I want to spread some holiday cheer but I need your help. If you have a post about the holidays, leave a comment or an excerpt below with a link to your post so we can all enjoy it.
Thursday, June 30, 2005
Until recently, I’ve had some misconceptions about the wearing of thongs.
I remember my high school years and we would do anything to avoid the receiving end of a wedgie for what I thought were obvious reasons but now you can go to the store and purchase a pre-manufactured wedgie to nestle up in the ne’er regions for God only knows what reason.
I had theorized that people wear thongs for the same basic reason they floss their teeth. I’m relieved to find my theory to be in err because I no longer have questions concerning matters such as the disposal of residual byproducts from using this type of hygienic device.
More disturbing than my train of thought on this subject is the actual reason for the invention and wear of the almighty thong. Apparently, one wears a thong to eliminate panty lines. Really, it’s true. Many women and (shudder) some men are willing to endure the discomfort of a string between the cheeks solely for the viewing pleasure of others. Well, let’s put our hands together and give them a big heartfelt thanks for their selfless sacrifice. I imagine chaffing would be a problem but I opt not to take that path in this discussion.
I personally choose to wear less form fitting clothes so a thong for me would be purely for my own “pleasure” but at this point in my life that sort of exhilaration is unnecessary and I venture to say it would make me more petulant than I already am. Besides, with my lactose intolerance, I fear a thong might take on the properties of a guitar string from time to time. While I can certainly appreciate the humorous quality of a cheeky concerto of one-string harmonics, I would be embarrassed just the same. It’s bad enough that I have to play off an occasional cheek squeak but I doubt I could explain away something that sounds like a sour note on a clarinet.
Honestly, I don’t get fashion.
For more information on this subject see Moogie I think she may be more of an expert than I.
I remember my high school years and we would do anything to avoid the receiving end of a wedgie for what I thought were obvious reasons but now you can go to the store and purchase a pre-manufactured wedgie to nestle up in the ne’er regions for God only knows what reason.
I had theorized that people wear thongs for the same basic reason they floss their teeth. I’m relieved to find my theory to be in err because I no longer have questions concerning matters such as the disposal of residual byproducts from using this type of hygienic device.
More disturbing than my train of thought on this subject is the actual reason for the invention and wear of the almighty thong. Apparently, one wears a thong to eliminate panty lines. Really, it’s true. Many women and (shudder) some men are willing to endure the discomfort of a string between the cheeks solely for the viewing pleasure of others. Well, let’s put our hands together and give them a big heartfelt thanks for their selfless sacrifice. I imagine chaffing would be a problem but I opt not to take that path in this discussion.
I personally choose to wear less form fitting clothes so a thong for me would be purely for my own “pleasure” but at this point in my life that sort of exhilaration is unnecessary and I venture to say it would make me more petulant than I already am. Besides, with my lactose intolerance, I fear a thong might take on the properties of a guitar string from time to time. While I can certainly appreciate the humorous quality of a cheeky concerto of one-string harmonics, I would be embarrassed just the same. It’s bad enough that I have to play off an occasional cheek squeak but I doubt I could explain away something that sounds like a sour note on a clarinet.
Honestly, I don’t get fashion.
For more information on this subject see Moogie I think she may be more of an expert than I.
Wednesday, June 29, 2005
Mrs. Muzikdude and I are numerically the same age for six months every year.
Today marked the beginning of the other six months where Mrs. Muzikdude is numerically one year older than I.
I feel so young.
If you didn't pick up on what I'm saying, Leave a comment that say's "Happy Birthday Mrs. Muzikdude" and be done with it.
Today marked the beginning of the other six months where Mrs. Muzikdude is numerically one year older than I.
I feel so young.
If you didn't pick up on what I'm saying, Leave a comment that say's "Happy Birthday Mrs. Muzikdude" and be done with it.
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
I took Mrs. Muzikdude out to dinner last night.
I was really hungry so in order to get the most punch from my peso we decided to go to the Golden Corral Buffet or as I affectionately call it, “The Feed Lot”.
The feed lot has a different special every day and apparently last night was “Trailer Park Night”. I felt a bit out of place as Mrs. Muzikdude didn’t have time to put in her Sunday-goin’-to-meetin’-curlers but when you’re as hungry as I was, social acceptance is meaningless.
Anytime I’m thrust out of my environment I’m sure to watch closely and attempt to blend with the indigenous fauna. In this case my field of study was that of bouffants, faded tattoos, and missing teeth (and that was just the women) I was amazed to see the amount of food consumed by people that have nothing with which to chew. There is a definite technique to gumming a steak but it seems having a cigarette hanging from one’s mouth somehow makes it easier. The meal was uneventful until the husbands arrived to eat with their women. All those prison guards got in the way and slowed my return visits to the trough.
The ordeal reminded me of my trip through West Virginia.
Mrs. Muzikdude and I “planned” a trip from Maryland to Kansas and were perplexed as to why all the interstates go around West Virginia rather than through it. We found a state highway that cut right through the state and shortened our trip by at least one hundred miles. It doesn’t get much better than that.
The awe of the scenic drive quickly gave way to fear as we headed deeper into the mountains. The highway became narrow and winding causing us to slow to an average speed of 30 mph until the pavement ended slowing us a bit more. Staying to the right side of the road was difficult as it was barely 1 ½ lanes wide. At some point it dawned on me that mules don’t need guard rails so the absence of such shouldn’t have surprised me.
We stopped at a little mom and pop store for something to drink. That was a mistake. Not only did they speak some other version of English, they all looked the same. Clem looked like Jed who looked like Billy Sue, who looked like Bubba Ray and although I never would have thought the stereotype to be true, they all had red necks.
There are a few things in short supply up there as well; things like dental plans, textiles, and regulated breeding.
Don’t get me wrong, the trip was a ripsnortin’ good time, I just felt overtly normal and well adjusted…maybe a bit self conscious. We drove off thinking “Man, those were some homely people” but I wonder what they said as we pulled away…”Gee maw, I aint never seen nuthin so ugly like them were. They musta been 3rd cousins or sumthin. And didja hear them talk? I wonder who learned them to spoke anyhow?”
I don’t blame wildlife for having to live in the forest; neither will I blame the mountain folk for not realizing civilization exists at lower altitudes nor will I take that particular route through those particular mountains again.
Meanwhile, back at the feed lot; I think some of those high altitude folk started a commune here in Colorado Springs because the similarity was eerie. I couldn’t shake the feeling that people were whispering about us through the entire meal.
I was really hungry so in order to get the most punch from my peso we decided to go to the Golden Corral Buffet or as I affectionately call it, “The Feed Lot”.
The feed lot has a different special every day and apparently last night was “Trailer Park Night”. I felt a bit out of place as Mrs. Muzikdude didn’t have time to put in her Sunday-goin’-to-meetin’-curlers but when you’re as hungry as I was, social acceptance is meaningless.
Anytime I’m thrust out of my environment I’m sure to watch closely and attempt to blend with the indigenous fauna. In this case my field of study was that of bouffants, faded tattoos, and missing teeth (and that was just the women) I was amazed to see the amount of food consumed by people that have nothing with which to chew. There is a definite technique to gumming a steak but it seems having a cigarette hanging from one’s mouth somehow makes it easier. The meal was uneventful until the husbands arrived to eat with their women. All those prison guards got in the way and slowed my return visits to the trough.
The ordeal reminded me of my trip through West Virginia.
Mrs. Muzikdude and I “planned” a trip from Maryland to Kansas and were perplexed as to why all the interstates go around West Virginia rather than through it. We found a state highway that cut right through the state and shortened our trip by at least one hundred miles. It doesn’t get much better than that.
The awe of the scenic drive quickly gave way to fear as we headed deeper into the mountains. The highway became narrow and winding causing us to slow to an average speed of 30 mph until the pavement ended slowing us a bit more. Staying to the right side of the road was difficult as it was barely 1 ½ lanes wide. At some point it dawned on me that mules don’t need guard rails so the absence of such shouldn’t have surprised me.
We stopped at a little mom and pop store for something to drink. That was a mistake. Not only did they speak some other version of English, they all looked the same. Clem looked like Jed who looked like Billy Sue, who looked like Bubba Ray and although I never would have thought the stereotype to be true, they all had red necks.
There are a few things in short supply up there as well; things like dental plans, textiles, and regulated breeding.
Don’t get me wrong, the trip was a ripsnortin’ good time, I just felt overtly normal and well adjusted…maybe a bit self conscious. We drove off thinking “Man, those were some homely people” but I wonder what they said as we pulled away…”Gee maw, I aint never seen nuthin so ugly like them were. They musta been 3rd cousins or sumthin. And didja hear them talk? I wonder who learned them to spoke anyhow?”
I don’t blame wildlife for having to live in the forest; neither will I blame the mountain folk for not realizing civilization exists at lower altitudes nor will I take that particular route through those particular mountains again.
Meanwhile, back at the feed lot; I think some of those high altitude folk started a commune here in Colorado Springs because the similarity was eerie. I couldn’t shake the feeling that people were whispering about us through the entire meal.
Monday, June 27, 2005
I wasn’t going to write about this but the subject really torques my thong.
I haven’t posted anything yet today because I’m afraid. I fear that the government will find my blog and determine the content is crap. I worry that our court system will force me to stand by and watch as some productive website such as Google or Amazon delete all the data I’ve worked so hard to produce so they can have my bandwidth and server space; all in the name of progress and the Fifth Amendment.
However, I’ve decided I can save my blog by turning it into a porn site. Right now, my blog doesn’t generate revenue which is the only flaw albeit a fatal one. The Supreme Court is obviously left-handed (or underhanded) so a seedy site that hides behind the 1st Amendment is certainly a safe bet.
If you haven’t figured it out, I’m talking about eminent domain. Yup, the Supreme Court took a supreme dump in the bed this time. Honestly, I think the Fifth Amendment was written during a binge at a Philadelphia pub and those trying to interpret the ramblings today represent the hangover.
Am I biased? You bet I am. I own a home in a decent location.
I hate moving and I’ll be beyond livid if someone tries to tell me my house is substandard for the area and will be torn down to make room for a strip mall. I thought we settled all of this during the building of the railroads. If they try to move me, I’ll be the new Jesse James.
I’m going to exercise another of my constitutional rights and purchase some weapons so I’m able to start feudin’ when the carpetbaggers come to take a slice of my pie…and what exactly is “fair market value”? Who sets this price? If I put my house on the market today, there’s nothing stopping me from asking $300,000 (other than it will never sell). The point is I have control over the selling price of my home…or at least the asking price. No one will come in and tell me what they think the house is worth and coerce me into selling for an amount I feel is too low. Moreover, I do NOT want to move. I want to remain living where I am and I spit in the face of any government that tells me I can’t live where I want.
Ok, so I’m in the military and subject to unwanted relocation anyway, but the military is a different issue; I volunteered for this. Are any of you in the military? You all may as well be, because at any time, the government can force you to relocate whether you want to or not. Oh, they’ll give you money for your house but do you think they’ll help you find another? I think not. You will be left in the cold to fend for yourself. Hopefully you haven’t just taken an equity line of credit at 80% loan to value to make upgrades to your home because you may very well end up living in a brand new refrigerator box down at the city park. Sucks to be you and the government doesn’t give a flip because as long as the developer that pushed you into the street pays more property taxes than you, it’s all good. That’s right; it’s legal for your Uncle Sam to abuse you as long as he profits from it.
Money makes the world go ‘round and the U.S. government knows it.
There is, however, a way to make the law of eminent domain work in your favor. Become a developer and beat the government to the punch. All you have to do is find some crappy looking houses and build an adult book store or something that will improve the image of the community.
I remember the days when our Constitution stood for the rights of the American people and was used to enforce such but now we are forced to sit and watch as the law of the land is used to wipe the ass of the Supreme Court.
I haven’t posted anything yet today because I’m afraid. I fear that the government will find my blog and determine the content is crap. I worry that our court system will force me to stand by and watch as some productive website such as Google or Amazon delete all the data I’ve worked so hard to produce so they can have my bandwidth and server space; all in the name of progress and the Fifth Amendment.
However, I’ve decided I can save my blog by turning it into a porn site. Right now, my blog doesn’t generate revenue which is the only flaw albeit a fatal one. The Supreme Court is obviously left-handed (or underhanded) so a seedy site that hides behind the 1st Amendment is certainly a safe bet.
If you haven’t figured it out, I’m talking about eminent domain. Yup, the Supreme Court took a supreme dump in the bed this time. Honestly, I think the Fifth Amendment was written during a binge at a Philadelphia pub and those trying to interpret the ramblings today represent the hangover.
Am I biased? You bet I am. I own a home in a decent location.
I hate moving and I’ll be beyond livid if someone tries to tell me my house is substandard for the area and will be torn down to make room for a strip mall. I thought we settled all of this during the building of the railroads. If they try to move me, I’ll be the new Jesse James.
I’m going to exercise another of my constitutional rights and purchase some weapons so I’m able to start feudin’ when the carpetbaggers come to take a slice of my pie…and what exactly is “fair market value”? Who sets this price? If I put my house on the market today, there’s nothing stopping me from asking $300,000 (other than it will never sell). The point is I have control over the selling price of my home…or at least the asking price. No one will come in and tell me what they think the house is worth and coerce me into selling for an amount I feel is too low. Moreover, I do NOT want to move. I want to remain living where I am and I spit in the face of any government that tells me I can’t live where I want.
Ok, so I’m in the military and subject to unwanted relocation anyway, but the military is a different issue; I volunteered for this. Are any of you in the military? You all may as well be, because at any time, the government can force you to relocate whether you want to or not. Oh, they’ll give you money for your house but do you think they’ll help you find another? I think not. You will be left in the cold to fend for yourself. Hopefully you haven’t just taken an equity line of credit at 80% loan to value to make upgrades to your home because you may very well end up living in a brand new refrigerator box down at the city park. Sucks to be you and the government doesn’t give a flip because as long as the developer that pushed you into the street pays more property taxes than you, it’s all good. That’s right; it’s legal for your Uncle Sam to abuse you as long as he profits from it.
Money makes the world go ‘round and the U.S. government knows it.
There is, however, a way to make the law of eminent domain work in your favor. Become a developer and beat the government to the punch. All you have to do is find some crappy looking houses and build an adult book store or something that will improve the image of the community.
I remember the days when our Constitution stood for the rights of the American people and was used to enforce such but now we are forced to sit and watch as the law of the land is used to wipe the ass of the Supreme Court.
Sunday, June 26, 2005
Dramamama and I hiked Mount Cutler in North Cheyenne Canyon yesterday. It was the perfect day for a hike. We hit the trailhead at 6am and were the only two out there. We didn’t see another person until we were almost all the way back to the car. What a good day.
See the rest of the photos here.
See the rest of the photos here.
Saturday, June 25, 2005
I married a cook.
If you didn’t, you have my sympathy. I also love to cook and over the years, I’ve found my gastronomic feng shui under the tutelage of my wife, the professional cook, so now I am to food as Barry White is to bedroom talk. However, Mrs. Muzikdude still cooks better than me.
I intentionally glamorize the benefits of espousing a culinary artist just to antagonize those less fortunate but this sort of relationship is not without its drawbacks. Allow me to illustrate:
I arrived home from work and parked the McClaren in the driveway. I salivated on the way to the front door (as always) because I knew, as usual; there would be a multi-cultural feast on the table.
Ok…no…I pulled into the driveway in my 1985 Subaru GL and walked into the house to find Mrs. Muzikdude alphabetizing her spices.
Alphabetizing. Her. Spices.
Apparently, the most abundant ingredient in our kitchen is OCD.
I know many of you are thinking that alphabetizing spices is no big deal but that’s because you merely have a spice rack. We have an entire cupboard of spices containing everything from Allspice to Tumeric. The amount of spices we own have rendered space in our kitchen a premium. In fact, if we didn’t grow our own herbs we’d have to buy a bigger house (go ahead and cut lose on the "homegrown herb" jokes). I wonder if India is for sale.
We’ve decided to plant a full-on garden this year so our yard is filled with things like tomatoes, cucumbers, green beans, etc. I even have my own special section of habaneros and cayenne peppers. Yeah, baby, I intend to do spectacular things with those peppers and I intend to share with my friends.
We call this maintaining relationships.
So if you're in the neighborhood around harvest time look me up. I'll treat you to a case of indigestion...it'll be a gas.
If you didn’t, you have my sympathy. I also love to cook and over the years, I’ve found my gastronomic feng shui under the tutelage of my wife, the professional cook, so now I am to food as Barry White is to bedroom talk. However, Mrs. Muzikdude still cooks better than me.
I intentionally glamorize the benefits of espousing a culinary artist just to antagonize those less fortunate but this sort of relationship is not without its drawbacks. Allow me to illustrate:
I arrived home from work and parked the McClaren in the driveway. I salivated on the way to the front door (as always) because I knew, as usual; there would be a multi-cultural feast on the table.
Ok…no…I pulled into the driveway in my 1985 Subaru GL and walked into the house to find Mrs. Muzikdude alphabetizing her spices.
Alphabetizing. Her. Spices.
Apparently, the most abundant ingredient in our kitchen is OCD.
I know many of you are thinking that alphabetizing spices is no big deal but that’s because you merely have a spice rack. We have an entire cupboard of spices containing everything from Allspice to Tumeric. The amount of spices we own have rendered space in our kitchen a premium. In fact, if we didn’t grow our own herbs we’d have to buy a bigger house (go ahead and cut lose on the "homegrown herb" jokes). I wonder if India is for sale.
We’ve decided to plant a full-on garden this year so our yard is filled with things like tomatoes, cucumbers, green beans, etc. I even have my own special section of habaneros and cayenne peppers. Yeah, baby, I intend to do spectacular things with those peppers and I intend to share with my friends.
We call this maintaining relationships.
So if you're in the neighborhood around harvest time look me up. I'll treat you to a case of indigestion...it'll be a gas.
Friday, June 24, 2005
You people are sick.
You were all apparently entertained by the story of me nailing my thumb to a roof. That's great...for you. I'll try to continue injuring myself so you can remain humored by my slapstick life.
Want more?
I have a wood burning stove.
This means I need wood. We rarely use our furnace during the winter months because the stove keeps the house so warm. I usually buy a fuel wood cutting permit from the forestry service every year to cut dead wood from National Forest property. There's a lot of wood to be cut so I purchased a rather large 30” chainsaw a few years ago.
I used to know a guy that owned a couple thousand acres in the mountains about an hour from my house and he had many dead trees that needed removing. I was happy to volunteer my services as lumberjack and spent the next month or so hauling chords of wood from his land.
The chainsaw worked like a dream. Occasionally, the size of the tool was overkill for the size of the job but it’s better than not having enough power.
I don’t really like people much…or I should say, I don’t like working with people very much so over the years, I’ve learned how to do things by myself. I became quite adept at handling the logs and chainsaw without the interference of others and I found solitude communing with nature undisturbed.
The only time I truly wished I had someone with me was while cutting a tree in a particularly rough area on the side of a hill. I had just finished a relief cut and was positioning myself on the other side of the tree to make a through-cut. There were a few branches in my way so I just cut them away as I rounded the tree. Traversing the hillside while operating the chainsaw and trying to move into position had become a daunting task and I ended up wielding the saw with one hand as I balanced myself against the tree with my other hand.
At one point the saw came through the branch while I was off balance. I couldn’t hold the weight of the tool because my arm was stretched out in front of me and the spinning chain came down against my shin.
The pain was dull like I had been hit by a sledge hammer. I couldn’t look. I sat on the side of the hill, holding my breath, knowing that the worst injuries don’t hurt much and all I could feel was throbbing. I finally mustered the courage to look at my leg and saw my mangled, blood soaked jeans. I imagined my leg was beyond repair and I was out in the woods, alone, miles from anything.
This had all the makings of a survival movie.
As it turned out, the only drama was in my mind because I pulled my pant leg up to find that my shin hadn’t been torn apart. One tooth from the chain had caused a single small hole in my leg which bled profusely but was otherwise not overly traumatic.
Walking was painful but I packed up all my gear, called it a day, and returned home to Mrs. Muzikdude, happy to be alive.
This was not to be the first or the last time my inability to work with others would cause injury on the job…but that’s another story or two…or three…
You were all apparently entertained by the story of me nailing my thumb to a roof. That's great...for you. I'll try to continue injuring myself so you can remain humored by my slapstick life.
Want more?
I have a wood burning stove.
This means I need wood. We rarely use our furnace during the winter months because the stove keeps the house so warm. I usually buy a fuel wood cutting permit from the forestry service every year to cut dead wood from National Forest property. There's a lot of wood to be cut so I purchased a rather large 30” chainsaw a few years ago.
I used to know a guy that owned a couple thousand acres in the mountains about an hour from my house and he had many dead trees that needed removing. I was happy to volunteer my services as lumberjack and spent the next month or so hauling chords of wood from his land.
The chainsaw worked like a dream. Occasionally, the size of the tool was overkill for the size of the job but it’s better than not having enough power.
I don’t really like people much…or I should say, I don’t like working with people very much so over the years, I’ve learned how to do things by myself. I became quite adept at handling the logs and chainsaw without the interference of others and I found solitude communing with nature undisturbed.
The only time I truly wished I had someone with me was while cutting a tree in a particularly rough area on the side of a hill. I had just finished a relief cut and was positioning myself on the other side of the tree to make a through-cut. There were a few branches in my way so I just cut them away as I rounded the tree. Traversing the hillside while operating the chainsaw and trying to move into position had become a daunting task and I ended up wielding the saw with one hand as I balanced myself against the tree with my other hand.
At one point the saw came through the branch while I was off balance. I couldn’t hold the weight of the tool because my arm was stretched out in front of me and the spinning chain came down against my shin.
The pain was dull like I had been hit by a sledge hammer. I couldn’t look. I sat on the side of the hill, holding my breath, knowing that the worst injuries don’t hurt much and all I could feel was throbbing. I finally mustered the courage to look at my leg and saw my mangled, blood soaked jeans. I imagined my leg was beyond repair and I was out in the woods, alone, miles from anything.
This had all the makings of a survival movie.
As it turned out, the only drama was in my mind because I pulled my pant leg up to find that my shin hadn’t been torn apart. One tooth from the chain had caused a single small hole in my leg which bled profusely but was otherwise not overly traumatic.
Walking was painful but I packed up all my gear, called it a day, and returned home to Mrs. Muzikdude, happy to be alive.
This was not to be the first or the last time my inability to work with others would cause injury on the job…but that’s another story or two…or three…
Thursday, June 23, 2005
Surfing blogs has put me in contact with many different and interesting personalities. Every once in a while I find someone that I really connect with; someone I have more in common with than blogging.
Mamacita is one of those people. Her kids are a bit older but very similar to my own and I'm enduring some of the trials she has already dealt with and some that she continues to handle. Mamacita understands my humor, my passions, and my views...or at least what I show in this blog. Friends and family that read this blog can attest that I present myself as I truly am, so to find a reader, whom I've never met, that actually connects with me through my writing is a gift indeed. I've held on to this interview for some time now and for some reason the timing seems right so I decided to post it today.
Read the interview, then go visit Mamacita and let her know you were there.
Muzik:
You collect comic books. Your comic books collect dust. You've
written that your comic book collection is large enough to collect a substantial amount of dust at that. So why do you do it? Is there a void in your life that can only be filled by DC comics or is it a rivalry between you and that Marvel of a husband?
Mamacita:
I haven't bought a comic book since around 1975. They fired all the good artists and hired sloppy stupid ones and I never bought another comic after that. Hub actually subscribed to them, until our daughter and son were a few years old and he realized that he couldn't buy comic books and feed the children too. The comics have been in storage ever since. We moved them from our tiny original house to this house sixteen years ago. We didn't open the boxes then, either; we just transferred them from one garage to another. Someday we intend to put them in order and classify them. The problem is, every time we try to do that, we end up reading them and messing them up even more. That is why I sealed the boxes.
The Legion of Super-Heroes was my fantasy life as a child. My fantasy life has since changed. I'm not sure about my husband's; I think he still aspires to be an X-Man.
You mentioned dust: I do collect that. I keep it on top of the furniture all through the house, so everyone can enjoy it. I find it inspires us all to be artistic. I've also used it to check everyone's spelling skills throughout the years.
Muzik:
You really like my blog. We have something in common, as I also really like my blog. Of course, I'm biased. No one coerced you into reading this silly thing I do once a day so what was it that led you to the light?
Mamacita:
I followed one of your comments on SC&A to your blog, and ever since I have been a better, happier, and more intelligent person.
Seriously, I really like your blog, and by extension, I really like you and your family and everything you do or say. Every step you take. Every move you make. I think the Eagles should write a song about it.
I think you and your blog are among the most awesome and interesting on the internet. Your insight and humor have made my own life better.
Now, please untie me and let me out of this closet. It's too dark to read comic books in here.
Muzik:
You and I have quite a few other things in common aside from my antics. I think it would be cool if our paths crossed someday. If you had the chance to meet any three bloggers other than myself or any that you've already met, who would you choose and why?
Mamacita:
Only three? That's too hard! You would of course have been number one.
I'd love to meet Michele and the Three Good Doctors, Patriside, Dad Gone Mad, Genuine and the Mrs., Hula Doula, Jay and Kim, Betsy, Mir, Mellie Helen, Goldie, Arethusa, GraceD, Lu, Rockchild. . . . and so many more. I love people, and my blogroll is full of the loveliest people EVER. And just because someone wasn't mentioned by name here, doesn't mean they are not important. I'm just trying to do this without cheating and looking.
Muzik:
You teach middle school. I know you've had some bizarre tales from your experiences. So let's assume Junior High students are actual people; who is attitudinally worse in your estimation, the kids or their parents?
Mamacita:
I taught Middle School for over 25 years, but I'm not doing it now.
I'm teaching on the college level now, as an adjunct, and loving it.
But I adored the middle school. That age is my very, very favorite.
Sure, some of the kids were nuts but it was their parents who were certifiable in most cases.
As in any other circumstance, 95 out of a hundred of the kids were awesome, and 95 out of a hundred of the parents were wonderful. It's just that those two 5%'s took up 95% of my time.
Most people cower before the thought of middle school kids, but I thought they were perfect. By which I mean, perfect for me and my own quirky personality.
And yes, I have tales so bizarre you'd pass out cold from shock. One in particular.
Muzik:
The second post on your blog (circa 04/21/04) reads as follows:
"When someone is hit hard enough on the nose, it bleeds so hard and so fast it nearly drowns them when they lean their head back. And then when they straighten back up, blood and phlegm go shooting out of their head like bullets from a gun. And their eyes turn red. And they choke on the big chunks. And they eventually try to hit back but they keep slipping on the vomit and eventually have to stop trying just to keep from falling down in it. And it all produces a lovely smell, not unlike that package of chicken that got left in the trunk of the car that hot summer day.
Just a little something I learned today during the students' lunch period.
Doritos, anyone?"
In what ways would you say your blog has changed or evolved since that post?
Mamacita:
When I first began my blog, it was going to be just a place where I could vent, and describe the unbelievable, silly, and frustrating things I saw and experienced every day at school. I never dreamed anyone else would ever see it.
Then I resigned from that teaching post, and my blog became a place where I could cry and despair and beg the universe for some reason behind the injustice. I am still seeking that.
And then it turned into me. However that might be defined.
Thanks for the interview Mamacita. Interaction with you is always welcomed and cherished.
Mamacita is one of those people. Her kids are a bit older but very similar to my own and I'm enduring some of the trials she has already dealt with and some that she continues to handle. Mamacita understands my humor, my passions, and my views...or at least what I show in this blog. Friends and family that read this blog can attest that I present myself as I truly am, so to find a reader, whom I've never met, that actually connects with me through my writing is a gift indeed. I've held on to this interview for some time now and for some reason the timing seems right so I decided to post it today.
Read the interview, then go visit Mamacita and let her know you were there.
Muzik:
You collect comic books. Your comic books collect dust. You've
written that your comic book collection is large enough to collect a substantial amount of dust at that. So why do you do it? Is there a void in your life that can only be filled by DC comics or is it a rivalry between you and that Marvel of a husband?
Mamacita:
I haven't bought a comic book since around 1975. They fired all the good artists and hired sloppy stupid ones and I never bought another comic after that. Hub actually subscribed to them, until our daughter and son were a few years old and he realized that he couldn't buy comic books and feed the children too. The comics have been in storage ever since. We moved them from our tiny original house to this house sixteen years ago. We didn't open the boxes then, either; we just transferred them from one garage to another. Someday we intend to put them in order and classify them. The problem is, every time we try to do that, we end up reading them and messing them up even more. That is why I sealed the boxes.
The Legion of Super-Heroes was my fantasy life as a child. My fantasy life has since changed. I'm not sure about my husband's; I think he still aspires to be an X-Man.
You mentioned dust: I do collect that. I keep it on top of the furniture all through the house, so everyone can enjoy it. I find it inspires us all to be artistic. I've also used it to check everyone's spelling skills throughout the years.
Muzik:
You really like my blog. We have something in common, as I also really like my blog. Of course, I'm biased. No one coerced you into reading this silly thing I do once a day so what was it that led you to the light?
Mamacita:
I followed one of your comments on SC&A to your blog, and ever since I have been a better, happier, and more intelligent person.
Seriously, I really like your blog, and by extension, I really like you and your family and everything you do or say. Every step you take. Every move you make. I think the Eagles should write a song about it.
I think you and your blog are among the most awesome and interesting on the internet. Your insight and humor have made my own life better.
Now, please untie me and let me out of this closet. It's too dark to read comic books in here.
Muzik:
You and I have quite a few other things in common aside from my antics. I think it would be cool if our paths crossed someday. If you had the chance to meet any three bloggers other than myself or any that you've already met, who would you choose and why?
Mamacita:
Only three? That's too hard! You would of course have been number one.
I'd love to meet Michele and the Three Good Doctors, Patriside, Dad Gone Mad, Genuine and the Mrs., Hula Doula, Jay and Kim, Betsy, Mir, Mellie Helen, Goldie, Arethusa, GraceD, Lu, Rockchild. . . . and so many more. I love people, and my blogroll is full of the loveliest people EVER. And just because someone wasn't mentioned by name here, doesn't mean they are not important. I'm just trying to do this without cheating and looking.
Muzik:
You teach middle school. I know you've had some bizarre tales from your experiences. So let's assume Junior High students are actual people; who is attitudinally worse in your estimation, the kids or their parents?
Mamacita:
I taught Middle School for over 25 years, but I'm not doing it now.
I'm teaching on the college level now, as an adjunct, and loving it.
But I adored the middle school. That age is my very, very favorite.
Sure, some of the kids were nuts but it was their parents who were certifiable in most cases.
As in any other circumstance, 95 out of a hundred of the kids were awesome, and 95 out of a hundred of the parents were wonderful. It's just that those two 5%'s took up 95% of my time.
Most people cower before the thought of middle school kids, but I thought they were perfect. By which I mean, perfect for me and my own quirky personality.
And yes, I have tales so bizarre you'd pass out cold from shock. One in particular.
Muzik:
The second post on your blog (circa 04/21/04) reads as follows:
"When someone is hit hard enough on the nose, it bleeds so hard and so fast it nearly drowns them when they lean their head back. And then when they straighten back up, blood and phlegm go shooting out of their head like bullets from a gun. And their eyes turn red. And they choke on the big chunks. And they eventually try to hit back but they keep slipping on the vomit and eventually have to stop trying just to keep from falling down in it. And it all produces a lovely smell, not unlike that package of chicken that got left in the trunk of the car that hot summer day.
Just a little something I learned today during the students' lunch period.
Doritos, anyone?"
In what ways would you say your blog has changed or evolved since that post?
Mamacita:
When I first began my blog, it was going to be just a place where I could vent, and describe the unbelievable, silly, and frustrating things I saw and experienced every day at school. I never dreamed anyone else would ever see it.
Then I resigned from that teaching post, and my blog became a place where I could cry and despair and beg the universe for some reason behind the injustice. I am still seeking that.
And then it turned into me. However that might be defined.
Thanks for the interview Mamacita. Interaction with you is always welcomed and cherished.
Wednesday, June 22, 2005
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
In the words of Steve Miller: “I’m a joker.”
Christine made a request for some cool gags to play on her kids since the cube farm pranks won't work in her home.
Christine has younger kids so I decided to list the pranks approved for pre teens.
Wrap a rubber band around the sprayer on the kitchen sink, make sure it's facing forward, and ask one of your kids to get you a glass of water.
A cool trick I learned from Mud Boy is to put Anbesol in your kids’ toothpaste tube. The longer they brush, the less they will be able to feel their mouth until, finally, the bottom half of their face will be numb.
Make Kool Aid without sugar and insist there’s nothing wrong with it.
If the kids have their own bathroom, turn the water off to the toilet. Remove the lid from the tank and lift the flapper until all the water drains from the tank. Pour 1 cup baking soda down the hole and close flapper valve then pour ½ gallon vinegar into toilet tank and leave water off. Wait for one of the kids to flush.
If you have a DVD burner, buy the next movie that your kids swear they will “die without seeing”, and before letting them watch it, secretly make a copy and delete the last 5 minutes. Pop the movie in the player and wait for the fun to begin.
Do you have teens?
If you can actually get a hold of their cell phone, change one digit on each phone number stored on their phone.
Get a subscription to Better Homes and Gardens in your son’s name and question him about it when the first issue arrives.
On your teen’s birthday, put their very own personal credit card inside their birthday card. Make sure the credit card only has a $100 limit or so. Before giving the card, use it to buy all the other birthday gifts. This works especially well if you max out the card so it will be declined the first time they use it.
Kids don’t have a sense of humor?
Another cool domestic style joke is to fill your medicine cabinet with marbles. This can be done easily if you have a double cabinet. Open one door and fashion a divider that will contain the marbles in the other half. Duct tape and cardboard works great. Do this preparation just prior to entertaining guests. The first person to snoop through the medicine cabinet will be exposed in a rather humorous way.
See? Life doesn’t have to be serious all the time if you have family, friends, and coworkers available to victimize.
Christine made a request for some cool gags to play on her kids since the cube farm pranks won't work in her home.
Christine has younger kids so I decided to list the pranks approved for pre teens.
Wrap a rubber band around the sprayer on the kitchen sink, make sure it's facing forward, and ask one of your kids to get you a glass of water.
A cool trick I learned from Mud Boy is to put Anbesol in your kids’ toothpaste tube. The longer they brush, the less they will be able to feel their mouth until, finally, the bottom half of their face will be numb.
Make Kool Aid without sugar and insist there’s nothing wrong with it.
If the kids have their own bathroom, turn the water off to the toilet. Remove the lid from the tank and lift the flapper until all the water drains from the tank. Pour 1 cup baking soda down the hole and close flapper valve then pour ½ gallon vinegar into toilet tank and leave water off. Wait for one of the kids to flush.
If you have a DVD burner, buy the next movie that your kids swear they will “die without seeing”, and before letting them watch it, secretly make a copy and delete the last 5 minutes. Pop the movie in the player and wait for the fun to begin.
Do you have teens?
If you can actually get a hold of their cell phone, change one digit on each phone number stored on their phone.
Get a subscription to Better Homes and Gardens in your son’s name and question him about it when the first issue arrives.
On your teen’s birthday, put their very own personal credit card inside their birthday card. Make sure the credit card only has a $100 limit or so. Before giving the card, use it to buy all the other birthday gifts. This works especially well if you max out the card so it will be declined the first time they use it.
Kids don’t have a sense of humor?
Another cool domestic style joke is to fill your medicine cabinet with marbles. This can be done easily if you have a double cabinet. Open one door and fashion a divider that will contain the marbles in the other half. Duct tape and cardboard works great. Do this preparation just prior to entertaining guests. The first person to snoop through the medicine cabinet will be exposed in a rather humorous way.
See? Life doesn’t have to be serious all the time if you have family, friends, and coworkers available to victimize.
Monday, June 20, 2005
I spend most days in a cube farm.
When I’m not putting cover sheets on my TPS reports I’m usually thinking up neat ways to entertain myself. Most of the time, the solution to my boredom is at the expense of my coworkers.
Here are a few tips to brighten up your Monday at work:
If a coworker leaves their computer on and unattended, open MS Word and click on Tools => Autocorrect Options. Set the program to automatically make subtle changes such as replacing the word “and” with the word “or” and vice versa.
You can do other things as well. Right click their desktop, click on Properties and the Appearance tab. Set all fonts to the same color as their background.
Neat.
Open their internet browser and set their homepage to the following:
mailto:[insert your bosses email address here] &subject=I’m Surfing the Internet Instead of Working
Every time they open their browser their email program will open with a pre addressed message and subject.
Way cool.
If you’re fortunate enough to have access to 2 computers of different coworkers and you use Outlook for your email: Set a rule on worker #2’s computer to have any mail from worker #1 automatically forwarded back to worker #1, then set a rule on #1’s computer to forward all mail from #2 back to #2. As soon as either of them sends mail to the other, they will enter a loop that will shut down the mail servers. Be prepared to play dumb for the rest of your career.
A favorite of mine is to send an e-card to coworker #1 but use coworker #2’s email for the sender information. I usually send a “coming out of the closet” card. The best part is #2 will get a confirmation email with a link to the card he just sent #1. Then you can sit back and watch the two avoid each other all day.
Mad crazy cool.
So quit sitting around wishing you were somewhere else and start having some fun at work!
When I’m not putting cover sheets on my TPS reports I’m usually thinking up neat ways to entertain myself. Most of the time, the solution to my boredom is at the expense of my coworkers.
Here are a few tips to brighten up your Monday at work:
If a coworker leaves their computer on and unattended, open MS Word and click on Tools => Autocorrect Options. Set the program to automatically make subtle changes such as replacing the word “and” with the word “or” and vice versa.
You can do other things as well. Right click their desktop, click on Properties and the Appearance tab. Set all fonts to the same color as their background.
Neat.
Open their internet browser and set their homepage to the following:
mailto:[insert your bosses email address here] &subject=I’m Surfing the Internet Instead of Working
Every time they open their browser their email program will open with a pre addressed message and subject.
Way cool.
If you’re fortunate enough to have access to 2 computers of different coworkers and you use Outlook for your email: Set a rule on worker #2’s computer to have any mail from worker #1 automatically forwarded back to worker #1, then set a rule on #1’s computer to forward all mail from #2 back to #2. As soon as either of them sends mail to the other, they will enter a loop that will shut down the mail servers. Be prepared to play dumb for the rest of your career.
A favorite of mine is to send an e-card to coworker #1 but use coworker #2’s email for the sender information. I usually send a “coming out of the closet” card. The best part is #2 will get a confirmation email with a link to the card he just sent #1. Then you can sit back and watch the two avoid each other all day.
Mad crazy cool.
So quit sitting around wishing you were somewhere else and start having some fun at work!
Saturday, June 18, 2005
I’m not the world’s greatest dad.
My goal is not to be the greatest but to lead my kids into adulthood as well adjusted members of society. It’s going pretty well so far which is quite a feat considering I have no idea how to be a father.
My father couldn’t teach me because he didn’t know what to do with kids either. He tried, but parenting for him was awkward at best. I have a feeling this legacy that was handed down for generations. As far as I can tell, he didn’t want kids but felt it was the thing to do as a married man. Marriage and children were his attempt to normalize his life by raising the family he always wished he could have been part of as a kid. I don’t remember exactly when he checked out on us but during my teen years, he was never there emotionally. I’m pretty sure he gave up on trying to figure out parenting. Maybe he lost energy, maybe he lost motivation, but no matter what the reason, he just couldn’t do it anymore. He put forth a pretty decent effort but the odds were stacked against him and after I joined the Air Force, he and my mom divorced. I maintained contact with him for a few years but we eventually lost touch. I haven’t spoken with him in years.
Luckily, as I stumbled through my impressionable teen years, there was another father figure in my life. His name is Richard and he was a neighbor of ours. I may have never met Rich if I were better behaved, but as preteens a friend and I succumbed to the temptation of throwing rocks over Rich's privacy fence because he had a pool and the thrill of hearing the rocks splash had a certain allure. The first time we decided to launch rocks over the fence was also the last because Rich happened to be cleaning his pool at the time. We couldn’t see him through the fence but we heard him just fine.
He chased us home. I was petrified but Rich and I connected and became friends. It was as if a mentor had found a protégé and although the results weren’t intentional the effects were lasting.
Any time I rebelled against my father, I would run to Rich but instead of giving me mollycoddling sympathy, he would ask tough questions and lead me to take responsibility for my part in the mess. Whether he knows it or not, he was instrumental in my learning integrity. Rich always respected me as a person even though I was a punk with an attitude. I never forgot that.
My mother eventually remarried and as fate would have it, she married Rich. Rich never expected to replace my father but to be quite honest, even though I haven’t heard from my biological father in years, I have no sense of loss. When talking with friends, I refer to my mom and Rich as “mom and dad” because even though Rich isn’t my father, he is most certainly my dad.
Rich isn’t perfect, but he was…and is…there, and he cares.
So this is my way of wishing a “Happy Father’s Day” to my dad, Richard.
Rich, it’s only a couple thousand miles between us and the fish are biting. How about another trip to the lake?
My goal is not to be the greatest but to lead my kids into adulthood as well adjusted members of society. It’s going pretty well so far which is quite a feat considering I have no idea how to be a father.
My father couldn’t teach me because he didn’t know what to do with kids either. He tried, but parenting for him was awkward at best. I have a feeling this legacy that was handed down for generations. As far as I can tell, he didn’t want kids but felt it was the thing to do as a married man. Marriage and children were his attempt to normalize his life by raising the family he always wished he could have been part of as a kid. I don’t remember exactly when he checked out on us but during my teen years, he was never there emotionally. I’m pretty sure he gave up on trying to figure out parenting. Maybe he lost energy, maybe he lost motivation, but no matter what the reason, he just couldn’t do it anymore. He put forth a pretty decent effort but the odds were stacked against him and after I joined the Air Force, he and my mom divorced. I maintained contact with him for a few years but we eventually lost touch. I haven’t spoken with him in years.
Luckily, as I stumbled through my impressionable teen years, there was another father figure in my life. His name is Richard and he was a neighbor of ours. I may have never met Rich if I were better behaved, but as preteens a friend and I succumbed to the temptation of throwing rocks over Rich's privacy fence because he had a pool and the thrill of hearing the rocks splash had a certain allure. The first time we decided to launch rocks over the fence was also the last because Rich happened to be cleaning his pool at the time. We couldn’t see him through the fence but we heard him just fine.
He chased us home. I was petrified but Rich and I connected and became friends. It was as if a mentor had found a protégé and although the results weren’t intentional the effects were lasting.
Any time I rebelled against my father, I would run to Rich but instead of giving me mollycoddling sympathy, he would ask tough questions and lead me to take responsibility for my part in the mess. Whether he knows it or not, he was instrumental in my learning integrity. Rich always respected me as a person even though I was a punk with an attitude. I never forgot that.
My mother eventually remarried and as fate would have it, she married Rich. Rich never expected to replace my father but to be quite honest, even though I haven’t heard from my biological father in years, I have no sense of loss. When talking with friends, I refer to my mom and Rich as “mom and dad” because even though Rich isn’t my father, he is most certainly my dad.
Rich isn’t perfect, but he was…and is…there, and he cares.
So this is my way of wishing a “Happy Father’s Day” to my dad, Richard.
Rich, it’s only a couple thousand miles between us and the fish are biting. How about another trip to the lake?
Friday, June 17, 2005
I like ice cream.
Summertime is here and the birds are chirping. The laughter of children augment the sounds of the neighborhood as they splash in pools and jump through lawn sprinklers. The scene is reminiscent of a Norman Rockwell creation.
However, at 2:00 pm, it all changes.
The children’s laughter turns to shrieks and screams as children clamor to the sound of a 30-second clip of circus music blaring repeatedly from a speaker mounted atop a box shaped white truck.
Some of those joyful screams turn to shrill cries of horror when mommy declares she has no cash. As the big truck pulls away, there is the inevitable chase of a frazzled mom, tears streaming down her face, waving a dollar in the air yelling for the driver to have mercy on her soul because the ice cream in her freezer just isn’t good enough to appease the tirade of her child.
From my personal perspective, if I had to listen to Mersey Dotes and Dosey Dotes for 8 hours every day, I wouldn’t be a very nice person. Subjecting one’s self to that music is like self-inflicted PSYOPS. I relate very well to the character played by Jamie Kennedy in Max Keeble’s Big Movie. He was an evil ice cream man and I can certainly sympathize with his demeanor. Talk about a thankless job.
Who would actually choose to drive a stupid looking vehicle around evoking a Pavlov response from innocent children with goofy tunes that cause stress to parents only to have the little monsters yell at you because you’ve run out of push ups? Rotten punks.
I began to think about all of this while attending a cookout at my friend, The Electro Pimp’s, house a couple weeks ago. Mrs. Electro Pimp had mentioned that the ice cream man’s music annoyed her. She has a valid point. The music from his truck is louder than an F-15 afterburner and is far more irritating. Not only that, but also this guy drives up and down every street leaving the music running even when he stops so we had to listen to the incessant insanity for 30 minutes until he had covered the area. We even had to turn off the iPod. The ordeal nearly ruined the barbeque.
I think we should regulate ice cream vending. There should be an approved, eclectic list of music and they should only be allowed to play mp3s. We should restrict decibel levels to that which are reasonable and we should enforce the use of cool ice cream trucks.
Summertime is here and the birds are chirping. The laughter of children augment the sounds of the neighborhood as they splash in pools and jump through lawn sprinklers. The scene is reminiscent of a Norman Rockwell creation.
However, at 2:00 pm, it all changes.
The children’s laughter turns to shrieks and screams as children clamor to the sound of a 30-second clip of circus music blaring repeatedly from a speaker mounted atop a box shaped white truck.
Some of those joyful screams turn to shrill cries of horror when mommy declares she has no cash. As the big truck pulls away, there is the inevitable chase of a frazzled mom, tears streaming down her face, waving a dollar in the air yelling for the driver to have mercy on her soul because the ice cream in her freezer just isn’t good enough to appease the tirade of her child.
From my personal perspective, if I had to listen to Mersey Dotes and Dosey Dotes for 8 hours every day, I wouldn’t be a very nice person. Subjecting one’s self to that music is like self-inflicted PSYOPS. I relate very well to the character played by Jamie Kennedy in Max Keeble’s Big Movie. He was an evil ice cream man and I can certainly sympathize with his demeanor. Talk about a thankless job.
Who would actually choose to drive a stupid looking vehicle around evoking a Pavlov response from innocent children with goofy tunes that cause stress to parents only to have the little monsters yell at you because you’ve run out of push ups? Rotten punks.
I began to think about all of this while attending a cookout at my friend, The Electro Pimp’s, house a couple weeks ago. Mrs. Electro Pimp had mentioned that the ice cream man’s music annoyed her. She has a valid point. The music from his truck is louder than an F-15 afterburner and is far more irritating. Not only that, but also this guy drives up and down every street leaving the music running even when he stops so we had to listen to the incessant insanity for 30 minutes until he had covered the area. We even had to turn off the iPod. The ordeal nearly ruined the barbeque.
I think we should regulate ice cream vending. There should be an approved, eclectic list of music and they should only be allowed to play mp3s. We should restrict decibel levels to that which are reasonable and we should enforce the use of cool ice cream trucks.
I'm your ice cream man, stop me when I'm passin' by
Oh my my, I'm your ice cream man, stop me when I'm passin' by
See now all my flavors are guaranteed to satisfy…
-Van Halen-
Thursday, June 16, 2005
If you haven't visited Christine at Mommy Matters you must be new. I've provided a link (the underlined words in the previous sentence) so now you have no excuse. Go. Visit.
Christine is the next in a long line of interviewees and today is her day. I found Christine's blog via Blog Explosion back when her and I used to actually surf that site so hers was one of the first blogs I'd ever visited and commented on. Yeah, we have history.
Then I discovered that her husband, Bubblehead (or Bubbles...or Mr. Bubbles) was the proud owner of another blog I had been reading called "The Eventual Restaurant" which closed in February 2005. We've come a long way since then and it's only been a couple months.
Want to know more about Christine?
Read on.
Muzik:
You changed your site design 3 times over the past few weeks. Are you pregnant? If not, what gives?
Christine:
I have a blog friend who offered to redo my header for me (she didn't know what she was getting into!), and because she came up with so many, I couldn't help but "try a few on". So no, I'm not pregnant - I'm just a typical girl.
Muzik:
You're are totally obsessed with the Titanic. I'm sure the books are very good despite the fact that the movie sucked. So what's with the obsession? Are you pregnant? Or do you simply like dwelling on disasters?
Christine:
I'm not sure I would say "totally obsessed", but "almost totally obsessed" is accurate. My interest pre-dates Cameron's movie. Now I didn't think the movie "sucked", but it was typical Hollywood. Did you see the carpet in that film? It was made by the same company that made
the carpet for the Titanic! (You can stop laughing at me now.) No, I'm not pregnant - I'm interested in history, and humanity. And maybe disasters - a little bit.
Muzik:
Back in October, you surfed Blog Explosion quite a bit but now you seem to have stopped. Are you pregnant? Or did you just realize (as I did) that "quality" readership is more important then quantity readership. Also, do you write more for your readers or yourself. Has that changed much since you began blogging?
Christine:
Exactly. Blog Explosion was a good way to give my little blog some exposure, and a great way to find other blogs to read, but let's face it - a person only has so much time to sit at a computer each day. After filling up my blogroll, I had to give it up. I have a wonderful circle of blog friends who visit me regularly. I'd much rather see people dropping by my site because they want to be there, rather than waiting out their 30 seconds to earn a credit. As far as who I write for, I do a little bit of both. My blog is first and foremost a place for me to record for posterity whatever my whim desires, but I also enjoy entertaining, so I do keep my readers in mind.
Ummm, no - still not pregnant. (Cut that out - you're going to give Bubblehead a heart attack!)
Muzik:
We discussed starting a commune once. I don't remember the reason but it seemed like a good idea. What do you think that would look like? Also, I don't think I can live with anyone named Bubbles. Can we change your husband's name?
Based on the conversations we had on that subject, I picture fanastic meals cooked by your lovely wife. (I'm afraid I'm not a lot of help with fantastic meals (although I do have my moments), but I believe I offered to do the cleaning-up.) I picture your kids looking after mine so that I can free up some time for such things as lounging around having conversations with other adults that don't contain the words "poop", or "Don't put that in your mouth!" I picture you and my husband fishing and hunting for bovines. (I hope you two know how to slaughter those things - I won't have any part of that!) I also picture a large living area filled with comfy chairs and wireless-enabled laptops, because we will be housing quite a few bloggers.
Now for Bubblehead, I will admit to you (and I'm sure you'll be shocked) that *I* don't call him Bubbles, or anything like it, so I'm sure you could also call him something different. Would you like some suggestions?
Bonus question.
Muzik:
Where does Kabiel come from? Is it a name?
Christine:
It's very uninteresting really. Kabiel (pronounce it cub-yell) comes from a Russian word for "dog", which is why we bestowed the name upon our first dog. When starting out in internet-land I was in need of a username that was unique enough to not have been snatched up by someone else first and kabiel fit the bill. So Kabiel is the name of my pup, and my not-so-secret internet identity.
Thanks for the interview Christine.
Everyone else...go visit her (although most of you already do).
Christine is the next in a long line of interviewees and today is her day. I found Christine's blog via Blog Explosion back when her and I used to actually surf that site so hers was one of the first blogs I'd ever visited and commented on. Yeah, we have history.
Then I discovered that her husband, Bubblehead (or Bubbles...or Mr. Bubbles) was the proud owner of another blog I had been reading called "The Eventual Restaurant" which closed in February 2005. We've come a long way since then and it's only been a couple months.
Want to know more about Christine?
Read on.
Muzik:
You changed your site design 3 times over the past few weeks. Are you pregnant? If not, what gives?
Christine:
I have a blog friend who offered to redo my header for me (she didn't know what she was getting into!), and because she came up with so many, I couldn't help but "try a few on". So no, I'm not pregnant - I'm just a typical girl.
Muzik:
You're are totally obsessed with the Titanic. I'm sure the books are very good despite the fact that the movie sucked. So what's with the obsession? Are you pregnant? Or do you simply like dwelling on disasters?
Christine:
I'm not sure I would say "totally obsessed", but "almost totally obsessed" is accurate. My interest pre-dates Cameron's movie. Now I didn't think the movie "sucked", but it was typical Hollywood. Did you see the carpet in that film? It was made by the same company that made
the carpet for the Titanic! (You can stop laughing at me now.) No, I'm not pregnant - I'm interested in history, and humanity. And maybe disasters - a little bit.
Muzik:
Back in October, you surfed Blog Explosion quite a bit but now you seem to have stopped. Are you pregnant? Or did you just realize (as I did) that "quality" readership is more important then quantity readership. Also, do you write more for your readers or yourself. Has that changed much since you began blogging?
Christine:
Exactly. Blog Explosion was a good way to give my little blog some exposure, and a great way to find other blogs to read, but let's face it - a person only has so much time to sit at a computer each day. After filling up my blogroll, I had to give it up. I have a wonderful circle of blog friends who visit me regularly. I'd much rather see people dropping by my site because they want to be there, rather than waiting out their 30 seconds to earn a credit. As far as who I write for, I do a little bit of both. My blog is first and foremost a place for me to record for posterity whatever my whim desires, but I also enjoy entertaining, so I do keep my readers in mind.
Ummm, no - still not pregnant. (Cut that out - you're going to give Bubblehead a heart attack!)
Muzik:
We discussed starting a commune once. I don't remember the reason but it seemed like a good idea. What do you think that would look like? Also, I don't think I can live with anyone named Bubbles. Can we change your husband's name?
Based on the conversations we had on that subject, I picture fanastic meals cooked by your lovely wife. (I'm afraid I'm not a lot of help with fantastic meals (although I do have my moments), but I believe I offered to do the cleaning-up.) I picture your kids looking after mine so that I can free up some time for such things as lounging around having conversations with other adults that don't contain the words "poop", or "Don't put that in your mouth!" I picture you and my husband fishing and hunting for bovines. (I hope you two know how to slaughter those things - I won't have any part of that!) I also picture a large living area filled with comfy chairs and wireless-enabled laptops, because we will be housing quite a few bloggers.
Now for Bubblehead, I will admit to you (and I'm sure you'll be shocked) that *I* don't call him Bubbles, or anything like it, so I'm sure you could also call him something different. Would you like some suggestions?
Bonus question.
Muzik:
Where does Kabiel come from? Is it a name?
Christine:
It's very uninteresting really. Kabiel (pronounce it cub-yell) comes from a Russian word for "dog", which is why we bestowed the name upon our first dog. When starting out in internet-land I was in need of a username that was unique enough to not have been snatched up by someone else first and kabiel fit the bill. So Kabiel is the name of my pup, and my not-so-secret internet identity.
Thanks for the interview Christine.
Everyone else...go visit her (although most of you already do).
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
I don’t know how Mrs. Muzikdude and I survived all these years together.
On our 10th anniversary, we both thought it was our ninth and celebrated as such. Therefore, on our 11th we realized that we had actually missed our 10th. This is not uncommon for us as everyday is like Valentine’s Day at the Muzikdude household and we celebrate each day together as if it were our first...and last. Anniversaries are just another one of those blissful days and since we couldn’t possibly make the date more special than any other, we tend not to track them very well.
Either that or we’re both forgetful and miss even the most obvious of details...
Back in December, I was at Mr. Duckslayer's house to customize some cabinets so we could install a dishwasher. During lunch, around 3:00 pm, I realized it was my birthday. So yeah, I miss details…often. I'm not sure if Mrs. Muzikdude remembered or not but it didn’t matter because I had forgotten and wasn’t home all day so she had a built in excuse. The thing is, it really doesn’t bother me…not at all. I’m just happy to wake up every morning without having wet the bed, having to look for my teeth or having to work a comb-over. I’ve aged gracefully thus far and if inattentiveness to dates is the only side effect of my age, I’m happy for it.
However, this is not a new problem for me.
I missed Mrs. Muzikdude's birthday two weeks after our wedding. She never said a word; in fact, she didn’t speak at all and I didn’t realize I had forgotten until a week later. I haven’t forgotten again because that particular oversight was COSTLY.
This is not to say that Mrs. Muzikdude doesn’t mean the world to me; at least I remember our anniversary although I may forget how long we’ve been married but she forgets too. We both sit down every year and count backward to the year we were married so we don’t make the mistake of celebrating another anniversary that would have made Mrs. Muzikdude four months pregnant at our wedding. Dr. Smellgood was (understandably) very confused the second time we celebrated our ninth anniversary.
The one thing that shines through all of this forgetfulness is that Mrs. Muzikdude and I were made for each other. In the not so distant future we will sit in our rocking chairs on the porch and try to remember our kid's names, that is, if we remember we have kids.
On our 10th anniversary, we both thought it was our ninth and celebrated as such. Therefore, on our 11th we realized that we had actually missed our 10th. This is not uncommon for us as everyday is like Valentine’s Day at the Muzikdude household and we celebrate each day together as if it were our first...and last. Anniversaries are just another one of those blissful days and since we couldn’t possibly make the date more special than any other, we tend not to track them very well.
Either that or we’re both forgetful and miss even the most obvious of details...
Back in December, I was at Mr. Duckslayer's house to customize some cabinets so we could install a dishwasher. During lunch, around 3:00 pm, I realized it was my birthday. So yeah, I miss details…often. I'm not sure if Mrs. Muzikdude remembered or not but it didn’t matter because I had forgotten and wasn’t home all day so she had a built in excuse. The thing is, it really doesn’t bother me…not at all. I’m just happy to wake up every morning without having wet the bed, having to look for my teeth or having to work a comb-over. I’ve aged gracefully thus far and if inattentiveness to dates is the only side effect of my age, I’m happy for it.
However, this is not a new problem for me.
I missed Mrs. Muzikdude's birthday two weeks after our wedding. She never said a word; in fact, she didn’t speak at all and I didn’t realize I had forgotten until a week later. I haven’t forgotten again because that particular oversight was COSTLY.
This is not to say that Mrs. Muzikdude doesn’t mean the world to me; at least I remember our anniversary although I may forget how long we’ve been married but she forgets too. We both sit down every year and count backward to the year we were married so we don’t make the mistake of celebrating another anniversary that would have made Mrs. Muzikdude four months pregnant at our wedding. Dr. Smellgood was (understandably) very confused the second time we celebrated our ninth anniversary.
The one thing that shines through all of this forgetfulness is that Mrs. Muzikdude and I were made for each other. In the not so distant future we will sit in our rocking chairs on the porch and try to remember our kid's names, that is, if we remember we have kids.
Today I planned to post an interview.
I have Mr. Duckslayer and Christine from Mommy Matters on deck but guess what I did? I saved their answers on a computer for which I don't have access until tonight. Isn't that grand?
I'll try to throw something really witty and enthralling together during lunch.
Do you hear that? I'm sacrificing food for my readers...I guess making sacrifices for my readers is better than making sacrifices to my readers or of my readers.
For those of you still awaiting questions from me, take heart, I haven't forgotten you. I can only do this as time permits and I don't want your interviews to be haphazard.
Stay tuned (there's nothing worse than an out of tune reader) and check back this afternoon.
I have Mr. Duckslayer and Christine from Mommy Matters on deck but guess what I did? I saved their answers on a computer for which I don't have access until tonight. Isn't that grand?
I'll try to throw something really witty and enthralling together during lunch.
Do you hear that? I'm sacrificing food for my readers...I guess making sacrifices for my readers is better than making sacrifices to my readers or of my readers.
For those of you still awaiting questions from me, take heart, I haven't forgotten you. I can only do this as time permits and I don't want your interviews to be haphazard.
Stay tuned (there's nothing worse than an out of tune reader) and check back this afternoon.
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
Look! A bonus post for today!
I am not an easy person to live with.
I’m surprised Mrs. Muzikdude is still around…honestly. Mrs. Muzikdude has stuck by my side through the worst of the worst. She toughed it out when mere mortal women would have fled. She is the strongest woman I know…and the most loving. She doesn’t think she’s a very good mother but we have good children and I’ve had very little to do with it.
Mrs. Muzikdude is the only woman for me. We are a custom fit and I can’t even imagine myself without her or with anyone else.
I love her more than my mind can comprehend and the love increases daily.
Why the sentiment?
Today, Mrs. Muzikdude and I have been married 19 years.
I am not an easy person to live with.
I’m surprised Mrs. Muzikdude is still around…honestly. Mrs. Muzikdude has stuck by my side through the worst of the worst. She toughed it out when mere mortal women would have fled. She is the strongest woman I know…and the most loving. She doesn’t think she’s a very good mother but we have good children and I’ve had very little to do with it.
Mrs. Muzikdude is the only woman for me. We are a custom fit and I can’t even imagine myself without her or with anyone else.
I love her more than my mind can comprehend and the love increases daily.
Why the sentiment?
Today, Mrs. Muzikdude and I have been married 19 years.
I love the British.
They are humorous but don’t always “get” Americans. I spent some time in the desert with British and French military forces where I learned (the hard way) that American English and British English are very different.
Cultural differences proved to be quite fun also. For instance, I inadvertantly invited the British Chaplain to our Fourth of July Celebration and asked him to be the Master of Ceremonies. I could barely finish the invitation through my laughter but he held a straight face. Some people can’t take a joke.
We had Chicken Cordon Bleu one evening in the chow hall and I convinced one of my troops that the only way to eat it was with ketchup. We were sitting next to a table of French officers who spent the rest of the meal glaring at him. Again; some people can’t take a joke.
Christine from Mommy-Matters and I were talking about British terminology that clashes with American definitions and I decided to post on it. Try these phrases the next time you talk to a Briton when Americans are around:
Conversely, try this phrase on an American when a Briton can overhear:
Let me help you stuff your fanny pack so we can get back to the daily Grind
Come on, people, let’s close those cultural gaps!
The next time I part company with Mr. Duckslayer I plan to tell him to keep his pecker up.
They are humorous but don’t always “get” Americans. I spent some time in the desert with British and French military forces where I learned (the hard way) that American English and British English are very different.
Cultural differences proved to be quite fun also. For instance, I inadvertantly invited the British Chaplain to our Fourth of July Celebration and asked him to be the Master of Ceremonies. I could barely finish the invitation through my laughter but he held a straight face. Some people can’t take a joke.
We had Chicken Cordon Bleu one evening in the chow hall and I convinced one of my troops that the only way to eat it was with ketchup. We were sitting next to a table of French officers who spent the rest of the meal glaring at him. Again; some people can’t take a joke.
Christine from Mommy-Matters and I were talking about British terminology that clashes with American definitions and I decided to post on it. Try these phrases the next time you talk to a Briton when Americans are around:
- Since I’ve rid my kid's Bum of the nappy he can defecate in the cloakroom.
- With all the mistakes I’ve made, I need to start carrying a rubber.
- When I get the chance, I’ll give you a tinkle on the STD.
- I’ve worked my way up the corporate ladder to a good screw.
- I may have been pissed last night but I refuse to let a boner like that stop me from keeping my pecker up.
- Could you please knock me up in the morning?
- Do the faggots come with Spotted Dick?
Conversely, try this phrase on an American when a Briton can overhear:
Come on, people, let’s close those cultural gaps!
The next time I part company with Mr. Duckslayer I plan to tell him to keep his pecker up.
Monday, June 13, 2005
I have more than one friend.
I talk a lot about Mr. Duckslayer because, to be quite honest, he’s a steady flow of fodder. We view things in much the same way and feed off one another’s quirky response to life but this does not mean he’s my only friend.
Yesterday, a group of us gathered at the Duckslayer residence to celebrate Mr. Duckslayer's Birthday (yes, wish him a happy belated). One of the people in attendance was our friend The Skunk Whisperer. He’s a quiet man but when he speaks, one should listen because he has something worth hearing. The Skunk Whisperer is a gentle soul, which became even more evident as he led a 50 mile exodus of a skunk who had taken up residence in his woodpile.
The Skunk Whisperer is a one-off character who genuinely likes people and takes interest in their stories. He’s mastered the lost art of listening, which, in my opinion, makes him one of the best communicators I know. However, The Skunk Whisperer has an uncanny knack for driving people over the proverbial edge. No one knows how he does it because he’s so covert.
The Skunk Whisperer spent some time as a missionary(we won’t say how long ago) where he and his family were on the island of Guam. During his years on the island, The Skunk Whisperer had crossed paths with a certain man on a regular basis. This particular person stood out from the crowd because he was dressed impeccably and wore a turban. This is far from a common sight on the island.
At this point I need to mention that there is no way to tell this story without it sounding like a joke but The Skunk Whisperer assures me the story is true.
Over the years, The Skunk Whisperer had noticed this obviously affluent individual’s appearance slowly decay to that of a vagabond. Being an empathetic individual, The Skunk Whisperer finally approached the man and asked what his story was. When he did this, the man in the turban motioned to his mouth but didn’t make a sound. The Skunk Whisperer asked the man if he was hearing impaired to which the man answered with more hand gestures. The Skunk Whisperer didn’t want to appear overly tenacious but continued attempts at communication with the man. The man’s frustration was obviously increasing and The Skunk Whisperer tried to assure him that frustration was not his goal. He merely wanted to communicate. The “conversation” became increasingly awkward and tense but The Skunk Whisperer pressed on searching for a relational milestone…to no avail.
So the scene went on for a short time with The Skunk Whisperer asking questions and the turbaned man waving and flailing like a deaf/mute on acid. The Skunk Whisperer had positioned himself to declare a communicatory checkmate on his newly acquired opponent and as usual, he had done so quietly and calmly.
The situation reached a climactic summit when The Skunk Whisperer had asked one too many questions. The man in the turban had finally run out of self-restaraint and blurted out:
“I’VE TAKEN A VOW OF SILENCE”
Only The Skunk Whisperer could elicit such a reaction.
Yeah, he assures me this is a true story…and I believe him.
I talk a lot about Mr. Duckslayer because, to be quite honest, he’s a steady flow of fodder. We view things in much the same way and feed off one another’s quirky response to life but this does not mean he’s my only friend.
Yesterday, a group of us gathered at the Duckslayer residence to celebrate Mr. Duckslayer's Birthday (yes, wish him a happy belated). One of the people in attendance was our friend The Skunk Whisperer. He’s a quiet man but when he speaks, one should listen because he has something worth hearing. The Skunk Whisperer is a gentle soul, which became even more evident as he led a 50 mile exodus of a skunk who had taken up residence in his woodpile.
The Skunk Whisperer is a one-off character who genuinely likes people and takes interest in their stories. He’s mastered the lost art of listening, which, in my opinion, makes him one of the best communicators I know. However, The Skunk Whisperer has an uncanny knack for driving people over the proverbial edge. No one knows how he does it because he’s so covert.
The Skunk Whisperer spent some time as a missionary(we won’t say how long ago) where he and his family were on the island of Guam. During his years on the island, The Skunk Whisperer had crossed paths with a certain man on a regular basis. This particular person stood out from the crowd because he was dressed impeccably and wore a turban. This is far from a common sight on the island.
At this point I need to mention that there is no way to tell this story without it sounding like a joke but The Skunk Whisperer assures me the story is true.
Over the years, The Skunk Whisperer had noticed this obviously affluent individual’s appearance slowly decay to that of a vagabond. Being an empathetic individual, The Skunk Whisperer finally approached the man and asked what his story was. When he did this, the man in the turban motioned to his mouth but didn’t make a sound. The Skunk Whisperer asked the man if he was hearing impaired to which the man answered with more hand gestures. The Skunk Whisperer didn’t want to appear overly tenacious but continued attempts at communication with the man. The man’s frustration was obviously increasing and The Skunk Whisperer tried to assure him that frustration was not his goal. He merely wanted to communicate. The “conversation” became increasingly awkward and tense but The Skunk Whisperer pressed on searching for a relational milestone…to no avail.
So the scene went on for a short time with The Skunk Whisperer asking questions and the turbaned man waving and flailing like a deaf/mute on acid. The Skunk Whisperer had positioned himself to declare a communicatory checkmate on his newly acquired opponent and as usual, he had done so quietly and calmly.
The situation reached a climactic summit when The Skunk Whisperer had asked one too many questions. The man in the turban had finally run out of self-restaraint and blurted out:
“I’VE TAKEN A VOW OF SILENCE”
Only The Skunk Whisperer could elicit such a reaction.
Yeah, he assures me this is a true story…and I believe him.
We have a random commenter in our midst. She calls herself Buffi and she doesn’t have a blog but she reads many. Upon reading her comments, I began to wonder why she doesn’t have a blog of her own. Buffi is witty and well spoken and this interview may be the closest you can come to reading a post from her. I think Buffi would do us all a favor by starting a site. What say you?
Muzik:
You're an officer's wife. I know a woman whose husband was promoted to the position of squadron commander and she was made to attend some sort of obedience training. What are your thoughts on this?
Buffi:
Well, contrary to popular belief, we officers' wives are a pretty disobedient bunch. So, when a husband is about to be put in charge of an entire squadron, the Air Force tends to feel the need to rein us in. Most of the commanders' wives I have know have been really great ladies. A few of them could have used some obedience training (getting drunk and demanding that the General buy you "another damn Long Island Iced Tea" is never good for your husbands's career), but they are the exception.
From what I understand, not being a commander's spouse, the commanders' spouses' course is to teach you how to deal with all of the issues that come up from the families of the troops. Also, it teaches all of the little diplomatic nuances that you might never know otherwise. Like maybe to never use the other squadron's colors to decorate for the OWC function your squadron is hosting. (who knew?!) But, we do from time to time, call it "obedience training." That is probably another one of those things that they advise against.
On a somewhat related side note, when my husband proposed to me, he hid the ring inside a copy of the Air force Wives' Handbook. Subtle, yeah, that's him!
Muzik:
I asked Megan how she found The Sound of Muzik and she said she discovered me on a blogroll. However, I know your story must be one of adventure and suspense, sohow did you happen to find my blog? Lie if necessary.
Buffi:
While backpacking thru the Amazon, I was bitten by a rare mosquito exclusive to the region. As I lay on the jungle floor, suffering from fever and delusions, it came to me in a vision www.muzikdude.com. Over and over again I would see it and hear it. It gave me a reason to live. Finally, a pygmy tribe rescued me and made me their queen. But for months, I kept repeating, "www.muzikdude.com, www.muzikdude.com."
My life was good there, all things considered, but I was glad when the rescue party finally located me. When I returned to civilization, I surprised everyone by asking for a laptop before food or water or even a phone call to my family. I was at last able to fulfill my quest. I saw it as an act of God. You saved my life, Muzikdude....and for that I will always be grateful.
That, or I saw you on a blogroll. You choose!
Muzik:
What are the most memorable moments in your life as a military spouse? Most dramatic? Funniest? Etc.
Buffi:
My first memorable moment came at my wedding. As we walked thru the saber arch, it is tradition for the last saber holder to whack the bride on the butt with his saber & say "Welcome to the Air Force, ma'am!" Well, he did, but as he brought the saber back up, it ripped the veil off of my head! This should have served as a warning.
Of course, deployments are always ripe for drama. Once year, we had to come back from our beach vacation early because the squadron was deploying two days later. We took Daddy to the squadron, had all of the family briefings, said our tearful goodbyes & went home. The guys sat in the jets on the runway for a few hours, only to be told that the deployment had been postponed. They left nine weeks later.
Perhaps the most dramatic was when my firstborn was about 6 week old. My husband called during naptime and said, "I can't talk for long, I just wanted you to know that I'm okay." Ummmm, yeah, that was soooooo comforting! Turns out that while flying that afternoon a HUGE bird had come thru the canopy, just missing my husband & shattering the facemask of his backseater. Lots of blood. But super-hubby got the jet back to the base & everyone was eventually okay. Several stitches in the backseater's face, but other than that he was fine. Nothing like adrenaline paired with post-partum hormones to get a girl worked up!
There have been many, many funny moments. The only ones I can think of right now tho are "You had to be there" sort of things. I could tell you those, but then I'd have to kill you!
Muzik:
You really seem to make the rounds on blogs but you don't have one yourself. Why is that? Are you a personal friend of Christine's? (Not that being a friend of Christine would prevent someone from blogging other than the discouragement of trying to be as good as her.)
Buffi:
Well, you pretty much hit the nail on the head. I am so intimidated by all of you wonderful writers that I am afraid that any blog I might have would be desperately dry and boring. There are only so many poop stories that can be told, you know!? I also don't think I would devote the time necessary to a blog. I keep myself very busy reading everybody else's blogs, how could I possibly fit writing into my hectic schedule? Christine keeps trying to get me to start one, so maybe after this move is over, I'll consider it.
Christine and I got to be friends thru her blog. After many, many comments and emails and IMs, we realized that we have a lot in common. Her kids are the same ages as my youngest two. So we bonded over potty training, post partum depression, sleepless nights and of course, our love of tea. Mostly, we are just so much alike that it seems that we were destined to be friends. She has been a very good friend over the last few weeks, listening to me vent over this move and being away from my husband since he moved ahead much like Bubblehead did. I don't know how I would have gotten thru this without her! We haven't yet met in person, but are working to remedy that situation.
Muzik:
Here's a random question to gain a bit of insight into the essence of you. Why (in your estimation) does the Alphabet Song, Ba Ba Blacksheep, and Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star all have the same melody?
Buffi:
Complete and total laziness on the part of Mother Goose. That old broad is quite the layabout. It's a little known fact. And, trust me I know lazy.
Thanks John, I had so much fun doing this!!
Muzik:
You're an officer's wife. I know a woman whose husband was promoted to the position of squadron commander and she was made to attend some sort of obedience training. What are your thoughts on this?
Buffi:
Well, contrary to popular belief, we officers' wives are a pretty disobedient bunch. So, when a husband is about to be put in charge of an entire squadron, the Air Force tends to feel the need to rein us in. Most of the commanders' wives I have know have been really great ladies. A few of them could have used some obedience training (getting drunk and demanding that the General buy you "another damn Long Island Iced Tea" is never good for your husbands's career), but they are the exception.
From what I understand, not being a commander's spouse, the commanders' spouses' course is to teach you how to deal with all of the issues that come up from the families of the troops. Also, it teaches all of the little diplomatic nuances that you might never know otherwise. Like maybe to never use the other squadron's colors to decorate for the OWC function your squadron is hosting. (who knew?!) But, we do from time to time, call it "obedience training." That is probably another one of those things that they advise against.
On a somewhat related side note, when my husband proposed to me, he hid the ring inside a copy of the Air force Wives' Handbook. Subtle, yeah, that's him!
Muzik:
I asked Megan how she found The Sound of Muzik and she said she discovered me on a blogroll. However, I know your story must be one of adventure and suspense, sohow did you happen to find my blog? Lie if necessary.
Buffi:
While backpacking thru the Amazon, I was bitten by a rare mosquito exclusive to the region. As I lay on the jungle floor, suffering from fever and delusions, it came to me in a vision www.muzikdude.com. Over and over again I would see it and hear it. It gave me a reason to live. Finally, a pygmy tribe rescued me and made me their queen. But for months, I kept repeating, "www.muzikdude.com, www.muzikdude.com."
My life was good there, all things considered, but I was glad when the rescue party finally located me. When I returned to civilization, I surprised everyone by asking for a laptop before food or water or even a phone call to my family. I was at last able to fulfill my quest. I saw it as an act of God. You saved my life, Muzikdude....and for that I will always be grateful.
That, or I saw you on a blogroll. You choose!
Muzik:
What are the most memorable moments in your life as a military spouse? Most dramatic? Funniest? Etc.
Buffi:
My first memorable moment came at my wedding. As we walked thru the saber arch, it is tradition for the last saber holder to whack the bride on the butt with his saber & say "Welcome to the Air Force, ma'am!" Well, he did, but as he brought the saber back up, it ripped the veil off of my head! This should have served as a warning.
Of course, deployments are always ripe for drama. Once year, we had to come back from our beach vacation early because the squadron was deploying two days later. We took Daddy to the squadron, had all of the family briefings, said our tearful goodbyes & went home. The guys sat in the jets on the runway for a few hours, only to be told that the deployment had been postponed. They left nine weeks later.
Perhaps the most dramatic was when my firstborn was about 6 week old. My husband called during naptime and said, "I can't talk for long, I just wanted you to know that I'm okay." Ummmm, yeah, that was soooooo comforting! Turns out that while flying that afternoon a HUGE bird had come thru the canopy, just missing my husband & shattering the facemask of his backseater. Lots of blood. But super-hubby got the jet back to the base & everyone was eventually okay. Several stitches in the backseater's face, but other than that he was fine. Nothing like adrenaline paired with post-partum hormones to get a girl worked up!
There have been many, many funny moments. The only ones I can think of right now tho are "You had to be there" sort of things. I could tell you those, but then I'd have to kill you!
Muzik:
You really seem to make the rounds on blogs but you don't have one yourself. Why is that? Are you a personal friend of Christine's? (Not that being a friend of Christine would prevent someone from blogging other than the discouragement of trying to be as good as her.)
Buffi:
Well, you pretty much hit the nail on the head. I am so intimidated by all of you wonderful writers that I am afraid that any blog I might have would be desperately dry and boring. There are only so many poop stories that can be told, you know!? I also don't think I would devote the time necessary to a blog. I keep myself very busy reading everybody else's blogs, how could I possibly fit writing into my hectic schedule? Christine keeps trying to get me to start one, so maybe after this move is over, I'll consider it.
Christine and I got to be friends thru her blog. After many, many comments and emails and IMs, we realized that we have a lot in common. Her kids are the same ages as my youngest two. So we bonded over potty training, post partum depression, sleepless nights and of course, our love of tea. Mostly, we are just so much alike that it seems that we were destined to be friends. She has been a very good friend over the last few weeks, listening to me vent over this move and being away from my husband since he moved ahead much like Bubblehead did. I don't know how I would have gotten thru this without her! We haven't yet met in person, but are working to remedy that situation.
Muzik:
Here's a random question to gain a bit of insight into the essence of you. Why (in your estimation) does the Alphabet Song, Ba Ba Blacksheep, and Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star all have the same melody?
Buffi:
Complete and total laziness on the part of Mother Goose. That old broad is quite the layabout. It's a little known fact. And, trust me I know lazy.
Thanks John, I had so much fun doing this!!
Saturday, June 11, 2005
I’m resourceful.
I had a great idea while sitting at a red light watching an old lady let her dog drop an anal salamander on the sidewalk only to walk away without picking it up.
People like to keep dogs as pets but they don’t like to pick up poop and carry it around with them. I have to agree that dog feces aren’t my first choice when accessorizing my outfit for the day (those who know me personally are laughing at the prospect that I would accessorize a T-shirt and jeans) but I'm willing to sacrifice fashion for common decency.
Even though the light turned green and I drove away from the scene I couldn’t shake the thought of the audacity of that woman who let her dog drop that steaming eel on the sidewalk. How many other people will have to deal with the inconvenience as they walk around, over, or through it? That really chaps my hide.
There must be something I can do to motivate dog owners like the old woman to pick up their dog's worm dough. That’s when the idea hit. Why not make scooping poop a fun task? I could invent a twisted sort of game that would appeal to the twisted mind of someone that is content to leave their animal crap all over tarnation for ot
I had a great idea while sitting at a red light watching an old lady let her dog drop an anal salamander on the sidewalk only to walk away without picking it up.
People like to keep dogs as pets but they don’t like to pick up poop and carry it around with them. I have to agree that dog feces aren’t my first choice when accessorizing my outfit for the day (those who know me personally are laughing at the prospect that I would accessorize a T-shirt and jeans) but I'm willing to sacrifice fashion for common decency.
Even though the light turned green and I drove away from the scene I couldn’t shake the thought of the audacity of that woman who let her dog drop that steaming eel on the sidewalk. How many other people will have to deal with the inconvenience as they walk around, over, or through it? That really chaps my hide.
There must be something I can do to motivate dog owners like the old woman to pick up their dog's worm dough. That’s when the idea hit. Why not make scooping poop a fun task? I could invent a twisted sort of game that would appeal to the twisted mind of someone that is content to leave their animal crap all over tarnation for ot