Sorry, guys, but I’m looking at a three-day swim meet this weekend.
Normally that’s no biggie, but I’m still trying to catch up on some stuff.
Keep an eye out for it next week, okay?
Super Sabado: the truth comes out
Today is the day I reveal to everyone how psycho I really am. Are you ready?
Whereas most people have perfectly normal nightmares like standing up in front of their high school algebra class in their underwear, I have nightmares in which I am chased through the house by hostile household appliances.
SINUS IRRIGATOR: You are such a LIAR.
BONNIE: Help!
SINUS IRRIGATOR: You told the world you had a sinus infection. LIAR!
Okay, so I wrote yesterday’s post BEFORE I went to the doctor, who told me what I really had was an EAR infection.
I’d misdiagnosed myself. Anybody could’ve done that. Really.
SINUS IRRIGATOR: LIAR!
When the doc said it wasn’t a sinus infection, I figured, “eh, I’ll just leave what I said on my blog and nobody will ever know.”
That was before I found myself hiding behind the couch from an angry sinus hoser-outer.
SINUS IRRIGATOR: Tell everybody you LIED. Tell them NOW.
Probably the nightmare was just a side effect of the decongestant/cough medicine/ibuprofen/antibiotic combo, but it sure felt real, especially the menacing way my sinus irrigator kept staring me down, like I better be careful the next time I wanted to hose out my sinus cavities or I might end up hosing out some of my brain, too.
BONNIE: It was an honest mistake—I mean, even my teeth hurt!
SINUS IRRIGATOR: Wuss.
BONNIE: And I haven’t been able to smell anything for 7 days!
SINUS IRRIGATOR: Baby. Defamer. Libeler! I did my job! You haven’t had a sinus problem in years, thanks to me. You take back what you said, or I’ll… I’ll…
BONNIE: I will! I will! I swear! Please don’t hose out my brain!
SINUS IRRIGATOR: (sniffs) As if anyone would notice a difference if I did.
So, in the interest of 1) getting a good night’s sleep and 2) preserving what remains of my brain after several years of motherhood, here is my retraction to yesterday’s post:
My Retraction
My sinus irrigator is a noble, hard-working machine that prevented this cold from turning into a sinus infection, according to qualified medical personnel. I am very sorry I implied otherwise. But it DID feel like a sinus infection, I swear.
Today’s Super Sábado comes out awfully close to Continue reading “Super Sabado: the truth comes out”
Super Sabado: Bubble Brain
That’s Tiger at the wheel. I took this picture with my cell phone from the back seat, which I prefer because there is absolutely no fun at all in being a Front Seat Driver.
As you can imagine, Hubby and I were shaken by the recent accident at our local high school, even more so when we learned:
- another teenage friend was involved in a rollover accident this week!
- a truck hit the car of one of the boys’ swim coaches!
It’s been a bad week for accidents. I tried wrestling my boys into barrels I could lock up and keep safe in the garage, but they are taller than I am now and all the swimming they do gives them some pretty good muscles. Sadly, they must remain unleashed upon the world.
Today’s Super Sabado is Continue reading “Super Sabado: Bubble Brain”
Super Sabado: Return of the Ninja
Squirt is making a new movie.
Sadly, I have no part in it this time; no camera work, no button-pushing, nothing whatsoever. The kid won’t even let me adjust the tripod holding the camcorder.
I’m not even allowed to talk to him about it. And I have some really great ideas about editing one or two scenes, too.
SQUIRT: No!
BONNIE: Come on, just hear me out!
SQUIRT: NO!
BONNIE: Really, hon, you’re being awfully close-minded. Now, about that one scene, you know, with the ninja and the bucket—
SQUIRT: MOM! Tell you what. I’ll make my movies, and you can WATCH my movies.
Talk about ungrateful. I mean, I was the one who talked Hubby into getting a camcorder. I was the one who showed Squirt how to use iMovie. I was the one who bought the crucial and necessary supplies like videotape and even music for his soundtracks!
Oh, yeah, and I BIRTHED him, too.
Not only did my hand rock his cradle, but it also cleaned his butt on countless occasions and it’s STILL washing his underwear. I’m not expecting to rule his world, but I do figure my many years of toiling on his behalf should give me at least ONE opportunity per movie to offer some artistic input, don’t you?
SQUIRT: No.
BONNIE: Just listen to what I have to say! You don’t have to actually do it! Now, about the scene with the bucket—
SQUIRT: Mom. Mom. Mom. Would you walk up to Steven Spielberg and tell him how to make his movies?
BONNIE: Sure. IF I WAS HIS MOTHER.
From what I read, Steven’s mom washed his underwear, too. Just like me. And I bet her boy hasn’t forgotten all her sacrifices now that he’s made it big, either. I bet he at least PRETENDS to listen to her on occasion.
BONNIE: Wait a minute… are you actually comparing yourself to Steven Spielberg?
SQUIRT: Why, yes. I am.
BONNIE: That’s good, son. You’re gonna need that cinematic confidence as you FOLD THAT ENORMOUS PILE OF LAUNDRY over there.
Today I’m sticking to Continue reading “Super Sabado: Return of the Ninja”
Super Sabado: streams of captcha consciousness
Beth‘s boyfriend‘s high score in Winterbells is jaw-dropping. All I can say is: dang! The boy MUST be a space alien. I mean, 1423910! How can anybody do that who doesn’t make the jump into hyperspeed on a regular basis?
But yikes! I’m behind on my Super Sabado! Quick, quick… got to catch up on my blog reading and commenting—hold on, what’s this?
One of those captchas. What a pain. Okay: H – E – L – E – N – A – G – Y
What? That was wrong? No way!
Okay, um… X – D – D – Z – Q – X – Y – K
No way I got that wrong! I hate you, you stupid Blogger captcha thingy!
And holy guacamole, my eyes are crossing on this one. Let’s see: D – O – D – T – B – Y – H – I – M
Wha—does that say what I think it says?
Must be a coincidence. At least it’s easier. Y – O – U – L – O – S – E – R
There!
Hmmph! Somehow Mindy is behind all this.
I – K – N – O – W – Y – O – U – A – R – E – B – U – T – W – H – A – T – A – M – I – ?
Now, that’s just mean.
Time for Margaritas. Today’s Super Sabado is about Continue reading “Super Sabado: streams of captcha consciousness”
Super Sabado: Let’s forget about getting older, okay?
One thing about growing older that really bothers me is losing my brain power. Lately I forget everything unless I put it in writing, and then I turn around and forget the list.
That’s why I was stuck in the mall restroom, peering at the feminine hygiene products dispenser—because I forgot to bring some of my own supplies from home.
In similar situations in my youthful, sharp-eyed past, I’d just pick the right product, insert the coin, and voila! Problem solved.
But I could barely read the front of this machine, which brings me to the second thing about growing older that really bothers me: my diminishing eyesight.
There were obviously three products for sale, but they were kind of blurry, even after I cleaned my glasses and put them back on my nose. I finally figured out the product on the right: it was “O.B.”—a brand I’ve never liked much.
What made things even more difficult was how low the dispenser was hung on the wall. Probably the installers hung it that low to make it wheelchair accessible, but they totally forgot about those of us with outdated optical prescriptions.
I scrunched down and tilted my head back so my bifocals could get a better view. Success! The middle product turned out to be Advil.
I didn’t need Advil.
The third product label described something about a “Colorful Assortment.” What the heck?
I knelt down to get a better look.
“A Colorful Assortment of Body Jewels”? What in the world were “Body Jewels”? And what were their colorful assortment properties doing in a feminine hygiene products dispenser?
Eh, I guessed I was stuck with O.B. I put my three quarters into the coin slot and turned the knob.
It wouldn’t budge. I wiggled it, tapped it, tried to loosen it, but no luck. I tried my usually successful pinball shimmy and even my mayo jar lid twist, but the dispenser knob refused to move. Frustrated, I leaned on it and pushed. Hard.
“Lady, I’ve got a better one than that stuff in the dispenser. And I’ll give it to you, lady. For free.”
I turned and looked behind me. Three females were watching me with careful but hesitant concern, as if they expected me to rip the machine off the wall, throw it at them and then climb through the hole into the next dimension.
That’s when I realized I was on my knees in a public restroom, wrestling with a feminine hygiene products dispenser. I scrambled to my feet.
The gal who’d spoken was a petite little teenager who obviously wasn’t old enough to know not to speak to agitated strangers in the bathroom, much less agitated strangers fighting with inanimate objects.
Or maybe I just looked like her confused, oldest auntie, who was mystified by yet another new-fangled machine—and she felt sorry for me. Either way, I was very glad she was willing to help out my half-blind and overly forgetful self.
So today I lift my margarita glass to the younger generation: braver than their mothers and willing to offer aid and comfort to other women in need of feminine hygiene products.
Today’s Super Sábado is about Continue reading “Super Sabado: Let’s forget about getting older, okay?”
Super Sabado: on cats, men, and bathroom fixtures
You know how it is with cats?
How you empty out their litter box so you can fill it with nice, clean sand, and even though the back door is wide open and the cats have the ENTIRE WORLD available for their toilet, they suddenly become so desperate to use that particular litter box that they try to jump in before you’ve finished filling it and you have to fight them off with the pooper scooper?
Well. That is EXACTLY how it is with men.
I am qualified to make this statement because I live in a house full of men AND I spent the week between Christmas and New Year’s cleaning for our January 1st brunch—a task experts call Sisyphean, because the faster you clean, the faster your men mess everything up until the sissy within you runs screaming into the cul-de-sac.
Take our powder room: I cleaned it on Friday but by Saturday morning there was a ring in the sink and the hand towel lay crumpled on the floor—right next to the sports page, an empty coffee cup, and a copy of Uncle John’s Bathroom Reader Plunges into History.
Grimy fingerprints covered the light switch cover and the the area around the door knob, an empty roll hung in the toilet paper dispenser, and I won’t even begin to describe condition of the main fixture.
Even the cats got into act: Bucky shed his winter coat in there and Mooch upchucked his latest lizard tail. Several dust bunnies must’ve heard all that partying and rolled themselves in just in time to mate with the cat hair—but not the lizard tail. Which is a good thing, when you think about it.
This is why I find it best to clean a bathroom and then lock the door. Sure, I could tell our household males that the powder room is off limits because it’s CLEAN, but the moment I clean it they become desperate to run in and… well.
I’ve only got two options:
1. Hold them off with the pooper scooper, or…
2. Lock the door.
Yes, they do know how to unlock the door, but since they’re usually in a big hurry when they decide they need the bathroom, they just bypass the locked door and move on to the next available facilities.
Yup. Locking the door works great.
In fact, the only problem with it is that you have to remember to unlock the door just before company comes, otherwise your needy guests will ask a clueless household male where another restroom is, and rather than unlocking the door the clueless household male will direct said guest upstairs to the teenage male bathroom, and then said guest will run into the cul-de-sac, screaming.
I mean, even the CATS won’t even go in there without a fight. You don’t want to know exactly why, just trust me on this.
Today’s Super Sabado is Continue reading “Super Sabado: on cats, men, and bathroom fixtures”
Getting ready for our New Year’s Day Brunch
I’ve been cleaning like a mad woman. This is because on New Year’s Day we’ll be having lots of people over for our annual brunch—and rather than let guests see how we really live, I’d much rather they see how we live after a week-long cleaning marathon.
Hopefully I’ll be back online in time for the Monday Morning Mojo, but we’ll see.
In the meantime, happy new year to everyone! I was going to provide Abba’s “Happy New Year” song, but I like this song of theirs so much better, so here you go (link for feedreaders):
Blue eye shadow alert! Aw, what the heck. Let’s make this an Abba marathon:
“The Winner Takes It All”
“Take a Chance on Me”
“Fernando”
“Knowing Me, Knowing You”
“Super Trouper”
“Chiquitita”
A Message from Mojo: No Super Sabado this week
Did you know “Procrastinatress” is Bonnie’s middle name?
Bonnie Procrastinatress Wren.
That would be her.
She is running around like the noodle she is, trying to get everything done, including last minute presents and last minute Christmas cards—and who are we kidding? Let’s just call them “Last Minute New Year’s Cards,” okay?
Oh, and don’t forget the quickie, last minute housecleaning for some company we’re having this afternoon. That means no Super Sabado this week.
In the meantime, you can visit all her friends in her sidebar, who are much better organized than she is and who probably give their dogs LOTS more liver treats than get passed out around here.
Come to think of it, if anybody wants to pass out some liver treats just let me know. I’ll drag my bed over to your house and move in.
Super Sabado: The man, he is IRKSOME
If I’ve learned one thing from my man’s recent knee surgery, it’s this:
The day he retires is the day I move out.
I mean, he’s sweet enough, all right. He’s my man, and he’s injured. I want to take care of him.
It’s just that… he can be so … ANNOYING.
BONNIE: Your omelet is right here, sweetie. And it’s a beauty. Here’s a fork and a napkin, too. You’re all set!
HUBBY: Thanks! It looks great! Um, you forgot the salt.
BONNIE: Right there beside you, dear.
HUBBY: Oh! Thanks. How about the pepper?
BONNIE: Next to the salt.
HUBBY: Boy, aren’t you efficient! Heh! And the coffee?
BONNIE: If that coffee pot was a snake, it woulda bit ya. Darling.
HUBBY: And the cream?
BONNIE: JUST LOOK AROUND FOR CRYING OUT LOUD CAN’T YOU SEE THE CREAM RIGHT BEHIND THE COFFEE POT????
HUBBY: Huffy, huffy! Okay, I see it. Thanks. And now… I’m looking… I’m looking… I’m looking… but I don’t see what I’m looking for…
BONNIE: Just tell me! What is it you want now?
HUBBY: The tabasco sauce?
BONNIE: ARRRRRGHHHHHHHH! (goes the refrigerator, gets the tabasco sauce, and slams it on the TV tray)
HUBBY: What? What’d I do?
When he’s slaving away in the office, he comes home and the laundry is done, dinner is ready, and the sweatshirt he left on the floor has mysteriously made its way back to a hanger in the closet.
But for some reason he seems to feel that since he’s home and can watch the process, the magic won’t work. Therefore, the household is going to fall apart unless he tells me how to do everything.
HUBBY: I was afraid we wouldn’t get up in time today so I set the alarm.
BONNIE: Really? I didn’t hear the alarm go off.
HUBBY: That’s because we got up on time after all! But then I forgot to turn the alarm off. I think it’s going off now. Would you mind going upstairs and turning it off?
BONNIE: Sure! (starts upstairs)
HUBBY: (calling from downstairs) There’s a little slider button on top of the alarm clock, right now it’s slid over to the position marked ON. You just slide it to the left, to where it says OFF.
BONNIE: I’m gonna kill him.
Lucky for me, I have several hours a day out of the house, where I wait at the pool for swim practice to finish, otherwise I might’ve committed Hubbicide this week.
HUBBY: Where are you right now?
BONNIE: I’m at the pool. Why?
HUBBY: Oh, nothing. I’m just wondering… are we going to eat dinner tonight?
BONNIE: (growling)
HUBBY: What was that? I couldn’t hear what you said.
BONNIE: Of course we’re going to eat dinner! We eat dinner EVERY NIGHT!
HUBBY: How am I supposed to know that? You’re not home, nobody’s home, and nothing is cooking right now!
Oh lordy, I do hope I get a female judge.
Today’s Super Sabado is still about Continue reading “Super Sabado: The man, he is IRKSOME”