So Smile for a While and Let's be Jolly.

Today it was ridiculously hot here. The roses didn't seem to mind, but the cats did a lot of lying around.


Tomorrow is my first bike race. I came home from the Monday night ride last night, wired and overwhelmed with crap I either needed to do, or thought I needed to worry about. I didn't get much sleep at all. I woke up about 5:30, feeling like poop. I had a good talk with The Guy about stressing out about stupid shit. He was, of course, wonderful and supportive as ever. I decided I was too tired to be any good at work, so I called in and stayed home.

I went back to bed and woke up again in the afternoon, feeling a ton better. I took some time to myself to play in the dirt and plant some marigolds, snap dragons, gerbera daisies and a black forest calla lily. You would not believe (or maybe you would) how much better you can feel about your world in general after you get your hands dirty and plant pretty flowers. I highly recommend it.

Oh, My, My. Oh, Hell, Yes. Honey, Put On That Party Dress

Here is a windmill peeking through some trees.

Ahhhhhhh. It's almost Friday, which is almost the weekend. I can almost relax and all I have to do is get through one stinkin', measly, eight hour work day. I should be able to do almost anything for eight hours, right? Please feel free to remind me of that throughout the day. Thank you.

So, this is the high school homecoming weekend. Coadster has her dress, and shoes and I just cut and layered her hair a little. All that's left is for me and Stinky to curl her hair and slap some make-up on her and drop her off at her pre-dance party on Saturday. Oh yeah, I'll have to take some photos of her and the boy and say lots of dorky and embarrassing things just to see exactly how hard she can roll her eyes. Maybe I'll even get a "God, Mom!" Out of her. That would totally be icing.

I finally made an appointment to have my hair cut and styled (whatever that means) this Saturday afternoon. Here's what I'll promise you, if I think it looks okay, or if it looks so bad it's funny, I'll be sure and post some photos of the finished product. If it just looks dork-ass but not in that funny way, like when I was in junior high and I tried to feather my hair but it wasn't the right kind for that, so my bangs just curled up and my brother called me gutter head. If it looks like that? Y'all are shit out of luck at getting to see a picture.

I have no idea what I'm doing this weekend. I know the girls are both going to the game and Stinky is sleeping over at a friend's house and Coadster is going to IHOP - apparently, that's where they hang now. I guess it's better than hanging out at a kegger on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere like we did in high school.

Okay, then. I'm off before I get all excited and tell you I beat Stinky's high score in Centipede by over 4,000 points tonight.

La La La La La La, When You're Hot, You're Hot

Here is Harry Potter made out of butter and his faithful sidekick, the butter cow - now new and improved with matching glasses.

Man oh man, am I tired. I just spent the last two days being hot and sweaty and grubby. Today I moved stuff and cleaned stuff and organized more stuff. It made me never want to ever have to move again. I can't believe how much crap we cleared out of our apartment, and even worse, how much shit we still have left. The good thing is now I have my own room with a really nice bed and brand new sheets. The bad thing is that I'm too stoopid to put a post together. After yesterday's maturely crafted blog, I'm sure it will come as a relief to you all that I'm making this very short.

It's weird, but after the last very hectic and physically demanding days, the office doesn't seem so bad. When I go back to work next week, I may not even feel the beige cubicle slowly sucking my soul to the sounds of my co-workers bitching about each other and creating bizarre scenarios about bullshit that may or may not happen... Oh wait. Who am I kidding? Even with as tired as I am and as stressful as it was to lift many heavy objects all by myself, (don't worry, I always lifted with my knees) it's still better than being at work.

I also tried to find a tourniquet to help me quit hemorrhaging money this month. Admittedly, some of the spending was my own damn fault, but then there was all that other stuff like school supplies and fees and shoes for the youngins that sucked up all my cash. Stinky just told me that she really wants Guitar Hero for her birthday next month. Coadster is under the impression that if we had it, Stinky would never leave the house. It seems like such a small price to pay to keep a fourteen year old girl out of trouble. Maybe there isn't a strong enough tourniquet in all the world to help me.

Don't You Never Try to Look Behind My Eyes

Here is the front of the pig caravan.

I know it hasn't even been a full two days yet, but I think I'm over my philosophical reflections about how to spend my lifetime. It was getting kind of annoying and stressful. I'm just going to go back to thinking about sex all the time instead - it's less productive, but way more fun.

When I went to pick up Coadster from her babysitting gig last night, my friend who's daughter she was watching told me that the gyro cart caught on fire downtown. She said they had to clear everyone out from the part of the Ped Mall where the Mayflies were playing because they were worried a tank would blow. I guess it was fine after a half hour or so, but at least people got to experience some drama with their music.

Flippin' Like a Pancake, Poppin' Like a Cork

Sometimes there are things you miss. When you are sitting at your desk in an overly beige cubicle, under florescent lights listening to some internet radio station or other, you long for those things that you don't have any more.

You remember a pair of brown hip hugger bell bottoms that you wore - always with the same gold button up the front shirt with the HUGE collar. You donned that same outfit every day when you could get away with it. When your mom left too early for work to catch you putting it on for a second or third day in a row. You did a lot of things in those clothes. You fought wars with the boys down the street. Riding your red, white and blue Liberty Bell bike with the kick-ass banana seat, loaded with rotten lemons you got under your neighbor's tree. You and your girlfriend would both ride on your bike - one to steer and peddle and the other to throw the lemons masquerading as hand grenades.

Once when the boys chased you down on their bikes, your friend peddled and you rode in back. You were barefoot, of course. It didn't seem like a bad idea until your heel got caught in the spokes of the back wheel of your bike. The Liberty Bell couldn't take the strain of your foot and you and your friend crashed in front of what you called the Harley house down the street. The bikers thought the boys were to blame and threatened them as they rode quickly back home. You limped home with your war injury anticipating the attention you would receive from your mom and waiting to cry until right when you saw her. Your brown hip huggers were torn and had oil from your bike smeared all over the bell part. You would miss wearing them. Your gold shirt would never really go with anything else.

Sometimes, even now you think about those things you used to have. In the afternoons when it is slow at work, you imagine how great it would be to go home at three, like you did when you were in grade school. You would ride the Liberty Bell as fast as you were able, so you could lie on your couch and watch The Banana Splits, and Spiderman and Submariner, one right after the other, until your mom came home and made you get up and put your back pack away and get ready for dinner. Sometimes those are the things you miss.

Yo wassup with the L O C?

Here is one of my favorite photos from the orchard last Fall.

In an attempt to avoid the wah-wah quality of my last few posts, I thought I'd stop going on and on about my past illness and move on to something more positive. So, I'll just quickly list a few of my favorite things from the past week.

1.) My favorite day so far this month - May 1st is payday. Hip, hip, hooray!

2.) My favorite e-mail address this week has got to be, funkyjoemedina@somethin'somethin'.com

3.) My favorite google search that recently led people to my blog, besides the plethora of inquiries for "fourteen joys and a will to be merry", (which cracks me up too) was "nicknames for sniffing glue". I would love to have a job where I made-up cool street names for huffing. It would be so much more rewarding than what I'm doing now. Snorting Mr. Ed, or honking VOC's (volatile organic compounds) are the first two that come to mind...Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm not quitting my day job, I'm just fantasizing about it - a lot.

4.) My favorite misheard song lyric. Do you guys know that one song that's on the radio now? If you don't have teenage daughters, you might not have to, but it's by Omarion and the lyrics are supposed to be "There's an ice box where my heart used to be..." One of the girls' friends thought it was, "There's an Xbox where my heart used to be..." I think that is so much better. Who wouldn't sign up for that kind of transplant? When you got dumped, you wouldn't get all morose, you'd just kill zombies, or you'd be fake smiling on the outside, but playing Guitar Hero on the inside. I would even sign up for it, and I don't really know how to play video games very well. I get confused by all the controls and what they're supposed to do. THERE. I said it, I have a video game playing disability. Now, I can run off and find a three day seminar to learn how, or a support group to rise above it. Does this mean that I have a social disease, or a non-social disease?

5.) This last one is not a favorite thing, but the weirdest thing I saw today. I was running on the corner of First Avenue and Court Street, when I thought I saw a branch on the sidewalk. As I got closer, I noticed there was a hoof attached to it, and that it was really a deer leg. How does one lose their disconnected deer leg? Would it fall out of a person's pocket or fly out of the back of a guy's truck? I'm at a loss...

Everybody's Smilin' - Sunshine Day

Here is Coadster as seen through the net...

So, today was pretty kick-ass. I was exhausted when I first got up this morning, but I felt better as the day progressed. I love Iowa City when it first gets warm. Suddenly, all these people come out of hiding - the crazy guys pace back and forth through the ped mall, chain smoking and talking to themselves, there's a whole new crop of twenty year old panhandlers, asking me for money when their hipster glasses cost more than I make in two weeks, and the regulars are parked on the lawn furniture in front of the Deadwood. I love catching up with the Deadwood regulars. Of course, when you ask them what's going on, they can only answer, "Nothing much." They don't have jobs, or cars, for the most part, but they are funny as hell and always quite liberal with the compliments. I feel so much better about myself, going back to cubicle world after my three o'clock break.

After work, I went to Stinky's track meet. I missed her throwing discus, but caught her just in time to kick serious ass at the shot-put. I was wearing a skirt, so I was a little worried that she might be blinded by my pasty, white legs, but she was smart enough to look away right before she threw.

By six, I had to jet over to Coadster's soccer game. Looking around the bleachers, I was pretty sure I would win the award for the most inappropriate, foul-mouthed soccer mom at the game. Then I got excited thinking about how fun the imaginary award ceremony would be when I was presented with that honor. All the other not-quite-as-foul-mouthed soccer mom's would be talking so much shit about me. Don't worry, it's not like I missed much while I was daydreaming, the game ended with a tied score of zero to zero.

...And here is Coadster with her game face on.

And You Can Act Real Rude and Totally Removed

Here is the picture from my first college ID at the University of Northern Iowa in 1983. I must have thought it was worth ripping out of the laminate and saving, if only for the light pink OP shirt and giddy expression I was wearing.

In 1983 I graduated from high school and went to college in Cedar Falls, Iowa. I chose to go there because,out of the three state universities, it was the furthest away from Ottumwa, it had the cheapest tuition and I thought it was my best shot of walking on for track and earning myself a scholarship. I got injured my senior year, and the only school that offered me money to run, was a small christian school in Mount Pleasant, Iowa. With my big mouth, love for loud music and white girl angst, I didn't think I'd last long there. So, I chose UNI and learned a lot of things.

In high school I wasn't allowed to go out very much and never dated. I had spent the last eight years, cooking cleaning, being told I was shit and thinking that's what I deserved. During my first few months of freedom, I was sure I was going to get hit by a train or come down with a terminal disease. I couldn't imagine how to live a life like other people. It actually took me several years to get rid of all the crap leftover from my aunt and uncle, and quit fucking myself over. Out of all the mistakes I made that year, I'm going to relate to you the one that always made me feel the worst:

Because I was a runner and goofy/spazzy and probably the Lucille Ball of my high school, I had tons of male friends, but never dated. It didn't occur to me that a boy would like me as anything other than a friend. The first date I had in college, was a set-up by one of the girls who lived on my floor. The guy was very nice and cute, but very normal. He was an accounting major, and played rugby and thought Cedar Falls was a big city. (he was wrong) After a group date where we drank beer and watched The Exorcist, (about the least sexy movie you can imagine) he asked me to come watch him play rugby. I told him I would, but then never showed.

I was scared and thought that everyone else in the world had dated in high school and already knew some set of rules, that I had never learned and I wouldn't know what to do. I didn't think I'd see him again, but it turned out he was in a huge lecture of mine. (that I obviously didn't go to very often) At the final, he tapped my desk with a pencil and said, hi. He asked what happened to me that day, but not in the vindictive tone he should have used with me. I lied and told him that I had to do something with my roommate at the last minute, and couldn't make it. I'm sure I wasn't the least bit believable. He said that was too bad and really meant it and then went to find his seat.

Back then, I had no idea that I could hurt someone's feelings. When I realized I had, I didn't know how to fix it. I didn't even apologize. At this point, I think my relationship karma has kicked my ass about a hundred times over, but I still feel bad for my lame-ass behavior with that first guy.

Eat Your Words But Don't Go Hungry

Here is Stinky with one of her friends in Des Moines last week for the girls state basketball tournament.

My friends who have boys in junior high, always complain about how it's so hard to talk to their sons. They say most of their questions are met with one word answers or grunts. How wonderful would that be? Yeah, yeah, I know it's good that my daughters feel comfortable enough to talk to me about everything. But every now and then, I fantasize about having a boy who would say, "Nothing," when I asked him what was wrong.

On Saturday afternoon I was transporting what seemed like 150, but was really closer to five kids from one destination to another. There were a couple of boys in the car, and they totally shattered my illusions. They talked more than the girls. (which I honestly, had no idea was even possible) So, here's my version of overheard in the backseat of a 1999 pine green Subaru station wagon:

Teen Boy: Last summer all we did was play Halo. It was so boring, and my friends were so mean to me. One time I washed with some soap my mom got at Bath and Body Works and the guys kept telling me how pretty I smelled. They just kept flipping me shit and they wouldn't stop, so I slapped one of them. He turned around and slugged me, but not very hard because he didn't want to lose his game. So, then I said, hey watch it, you almost died and when he turned to pay attention to his game, I punched him in the face really hard. He was so mad. He told me that if I didn't smell so good, he would have fuckin' killed me.

At this point, I think I should maybe say something, but I'm not sure what. Plus, there's a sixth grade kid jogging just ahead of me on the sidewalk. He's wearing an iPod and he looks all kinds of spaced-out, so I pay a little more attention than I normally would have. Sure as shit, he turns without looking, and runs right in front of my car in the middle of the street. If I hadn't been watching him, I would have hit the poor dumb kid for sure. All of us in the car are a little shaken. I would have felt horrible, if I had hit him, which is why I'm irrationally pissed-off at him

Teen Girl: I know that kid. He used to go out with a girl I know.

Me: Has he always smoked crack?

Teen Girl: What?

Me: Nothing.

Teen Boy: Dude. What a dick. We should just go back there and all kick his ass.

Me: (Just in my head) That would be awesome. I'd feel so much better about almost, accidentally, hurting someone, by taking all the power back and hurting him on purpose.

Me: (Aloud this time) Although it sounds tempting, how about we just get you all home safely? Is that your house there, with the basketball hoop in the driveway?

Sometimes it's no fun to be the parent.

I Got A Lion in my Pocket and, Baby, He's Ready 2 Roar

Here's a photo of me and my cousins at Marriott's Great America (I think it's a Six Flags now - is that right, TLB?) outside of Chicago in the mid-seventies. I'm looking a little Robert Plant-like with that frizz hair. Again, this photo has nothing to do with my post. I just think it's funny that my cousin is wearing a red poncho over her purple polyester outfit.


I was tagged by Margaret for another meme. I know I've been doing a lot of these lately, but this one's quick and judging by yesterday's post, maybe it's better if I'm not left to my own devices. I guess I am just to finish these two statements:

1.) The dumbest argument ever:

Was the one I used to have over and over again with myself when I was younger, when I found out a guy I liked wasn't interested in me or treated me like crap. I used to take both pro and con sides. the pro would propose that the guy was just saying he didn't want to date me because he was afraid to be in a relationship right then, or because he didn't know me well enough, or maybe there were just a few things I could alter about myself that would make him change his mind. Then, the rational con self would jump in to remind me that if he thought I needed to change, then I shouldn't want to date him. My stupid, insecure, pro side would squelch that with a resounding, "Whatever", and I'd continue making excuses. Ugh, it makes me sad just to remember that silly, messed-up girl.

2.) If you were the opposite sex:

I would try to make more sense and appreciate the people who were in my life while I had them, so I didn't have to obsess over them forever after they were gone...And unlike Margaret, I would probably have a huge penis that would give me an exaggerated sense of self.