Jun. 23: Don’t ring mah bell

Neighborhoods like mine are magnets for unwanted doorbell ringers. When the kids aren’t home, I don’t answer the door unless I’m expecting someone. But when they are home, they race for the front door and then wake me up come get me when the person there asks “Is your mom or dad home?”

We are looong overdue for a “no solicitors” sign. We used to have a doormat that said GO AWAY, but it was always out of order; people would ring our doorbell and say, “I love your mat! Wanna buy magazines?”

I don’t like guns, but these people make me wish I did. And that I kept a collection by the front door.

Last night I searched for “soliciting” on Pinterest and found some very exciting options. Tell me what you think.

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This sign was the most common search result (soooo… I don’t like it).
What’s good about this particular one, though, is that the pretty frame is deceiving;
it draws people in by giving them the impression that it has something nice to say,
and then it says GET THE EFF OUT. Sneaky-good.

 

Not my cat. I like my cat. But a random cat, sure.

I’m afraid too many people don’t understand what the word “soliciting” means, exactly.
This explains it a little. I like the idea of having a window decal more than hanging a sign,
but our front door windows are six inches from our doorbell and therefore we cannot
be sure an idiot would see the message before pressing the doorbell. Because idiots are such idiots.

 

This could not be more straightforward.

 

This could not be more awesome.

I like it.

This could definitely work on some people.
Heh heh heh.

 

I wouldn’t do the Pokemon thing, but I’d have no problem
asking for some kind of show tune or Robert Frost poem.

A Robert Frost poem WITH VOICES.

Again with the sensible. I like the sensible.

Good. Very good. Probably too wordy, though.

I think this would be like the GO AWAY doormat; people would ring the bell
just to say how hilaaaarious we must be!! To have a sign like that!! So funny!!!!!!

The message is cutesy, but the butterfly ruined it for me.
Also the “y” in “says”—why is it way up there? Bad font choices irritate me.

I like. I like very much.

For the most part, I like the message of this one… but I might add the words “we know” to the end.
I hate those little poopus kids who come from other neighborhoods to sell stuff.

Simple. Good.

Disgusting… and probably pretty effective.

So many choices, right? I’ve gotta put something out front, because no way am I spending my summer pretending that our yellow Lab is way more vicious than she seems. Even an idiot who doesn’t know the meaning of the word “solicitor” will figger that one out.

Aug. 9: Daybook

Today…

Outside my window... it’s overcast and not very sunny. It was breezy (chilly) during our PTO board meeting at the park this morning. That was not very fun. The meeting was productive in spite of the cool weather, though, because we are awesome.

I am thinking... that out of the corner of my eye, the pencil holder thing I just set on the floor looks like my dog sitting and staring at me. She totally does that, and I hate it and I’ve almost yelled at my pencil holder three times since I sat down.

I am thankful for... Victor’s day off today. He was on call, but home, for the first day in a long time. It was nice to see him! I’m also thankful for my mom being here. She’s fun to hang with, and she does good things like take Jack to swimming lessons and run to the grocery store for us and cook for our kids.

From the kitchen... we’re at one of those stages where the pantry contents are totally unappealing, the refrigerator’s mostly empty, and we definitely need to do some menu planning and grocery shopping. I hate when we get like this. It makes every meal such a chore.

I am creating... a new format for the PTO budget, and it’s taking every last brain cell. Don’t tell anyone, but I don’t think I’m smart enough for this job. Or, possibly, any job.

I am going... to chemo tomorrow. Mom’s my chemo buddy.

I am reading... very inconsistently lately. I started a new book last week and when I picked it up a few days later I had to start from the beginning again because I couldn’t remember anything I’d already read. What’s with my concentration these days? I think the PTO budget ate it.

I am hoping... this dandruff shampoo friggin’ works. Why it was behind a locked barrier in the store, I don’t know, but I wasn’t about to go ask someone to open it for me. Can you imagine? “Cootie-skank on Aisle 4 has dandruff! Key-holder to Aisle 4 where we store the dandruff shampoo and STD creams behind locked barriers because only skanks have dandruff and STDs and everyone knows they shoplift!” Fortunately, Mom has long arms and she just reached right in there and grabbed what I needed. It was embarrassing as hell buying dandruff shampoo, though. I hope the 20 glue sticks I bought at the same time distracted the cashier.

I am hearing... the neighbor kids yelling outside. This doesn’t bother me; I love living where kids can play safely at dusk. I’m also hearing Gilly bark at every one of those kids’ sounds. This kinda does bother me. His bark is MONSTER, and I pee a little every time.

Around the house... Mom is doing lots of our chores, including cleaning up our pee puddles. Thanks, Mom!

One of my favorite things... is new school supplies, which my dining room table is full of right now. I’ve got tons for my own kids and a bunch for donating too.

A few plans for the rest of the week: chemo tomorrow, work (hopefully) on Wednesday, Moms’ Night for Jack’s new football league, the end of Jack’s swimming lessons, and a trip to Salem on Saturday.

Here is picture for thought I am sharing...

Want to blog your own Daybook? Here’s the info: The Simple Woman’s Daybook.

May 24: Godless liberal

On Friday I drove past a national cemetery and the kids pointed out the little American flags at each grave. I explained they were there because those people had fought for their country and this was one way that we honored them on Memorial Day. The conversation that followed went like this:

Jack: Mom, is there anything under the flags?

Me: Yes, there are people buried under them, in caskets.

Jack: What’s a casket?

Me: It’s a box that dead people are put in before they are buried in the ground.

Katie: That’s a coffin.

Me: Coffin, casket, same thing. It’s a box.

Jack is quiet for a moment. Then he speaks up again:

Jack: OK, so when those people are buried in the ground, are they in Hell?

Me, chuckling quietly: Some of them, I guess. But no, their bodies are in the casket in the ground. People that believe in Heaven and Hell sometimes think a person’s soul goes to Heaven or Hell when that person dies, not their body.

Jack: What’s a soul?

Me, suddenly thinking a sex talk would be much easier than this one: It’s the inside of you, but not your guts and stuff. It’s not something you can touch or see. It’s who you are, like your spirit.

He thinks some more.

Jack: Do I have a soul?

Me: I suppose. I think everyone does.

Jack: Do you have a soul?

Me: I used to, but I sold it to the devil.

This is just about the time Child Protection Services should take away my every parental right because I clearly am unable to raise these children to be decent adults. But they weren’t in the car with us, so NEENERS on them. We’re doin’ it my way, folks!

Jack, interrupting my laughter over how hilarious I find myself: Really?

Me: No, that was on The Simpsons. Homer sold his soul to the devil for a donut. Oh, and there was another episode when Bart sold his soul to Milhouse and the pets started growling at him, and when he went to the store he couldn’t make the doors open when he stepped on the thing. He thought it was because he didn’t have a soul.

Jack: Oh.

Me: Jack, some people really don’t know what they believe about whether or not we have souls, so instead they just make jokes about it.

Jack: Are they funny?

Me: Sometimes. On The Simpsons, always. But no one really knows for sure if we have souls. You just decide what you want to believe.

Jack: I have a soul. And I want to go to Heaven.

Me, to myself: Yes, and that’s how you’ll rebel against me, isn’t it? Become a Bible-thumping Jesus freak? Probably get a call-in radio show? And write books about how you barely survived your heathen upbringing? And after all I’ve done for you…

Me, to Jack: OK. Have fun. I’m going to the other place.

Katie: Why?

Me: Because Heaven sounds sooo boring. Angels and clouds and everyone’s always nice to everyone. Blech.

Katie and Jack, laughing: You’re weird, Mom.

I was raised—with the best intentions—that anyone who believed differently from me and my church was wrong. I want my kids to grow up with an understanding that not everyone believes the same way they do, and that’s alright. I suppose making jokes about their serious questions is not the best route, but just think about all the work I’m creating for their future psychiatrists. The economy will finally bounce back!

And then you’ll all owe me big time.

Mar. 21: Red Velvet Cake. Why?

Maybe some of you foodie types can answer this question for me. What is so special about Red Velvet Cake? California Pizza Kitchen has it on their dessert menu now, and I’ve tried to order it a few times but they’re always out. Yesterday I ordered a slice to go after a yummy pasta lunch, and when I got around to eating it yesterday afternoon, it was underwhelming. Nothing bad about it, just nothing spectacular. With the raves I’ve read about in several places, I expected a little more.

Moist? Yes, very. Pretty? Soooo pretty, especially with the vanilla bean cream cheese frosting and white chocolate curls. Edible? Definitely, but please don’t ask me to identify a specific flavor. Because was it out of this world? Not so much.

I’m embarrassed to admit that I had never even heard of Red Velvet Cake until just before Katie’s second birthday. I was looking for fun cake ideas and ran across a recipe for Red Velvet Cake—sounded perfect to go with the hearts party theme. I had half the ingredients in my shopping cart at Albertsons when I got to the baking aisle and found a Red Velvet Cake mix. Just add oil, eggs and water? Much easier than all that buttermilk and shortening and beets.

The cupcakes turned out cute, sure, but they weren’t anything special; I blamed my use of a cake mix shortcut. But after eating that so-so cake from CPK yesterday, I think maybe I just don’t get it. Here, let me Google some recipes for you (not to be a smartass; it’s my excuse to use LMGTFY): Red Velvet Cake Recipes.

I read on Wikipedia that Red Velvet Cake is a favorite in the southern US and that’s it’s known for being rich and sweet. The CPK cake had rich and sweet frosting, but the cake itself was blah in comparison. I call shenanigans.

Mar. 17: Let’s make a deal

The deals I make with Vic are noticeably one-sided. They usually go something like this:

Jen: Here’s the deal. You make dinner and I’ll stop whining.

or…

Jen: Here’s the deal. If you’ll stop at the liquor store on the way home from work and get all the stuff to make yummy girly drinks and then make them, I’ll let you have some too.

Vic never wins in my deals. It’s gotten to where he’ll hear me say, “Here’s the deal” and immediately start shaking his head no. But you know what? Sometimes—sometimes—he still falls for it.

Like tonight. I was in a hurry to get to a PTO meeting at the school and I asked him to iron my shirt. He looked at me like I was kidding, like HOW DARE I pull him away from a very special episode of The Simpsons to do such a thing. And I looked right back at him like, that’s what the pause button on the TiVo remote is for, brainiac. I mean Honey. He didn’t jump up to get to my task immediately, so I sweetened the deal. Sometimes we wives have to do that. With my most genuine-ish smile, I added on those very popular words: I’ll make it worth your while.

OK, y’all, you know my mom reads this blog so you should know this is not going anywhere you might think because HELLO! My mom reads this blog! But Vic is maybe not as bright as you are, because he smiled real big and dreamily, and skipped over to the laundry room to iron. Yes. He skipped. I saw.

In the mean time, I finished getting the rest of myself ready and my shirt was hanging in the doorway ready for me to put on when I was done. Is he a sweetheart, or is he a sweetheart? I think he’s a sweetheart. I headed out to my meeting.

(It doesn’t have anything to do with this story, but in the interest of full disclosure, I’ll admit that I went to this meeting having forgotten to put on a bra. No, I don’t know how it happened, Sheila. Somehow in the mixed up order of things I put on a tank top while I was getting ready and forgot to change before I got dressed. I’d prefer we don’t concentrate on it, OK? Suffice it to say I kept my arms crossed the whole meeting long.)

When I got back home Vic was just leaving to get the dogs from the groomer. I sat down at my computer and updated my Facebook status to reflect the embarrassment of the bra-less non-wonder that I am. I walked into the kitchen and saw the pizza had been left out from dinner, so I wrapped it up and put it away. Then I put a few other things away, and before you know it, I was cleaning the freaking kitchen! Oh ja, I can hardly believe it also. I even swept the floor! I hate doing that stuff!

Victor came home just as I was finishing up. He looked a little surprised when he walked into the kitchen, so I put my arms around him and said, “See, honey? I told you if you ironed my shirt I’d make it worth your while, and I’m cleaning the kitchen!”

He looked at me and seemed a little disappointed. But after all that hard work I’m too tired to find out for sure. And who’s the chump who agreed to my deal in the first place? DO NOT feel sorry for the man. He ought to know by now that JEN ALWAYS WINS.

Edited to add: I mean it! Don’t y’all be thinking “Oh, poor Vic!” He knew the special brand of insanity he was marrying into long before he said “I do.” Just ask him; his e-mail address is… um… jennifer-at-manullang-dot-com.

Aug. 28: Gigglin' at the GOP

I love when news stories reveal that a jackass staunch Republican has been caught in an embarrassing homosexual situation and there is absolutely no way they can explain it away. Somehow when these scandals involve Democrats, it's no big deal (though I don't know of many), maybe because everyone expects hypocrisy from liberals??? Here's today's scandal, which involves an Idaho senator. I could not possible enjoy this any more.

Others, just to prove my point (links are to Wikipedia pages, only because I'm too lazy to look for more reliable sources):

Mark Foley
Ted Haggard
Ed Schrock
Jim West, Spokane mayor
Glenn Murphy
Bob Allen

I apologize if I've failed to mention a few of the other self-important "victims" of political and/or religious scandal. Ya think if these guys would just stop condemning others, maybe they wouldn't hate themselves so much?

My stomach muscles are begging me to PLEASE stop laughing at these jackasses. I'm evil, through and through. At least I don't mind admitting it. I'm also a registered Democrat and a mostly-liberal, and I don't mind admitting that either. Because remember, I'm an ordained reverend, and religious figures always tell the truth and are upright, honorable citizens. RESPECT ME, DAMMIT, WHETHER I DESERVE IT OR NOT!

—Jen

July 12: Critter hater

I love animals. They’re cute. They’re cuddly. They’re sweet. They’re all those things people always say about animals. In my lifetime I’ve had dogs, cats, hamsters and even a chick as pets. They’ve always been part of the family. Even L.C., my bitchy cat that moved to Dad’s, is, to me, a sweet girl.

My sister says she loves animals too. I’m not really sure. Y’see, she’s got a history of slaughtering them, or as she always corrects me, “putting them out of their misery.” She thinks she’s doing the right thing. But if they end up dead, does anyone really win?

One time she attacked her kid’s pet tarantula with a shovel. Boy, did the hairy legs fly! Humane thing to do, my butt. (‘Course, I kinda have to side with the murderer on this one, as I don’t know why anyone would keep a spider as a pet. Not a fan o’ the creepy crawlies.)

And another time she ran over a bunny repeatedly and ON PURPOSE. She missed it the first time, so she backed up and tried again. Poor panicked bunny rabbit, probably dropped more than a few pellets each time the tires came oh-so-close. Probably died of a heart attack before the ultimate flattening actually occurred. Bunny’s wife and kids were probably watching from behind a yucca plant at the side of the road.

“Mama, why is that crazy monster lady with the glowing eyes and sharp teeth scaring Daddy? And why is that boy standing in the road yelling, ‘Missed again, Mom…’ over and over? Why isn’t he helping Daddy?”

… SQUISH.

.
.
.

“Never mind, Mama…”

Whenever I think about these two events—and they’re the only two I know about, but there are probably pa-lenty more she hasn’t admitted (people that intentionally smash animals tend to be liars too)—I have to ask myself why I think my sister is so neat-o. Because neat-o people do not kill living creatures (except non-pet spiders and earwigs). Neat-o people don’t make excuses for their fits of insane rage. Neat-o people seek help.

Kath, please seek help.

And somebody needs to warn Shelby and Molly. It’s just a matter of time before the crazy monster lady with glowing eyes and sharp teeth strikes again.

Watch your step, critters…

--Jen
P.S. Rumor’s that she’s tried this extermination thing with her kids’ friends too. Hold them close, people. Hold them close.