The Alligator

So, I came here with every intention in the world of writing about my adventures in Florida from, what, three months ago.  But then I realized it's 5 AM, I haven't slept, and I'm really tired.  But I promise to do this within the next 24 hours.  And I still wanted to post something. 

It's been a really overstimulating day.

Today's the Day the Teddy Bears Have Their Picnic

When I was a kid, my mom bought me a bunch of tapes.  Most of them were geared towards building my self-esteem (because my mom failed to realize that was fine, it was my esteem for others that was lacking) but one of them was just a normal children's tape.  Regular kids' songs to sing along with in the car and that sort of thing.

That tape was the source of one of the great terrors of my formative years:  Track number six.  I always knew it was coming, lurking just beyond the ominous silence that followed the joyous sounds of The Hokey Pokey, but I was still never quite prepared for the disturbing falsetto or vaguely menacing lyrics of The Teddy Bear's Picnic.  I can't, for the life of me, figure out who thought that was a good idea to sing to children, but he or she is clearly a genius because scaring the shit out preschoolers is hilarious. 

The concept alone, toys that come to life, is creepy enough.  They're clearly up to no good, too.  Innocently intentioned teddy bears would not need to be so sneaky.  And the line about all the "marvelous things to eat and wonderful games to play," shortly followed by the outright threat, "It's lovely down in the woods today, but safer to stay at home," can only be interpreted one way:  The bears obviously consider hunting the children a fun activity prior to eating them.  Let's not overlook the creepy carnival music.  And the positively gleeful tone of someone who clearly wants to see stray kids massacred by Satan possessed balls of stuffing.  Then it's all nicely rounded out with jarring shifts between lighthearted frivolity and sinister warnings.  Awesome. 

I'm not even kidding, I'd lie in bed for hours, watching my stuffed animals for any sign of movement.  At one point, I started removing them from my bedroom before I fell asleep.  My mother, unaware of how terrified I was, would stumble across them in the hallway, assume I'd simply left them out, and bring them back in.  I'd wake to find them staring at me through glass eyes, no doubt waiting for just the right moment to tear open their mouth stitches and reveal row after row of needle sharp teeth.  No wonder I had so many childhood nightmares.

Apparently, it doesn't have the same effect on Pie.  We've been listening to that song on repeat for the entire week.  The theme of her drama camp is--you guessed it--Teddy Bear's Picnic.  And that is her favorite song out of the whole set.  (On a side note, she hates Bare Necessities.  Who the hell hates Bare Necessities?  There is something wrong with my child.)

Anyway, you'd think twenty-five years would be enough time to come to grips with this.  You'd be wrong.  Since starting her class, Pie's taken to sleeping with teddy bears.  Yes, that is supposed to be plural.  Yes Pie is still in my room.  Moving on.  The minute she's unresponsive to me poking her and asking, "You still up?" everything stuffed is cast straight into the hallway.  Because, you know, a hollow door is totally effective against Satan's minions when they finally do choose to make their presence known.  Still, it makes me feel better, at least until I wake up to pee and find them all right back in my bed.  My family seems to find scaring the shit out of me almost as hilarious as I find scaring the shit out of preschoolers. 

Her show is tomorrow, at some ungodly early hour.  Unrelated, but definitely worth mentioning, the program has been an amazing experience for her, and the instructors could not be more wonderful.  She also has a solo that she is insanely excited about and I'm so happy for her!  The whole thing is adorable beyond words and we'll definitely do it again.

But yeah, super early and I really do need to talk myself over that pile of bears in the hallway and back to bed.  If I never post again, it's because I've been dragged off to that torture chamber beneath the trees.  Don't come looking, it's safer to stay at home.

Wish us both luck!

Vacation!

Several years ago, I worked at TGI Fridays.  I'm pretty sure I've already mentioned that at some point and I'm also sure that no one reads this anymore anyway but there it is again.  At first, I loved my job at TGI Fridays, however, after about a year I decided to give sobriety a chance and realized my job at TGI Fridays was actually some special form of hell.  It was worth it because I actually met two of my very best friends there (yes, real friends, this isn't about me talking to myself again) and I probably made a good amount of money, but I drank most of that so it doesn't count.

It's also, as my friend, Friend, reminded me, where I discovered "vacation".

I'm not talking about tropical beaches or interesting museums or neat little cafes or other things normal people think of when they hear the word vacation.  This is a special vacation.

When I got too frustrated or pissed off or overwhelmed from having to talk to people without the assistance of alcohol, I would get a tall glass of soda water.  I would take my soda water and go stand in the back corner of the takeout pick-up area, and close my eyes and hold it right up to my face.  The carbonation would pop against my skin and I would pretend I was somewhere else, preferably where TGI Fridays didn't exist.  On particularly bad days, I would put ice in the soda water and blow in the glass a little so I'd get the effect of a nice, cool breeze/

One day, Friend caught me doing this.

Friend:  What are you doing?
Me:  STOP IT I'M ON VACATION! 

This became common enough that people would ask Friend what I was doing.

Friend:  Oh, she's just on vacation.

For some reason, vacation never caught on with anyone else, but it always made me feel better.

Eventually I stopped working at TGI Fridays and with it, my limitless supply of soda water.  I haven't been on soda water vacation in years.  Don't be sad, though--I didn't stop vacationing altogether.  You may remember this one.  My latest vacation (which is usually the result of my family talking too much about things I don't care about) involves going in the bathroom and turning on all the shower heads as hot as they go and just sitting there by myself.   It's fantastic!

I think tomorrow I'm going to try that with soda water!

I Woke Up This Morning

Apparently.  And that's a great thing, at least for me, maybe not so much for my family or neighbors, but I'm always glad to find I haven't accidentally knocked myself off yet.

Anyway, I woke up and I was thinking to myself, "Self, why don't you blog anymore?  You should really do that!"  So that's what I'm going to do, at least until I run out of things to talk about again.

This plan would be a lot better if I had things to talk about now.

Maybe that's why I don't blog anymore.

Nothing particularly interesting has happened since I last blogged, but what the hell, lets talk about it anyway!

--I bought a tablet.  I tell people this and they get all excited to talk about our tablets until they realize I didn't buy an Ipad or something like that, I bought a Wacom tablet and they don't know what the hell that is.  In the words of George, it was a way to spend several hundred dollars to learn that I still can't draw.

--Also, our good computer is broken, so I can't even use it right now.  It's only been broken for about a week and it's just the power supply, but it makes me hate living.  Rather than look on the bright side (some people would be entirely computerless and/or not be able to fix it themselves) I choose to complain.

--That's because I love complaining!  I've realized how much I love complaining!

--George has started playing Magic again.  He has people over at ridiculous times of day.  Like right now.  It's 6:20 in the morning.  I bake them cookies or cupcakes or whatever and then they get confused thinking he has an awesome wife and he's all, "Seriously, you've never had to listen to her complain."

--My little brother is getting married.  I really, really love my future sister-in-law, but hot damn, George thinks he has to listen to someone complain!  My little brother also graduated college, so that's outstanding!  He's a chemical engineer.  Hooray for him!  And hooray for me because he makes paint for work and booze for fun and can give me both for free!

--I need a lot of free paint because one of our tenants turned out to be a crazy hoarder and we had to evict her.  Unfortunately, we didn't realize that until she'd destroyed the apartment.  Our other tenant cut his work hours to chase his dream of becoming a rockstar.  This didn't mesh with his ability to pay rent.  At least he realized that before also destroying the apartment.

--I need a lot of free booze because most days alcoholism sounds like a good goal.

--I'm turning thirty in September.  I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up.

--Pie turns five and starts Kindergarten in the fall.  We're homeschooling.  Pie is probably completely shit out of luck.

--She's also decided she's actually a princess and I'm some sort of villain.  That would probably be cute except she tells anyone who will listen all about it. 

Librarian:  Are you making that for your mommy?
Pie:  Oh, that's not my mom, that's my wicked stepmother. 

Stranger at the supermarket:  Aren't you just a little princess?
Pie:  Told you everyone else knows.  You're gonna get in trouble for kidnapping me.

She also refuses to wear pants.  It has to be a dress at all times, regardless of activity.  This is good because revoking her dress privileges is more effective than any other punishment we've tried.  She starts drama camp tomorrow and I can't wait to see what new stories she comes up with.  That might give me something more interesting to blog about.

--Holy shit, it's my dad's birthday.  I literally just realized that, so I guess I have to go shopping today.

Happy Sunday!

Pen Pals!

When I was little, my mom got this idea that I needed a pen pal.  I'm not entirely sure what the point of this exercise was--all of my pen pals came from slightly distant towns in other parts of Ohio, so it wasn't a cultural experience.  My writing skills were already on par for my age level, so it wasn't an attempt at improvement.  I think it was a sneaky way to try to make me make friends.  I didn't particularly want a pen pal, but it beat the push-me-into-activities-I-didn't-want-to-be-in phase, so I went with it.

My pen pals hated me.  They tried, they really did.  I'd get frequent and lengthy letters on brightly colored Lisa Frank stationary, detailing life on the other side of the state.  I didn't try as hard.  Most of the time, I really did mean to write back, I just never got around to it and when I did, I was never sure what I was supposed share and what I wasn't.  I'd end up returning short, awkward little blurbs on whatever scrap of paper I could find.  I had nice paper and stickers and all that, but I was saving for something special.  I'm not sure what, but when the time came, I would know.  Most of my pen pals got sick of me pretty quickly and my mom would set off on the arduous task of finding someone in the neighborhood with a niece or grandchild who was willing to be my friend.

As much as I didn't really care about having a pen pal, I still remember every single one of them and while I don't necessarily wonder what any of them are up to, I do like to make up weird little where they're at stories in my head from time to time.  That's probably one of those creepy things I should keep to myself, but what's this blog for if not oversharing?  (And neglecting.)  Also, nothing special ever happened and I think my mom eventually gave my box of stickers to her daycare kids.  It's okay.  I have new stickers and they're better anyway. 

And while my intentions are always good, I'm still terrible about mailing things.

Kitties!

I've actually been meaning to write about this for a month but I'm lazy or busy or just not in the mood.  Take your pick.

A long, long time ago (before Pie was born) I had a cat.  I found him on my porch and named him Maurice.  George said we couldn't keep him, but I could get him medical attention and foster him until we found a home.  The vet said he was going to die.  Both George and the vet lied because he didn't die and he never left our home.

Maurice was awesome.  He hated everyone who wasn't me or my one friend.  Actually, I think he just hated George and I made that assumption based on the fact that George and Friend were the only people I (and Maurice by extension) had contact with.  He may have loved other people for all I know.

Anyway, when Pie was born, he got insanely jealous.  He didn't pee in crib or bite her like a normal cat, instead he waited until I was trying to get her stupid carrier through the door with an armful of grocery bags and disappeared.  I was heartbroken.

We posted signs and left food outside and the lady at the pound yelled at me for calling too much.  The problem is that people in my neighborhood are irresponsible and let their unaltered cats roam free and screw like, well, cats.  Maurice was solid black with no distinguishable markings and looked like any number of the neighborhood strays.  And the food drew them in droves.  And the pound is too busy with stray dogs to worry much about the cats.  Eventually, everyone but me gave up hope.

Despite his deeply rooted dislike of animals, George offered to get me a new cat.  Touching as that was, I was still waiting for Maurice to come home. 

Two years (and three days) later, he did.  He just showed up in all his feline arrogance like nothing ever happened.  Everyone was shocked.  Aside from a raging case of fleas and one oozing wound, he was no worse for wear.  I have no idea what he did for two years, but apparently he took care of himself quite well.  Even the vet (the one who told me he was going to die) was impressed.

He stuck around long enough to heal, eat twenty pounds of cat food, and decide he still didn't like Pie.  Then, just like before, he bolted.  This time, he hasn't come back. 

But people in my neighborhood are still irresponsible.

Sometime near the end of June the result of said irresponsibility ended up in the bushes in front of my house.  Pie's been asking for a cat and it's not like we don't have enough mouths to feed, so George and I decided if we could catch one, she could keep it.  The only problem was that there were two.  Oh no!

I ended up catching both.

We told Pie she could choose one, then we'd have to find a home for the other.  Pie was having none that and decided we were keeping both cats.  George is a sucker who has no problem letting a three year old dictate our household.  I'm a sucker who couldn't stand seeing how distressed the cats became when separated for any amount of time.  It took forty-five minutes for us to accept we had two kittens.

Pie named them Hiccup and Astrid and decided that when Maurice comes home, we'll change his name to Toothless.  I share her optimism that he'll come home, although I have my doubts that a seven year old cat will be very accepting of a name change.  She can try.  Maybe after all his years of roaming, he's forgotten he has one altogether.  The darker one is Hiccup and the lighter one is Astrid.  Astrid is actually a boy and Hiccup is a girl, but Pie gets really upset about that, so we don't acknowledge it.

Anyway, they're not that little anymore, but all my newer pictures are on the other computer.  They're awesome and healthy and so much fun!  I'm really glad we kept them both because not only do they entertain each other, they entertain me.  Mostly, they just play and attack each other and do generally amusing cat things, but they get really agitated when it comes to treats.  I have to put them in separate rooms for fear of one of them losing an eye.  They also hate the dog.  Porthos couldn't be any less interested in them.  Astrid just runs away whenever she comes near, but Hiccup one puffs up and spits.  I knew cats can spit, but I'd never actually seen it happen.  And they like me best!

I'm allergic to cats.  Which is why I'm sitting in the car, blogging at four in the morning.

In other news, Pie cut off her hair.  It looks great, but she's devastated.  Cutting off your hair is an awfully silly way to express that you don't want short hair, but then, I don't know that I'll ever understand how Pie's mind works.  I have pictures of that too, but I'll save them (along with the full story) for the next time I can't stand being in the house.

It's Been a Good Week

It's been miserably hot lately.  Like, 90's hot, and the only break in the godawful heat comes in the form of ridiculous downpours.  Someone's car was stuck in front of my house for almost an hour yesterday morning because the street was so flooded.

With it being so disgustingly hot and wet and sticky, there's not much to do.  We tried going to the park, but I'm pretty sure Pie would have walked away from the slide with second degree burns on her legs.  We tried the pool, but unfortunately everyone else did too.  I'm still feeling rather antisocial and that was a bit much for me to deal with.  Last week, we alternated between the library, the mall, and the McDonald's playland, but the library is the only one of those places that I'm fond of, so finding alternative entertainment in an air conditioned environment became a bit of a mission for me.

I found it in the form of $1 movies!  Apparently, lots movie theaters offer family films for $1 in the summer.  How neat!  I vaguely remember something like this from my own childhood, but when it comes to my childhood memories, it's sometimes hard to tell what really happened and what I've just convinced myself happened.

Anyway, the movies are pretty early in the day, but that's almost a good thing because it forces me to be awake and out of bed and dressed before 10.  I should probably keep that up.  There are a ton of choices, too.  If the local theater is playing something I don't want to see, it's almost guaranteed that there's another one within a reasonable driving distance that's playing something better.  I also love to drive, which means my husband and I have very different ideas of what constitutes a "reasonable driving distance".

This week we saw How to Train Your Dragon (twice, because I absolutely love that movie!) and MegaMind.  We saw three movies for less than the regular cost of one!  I can't even wrap my mind around it.  That has to be the most awesome thing ever.

We also went to the drive-in (which, unfortunately, is not $1) on Monday.  I love the drive-in and we try to go at least twice a month.  We also buy snacks because they play this depressing commercial before the movie about how all the drive-in's are closing and if we want to keep ours we need to patronize the concession stand.  It's hard to make me feel guilt, but man, that commercial does it every time!

Anyway, we saw X-Men: First Class, which I really enjoyed, and George saw Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides, which he didn't care for.  I was exhausted from getting up early and fell asleep before it started, so I don't really have any further commentary on that.  Pie pretty much slept through both movies, but she got a Tangled bucket (from the popcorn) so she was happy.

So basically, I've spent the whole week at the movies, in the car, or both.  It's been awesome!  I almost hope it stays hot.