastic thermometer is like, five bucks at Wal-Mart.

Luckily, we have not lost humor.

Yes, I suffer from PMS - 'cause I sure as Hell don't ENJOY it!

For those unfamiliar, PMS stands for Pre-Menstrual Syndrome. It also stands for Post-Menstrual Syndrome. And, although I cannot, right at this moment, think of a word that starts with "P" and means "in the middle of" or "during", I am pretty sure I have that PMS, too. Quite frankly, I have about one good week a month... and this ain't it.

John commented last night that I have been rather bitchy this week, and I should perhaps look into an attitude adjustment.

I told him he that he has been rather fat this week, and he should perhaps get off of his ass and find a job.

Maybe we'll speak tomorrow.

Maybe not.

PMS, Anyone?

I am totally craving a cup of coffee. It's nearly 10:00 at night, and I don't have any decaf, so it would be kind of a stupid move to brew a cup of leaded joe right now. But I really, really want a cup of coffee.

With all of the crap we're going through, THIS is what is stressing me out right now.

Well, that, and one of the dogs just farted. Eeewwwww!

Shameless Nepotism

My sister just started a blog, very aptly named Notes From Nik!

Happy Birthday to Me!

I am thirty five years old, five feet, seven inches tall, and am wearing a pair of size eight jeans. The fact that I had to write this standing up, because I can neither bend nor breathe is irrelevant.

Everybody now...

Go Marly. Go Marly. It's your birthday...

That's me - young and hip. Thirty five is the new fifteen.

I know who is responsible...

Well, it's time. Exactly thirty-five years ago this minute, my mother changed the world* by giving birth to me. And, as I was a whopping nine pounds and four ounces at birth, that was certainly not an easy feat. But my mother, liar that she is, claims that it was a wonderful thing, and she doesn't remember the pain. I also do not have any idea for how long my mother was in labor, because she is just not that type of mother - you know, they type that claims that the goodness of your behavior should be directly proportional to the number of hours she panted and huffed through contractions. Yeah, my mom's pretty cool like that. And don't even get me started on my Daddy. ;)

I'm pretty lucky to have them. And to hear them tell it, pretty lucky to be alive after putting them through the torture that turned out to be several years of potty-training. Yeah, I know, what comes around goes around, and I'm just praying that God chooses to be merciful when it's time to start training JJ. But all in all, I think I turned out okay. And I'm guessing they think so too, because they drive 1,500 miles (each way) to see me several times a year (as they did even before JJ, thankyouverymuch).

So, if you happen to be holding a glass, please raise it with me in toast to two very wonderful people who are responsible for me being able to celebrate yet another birthday. Yay, Mom and Dad, your baby is thirty five today! Thank you!



*That my sound a bit conceited, but really, the fact that I am using disposable diapers for JJ is enough for some tree-hugger somewhere to claim that I am single-handedly destroying the earth. So, be it good or bad (probably more bad), yes, I am creating some type of impact.

I don't want pizza that badly.

My birthday is coming up, and one of our local television stations has a "Birthday Club". If you register on their site, they'll enter you in a drawing for a free pizza on your birthday. You just have to tune in at 5:00 AM to watch their Birthday Greetings and see if you're a winner.

Now, maybe it's just me, but if I have to be up at 5:00 AM on my birthday, I'm thinking we'll already be well on the way to negating that "happy" part.

Public Service Announcement

Drano is not meant to be used in the dishwasher. Unless, of course, you think having a kitchen floor covered in bubbles is "neat".

You may now return to your regularly scheduled lives, already in progress.

Maybe I should put a gate in front of the food.

Our fairly large house is segmented into many smaller areas by a great number of baby gates. Two of our cats have figured out that, with their cat-like (perhaps in this case, I should call it cat-esque, because they are, after all, actually cats) agility, they can easily leap over the three-foot annoyances. The other two cats have not been able to figure this out. Or, maybe it could be that when a cat has a ten-pound frame, and insists on carrying around twenty pounds with it, that cat's agility is slightly less impressive.

Regardless, they are very angry about it. And angry cats are not exactly quiet.

What's that buzzing sound?

Well, apparently my little experiment failed. Quite frankly, I'm a little relieved. Really, I'm not good at portraying my political thoughts as being much deeper than your average mud puddle after a light rain. It's unfortunate, but I generally put my faith in the one who lies to me least, because then I'll know what to expect most of the time. And experience has taught me that definitely getting what you expect can be more comforting than maybe getting what you want.

So I'll lay off of the cold medicine, and JJ (aka Captain BoogerSnots) and I will get back to the very real and urgent business of watching John roto-till the bad spots in the front lawn.

Something to think about...

This one has been brewing for a while, but a conversation between John and his brother spurred me to write it down. Imagine with me...

You give a car to a 16-year-old boy. Now, it seems this boy has spent his life elsewhere (in a third-world country, in a deeply Amish community, under a rock, wherever) because he has never before seen a car. So, after you declare, "This is your car!", one of several scenarios can play out. Here are a few options:

Scenario 1: You introduce the young boy to his machine. You take the time to explain all of the mechanics of an automobile - the key goes in here, the accelerator is the vertical pedal on the right, this lever makes the turn signals blink, gas goes in the tank via this hole, etc. You then explain the rules of the road to this boy - we drive on the right, red means stop, green means go, you can go faster on the interstate than in a neighborhood, etc. Lastly, you put the parts together, and teach this young man to drive, both by taking him for a ride on the road, and then by riding with him as he is behind the wheel.

Now, this entire process would take a lot of time and energy. You might miss a couple of dinners with your family, but ultimately, you will have given this person a great gift that he will be able to use the rest of his life. He will eventually be able to use this car and his driving ability to get to school, and later, to work. And who knows, you may someday be injured, or have car trouble, and he will be able to drive you to your destination.

Scenario 2: You go back into your house, have dinner with your family, and then all sit down to watch a movie. The young boy teaches himself to drive, and you occasionally wave as you see him on the road.

Scenario 3: You go back into your house, have dinner with your family, and then all sit down to watch a movie. A neighbor (who dislikes you) befriends the young boy, and explains to him that you are a bad person for just giving him this machine, and then leaving him to figure it out by himself. This neighbor nurtures the boy's anger toward you while teaching him to drive. And by the time the boy has learned to operate the car, his hatred is such that he drives through your picture window and kills your family in front of the television.

Obviously, this is all a dramatization, but think about it.

What is the right thing to do?

What would you do?



Now, continue to imagine...

"You" are the United States.

The "boy" is Iraq.

The "car" is a brand new model called "Freedom".

Maudlin Motorcycle Musing

We have over $65,000 wrapped up in our motorcycles.

After much tearful discussion, we decided that we would sacrifice them for absolutely no less than $40,000.

We were offered $23,000.

No deal.