If this post is to make too much sense and you haven't read my last post you may want to bone up now:::snort:::that verb choice will be even more relevant in a minute.
OHMIGOSH.
So while on the phone with a friend today my new foraging habits come up and I explain about my recent acquisition of magazines still sitting in their box this morning next to my desk.
She asks something like, "So what are you doing now?
"Oh I'm putting new covers on these mags so they know what they have."
"Why?"
"Because, the bookstore rips all the covers off before they throw them out."
"So? They can figure it out."
"So, I'm OCD. Okay? I want it to be easy for my Marines to look through them."
"Well are you coming to park day?"
"Oh yeah. I'll just take this box along and finish it there."
"Well hurry up!"
So off I go to Park Day with my big box of magazines.
I'm a little late and most of the mamas are there and make a hole for me at the table to lay the box down.
Much curiousity ensues. Some get up to look in themselves and those that read my blog go "ohhhhh...are those are the magazines?
"Yup"
More chattering ensues.
"Hope, where are the kids?"
"Huh? Oh...they're in the car. They gave me a full 20 of minutes of pissing and moaning on the way over about something or the other and wouldn't stop when I told them to--- so now I am taking 20 minutes from their park day."
As I am explaining and the mamas are laughing at me, I am taking crap out of the box, not paying a lot of attention and still yammering away when I notice one of my mama friends .
"Uhhh--Hope. Uhhhh. (rapid finger flicking)...what is that?"
"What?"
I look down and in my hands is a PLAYGIRL MAGAZINE. I remember looking at it, looking at her... A BUNCH of mamas heads whipping around...I dropped it like it was something out of the oven and me without my mitts.
Mama friend said again, "WHAT IS THAT?!"
Heh heh hehuuumph...yuh...pretty embarassing...well crap I didn't know it was in there?!?!?! None of that stuff had covers on it...I told the mama I had been on the phone with earlier, who was laughing the loudest, "Yeah yuk it up! You are the one who thought we should just send them as is, remember?" She just laughed louder.
So we sit there all clustered around and looking at the box, wondering what to do next when another mama comes up to sit and says, "Oh are those the magazines you were talking about..?"
"Uh huh..."
"Whadja get?"
"Ummmm...(looking around at the other mamas...shrug)go ahead and take a look."
She looks in, sees the porn and PICKS THE MAGAZINE UP OUT OF THE BOX. I looked around to see where the kids were.... She starts looking at every picture and I swear other mamas were craning and giggling-- I was cracking up.
"What are you doing?!"
"What? Haven't you all looked at this yet...oh lookit THAT......"
I coulda crawled under a rock.
Luckily there was not anymore of that kind of thing in the box, but I felt like part of an ordinance detachment going through the rest of it. I was sweating man...s-w-e-a-t-i-n-g...
So all the covers get replaced and labeled and the day all and all was pretty nice--considering..::eyeroll::.
Fast forward to eveningtime...
When I get home. I am late and Tony wants to know how the day went. The look on my face prompted a "What?" from him.
"Ummm, Tony, remember that box of magazines? "
"Yeah... what about it?"
"Well--- uhhh let's just say there were some unusual magazines in there and I inadvertantly shared them with 10 of my closest friends."
His ears perk up, he knew EXACTLY what I was talking about...well not exacty....but he sure thought he did..."Oh yeah?- insert big dirty grin and dancing eyes here- "Wherezit at?!"
"It's in the car, but..."...my voice trails off and I start to snicker...
ZIP...too late anyway...he's out the door...(ok so I didn't try TOO hard to stop him heeeeee)
He comes back in a couple minutes later and booms..."Hope! That sh** ain't right. That just AIN'T RIGHT.
Should I mention now that my dear husband is big on personal retribution?
We layed around like slugs until midafternoon. It was pathetic. A Halloween hangover. That's what it was.
Incidentally, Halloween called up some things that I hadn't ruminated on in awhile...
worry
fear
and generally having the shit scared out of you.
You can do it to yourself, have it happen inadvertantly or someone can do it to you. (shameless segue, but thank you MizMell..)
Yesterday, I was minding my own business, fairly pleased that MizMell enjoyed my posting of crude jokes and so accepted her invitation to look at an eerie video on her blog.
Eerie my ass.
It cleaned my colon, man.
No lie.
I was soooooooo not ready for the freak out...hence it being a freak out...yeah...ok...gotcha...but really--- while I was experiencing the adrenalin rush and all that that entailed including the changing of my chones and of course, hell yeah posting the same vid to my blog, it called something to mind.
When was the last time I had had the pants scared off of me? Dunno. I hate scary movies and haunted houses. In the last almost 40 years I can count on one hand the scary ones I have seen. My mom tells family I was the only kid she knew that watched the Munsters with my hands over my face.
In my mind purposefully scaring the bejeebers out of myself is not a worthwhile endeavor. I do think though I may have to reconsider this now.
Last night I took the kids to extort candy from the neighbors and had time to think about this. I watched kids sucking around for a fright as they approached doors where ambushes were clearly suspected. Obligatory shrieks emanated from said bushes and little squeals met in reply, "Do it again! Do it again!
There were some children with their heads buried up their parents butt though their candy bucket arms stayed extended. They, whether at a high rate of speed or with comforter nearby, were totally into the experience and the subsequent payoff.
Today I went to a bookstore dumpster where I had it on good authority I would find magazines I could use for my jarheads in Iraq. I looked around the dumpster where they were supposed to be-- no luck...then I saw them inside just out of reach. Jackpot.
There had to be 300 bucks worth sitting there...I wanted them bad. Now at this particular Mall there is is rent a cop in a grey flat top haircut who is not crazy to see homeschoolers around before 3 when local schools are out. I know it bugs him--he's said as much in several public reflections of what "the laws SHOULD be around here." (Incidentally, I think if the man just got laid occasionally it would be good for all concerned--well save the layee.)
I stood there at the dumpster, considered how much his belly would slow him down should he happen upon me, what would happen if he did catch me with my ass hanging out of dumpster...and I felt the rush start. Not the underwear filling jolt of the day before, but the seep of adrenalin nonetheless. Somehow, because my brain had been refamiliarized so recently it was a mirthful not dreadul kind of sensation.
I kept thinking, "What do I do?"...I want those magazines...I can almost reach them...where is that guy? what if I get caught?"
Simultaneously, I am deducing that my 10 year old could definitely fit through the hatch in it and get my quarry.
"Hey Jake!"
Looking around and gesturing him out of the car.
"C'mere! C'mere! C'mere!"
"Hurryup!"
10 year old curiousity got the better of him 'cause I knew if I had said point blank,"Hey Jake, come climb in this dumpster for me," he would have locked me out of the car.
Anyway so I get him in there and keep telling him, "Hurryup!hurryup! just get'em-- get'em..." In the meantime, the peanut gallery in the car is squealing with glee,"Ewwwwwww Jake is in a dumpster! Grooooooooooooss!!!...
The sibling commentary slows down Jake a bit as he considers his predicament and vacillates between the enjoyment of seeing his mother in this hopped up state, doing something that borders on the illegal or at the very least unseemly and what kind of grief he is and will be getting from his sibs for knocking around in a dumpster. He hesitates. I cajole.
"Boy get in that dumpster before we get caught!"
"How am I gonna get out?"
"I'll get you out for chrissakes!! (looking around)HURRYUP!"
We do get all the mags out in a box and in the car. He got into the front seat and smiled sideways at me, but refused to let me off the hook completely...afterall his mother did stick him in a dumpster...albeit an empty one save for the box of magazines. Now had we been behind a clinic or a restaurant, of course I wouldn't have slid my 1st born into one--though The Flowchart for Determining Dumpsters, Their Circumstances and Whether I would Place the Fruit of My Womb in One is another post.
I have a new perspective where fear is concerned. Some of it can sneak up on you, some you suck around for and some--the kind I am most familiar with never gets past a general worry. I have that kind DOWN.
The fear I am used to is over a kid with a high temp on a Friday night, why Ethan has taken to hair twirling and will this mean therapy or if I can make it through Thanksgiving with the sisters in law. Or it's what I feel when I see on my milsupport boards that a fellow supporter has lost one of their guys. Leave me with no emails from Iraq for three or four days and all sorts of scenarios get built slowly in a corner of my head only to get knocked down like a house of cards when I get some kind of smart ass email about being attacked by dwarves (translation...things have been busy here and boring...but we are fine.) Wheeeeew. The fear I am most familiar with is the slow kind, not the in-your-face kind whether I have found a way to put myself there or I am pushed.
If I am so used to the worry kind of fear, I really should reconsider the colon cleansing kind and the kind that I can deliberately choose to participate in...kids like it don't they? Generally they haven't screwed things up in their minds as much as an adult has. Maybe I should take a lesson from them.
I saw this over on another blog,courtesy of Mizmell, http://mizmell.blogspot.com/ Don't worry it's short and to the point.
Leave your comments and heebie jeebies.
What is a Yankee?
The same as a quickie, but a guy can do it alone.
Why is air a lot like sex?
Because it's no big deal unless you're not getting any.
What do you call a smart blonde?
A golden retriever.
I'll get back to posting soon. I am up to my ears in flat rate boxes, letters for my jarheads, Halloween festivities and the like! The vomit comet hit our house big a few days back so things are a little appropriate-for-the- season-gross around here...Happy Halloween everyone! Deb thanks for the forward! By the way...you ALL need to read Rolando's post today--it will balance out my current run at crudity. Thanks again Rolando!
What's the difference between a northern fairytale and a southern fairytale?
A northern fairytale begins "Once upon a time ..." -A southern fairytale begins,"Y'all ain't gonna believe this shit....
Why does Mike Tyson cry during sex?
Mace will do that to you.
Sgt. Grumpy posted a really great story from Michael Totten an independent reporter in Iraq...he and Michael Yon ROCK the indie news outta there.
