Them's fightin' words!

The other day I was thinking that I hadn't blogged in a while and wondered what would inspire next me to write. Things are going really well and good news doesn't make the best bloggy material. This fact had me a little concerned, wondering when the other shoe would drop.

As I was hopping down the bunny trail at Target last night, the shoe dropped in the form of a text message. It was from the girlfriend of my ex friend/business partner (who i used to refer to as "Jill", but now am irked enough to say her name rhymes with "icky" and "sticky"). If you look back in the archives of my blog you will see a post or two about *icky. She has a phone number one digit off from mine, which she deliberately selected for purposes unknown and now I get calls and (worse) texts from people looking for *icky every day. I have always been nice about it and saved my wrath for this blog where I could vent to my heart's content. By nice I mean I have politely given people the correct number and sent them on their way. When *icky's girlfriend (the one she left her husband and four kids for) calls and hears my voice, she hangs up. This was the text conversation in Target last night. They were in a fight, I would guess. Don't ask me to decipher any of this, it makes no sense. IG = *icky's girlfriend.

IG: "Why would I ever lay out for you?"

Me: "Not *icky" (see? I am telling her she isn't texting who she thinks)

IG: "Would never want to, Sweets! Let it go!"

Me: "Still not *icky"

IG: "DUH!!! Just letting u know it was a mistake. Get over it"

Okay, hi. You texted me, hon. I fought my urge to reply, mostly because there were so many choices! I could say:

"Y R U talking like Prince?" or

"DUH??? What is this, 3rd grade?" or

"Oh goodie. Those kids needed another Mommy with an anger management problem." (that's sarcasm, folks)

Mostly it made me feel the way I felt in high school when the female gangleader from "The Family", Lisa Hicky, (yes, that's actually her name and why does everyone in this story rhyme? Coincidence? I wonder) was told by another girl that I (a mild mannered, non-violent all american teen) was "after" her boyfriend, Keith Kluckle (yes, that's his real name, truth is so much stranger than fiction), an older boy I had never seen in my life. The word was out that I was dog meat and was overdue for a pounding. Remember in the Brady Bunch when Jan overcomes her fear of public speaking by imagining the audience in their underwear? I was able to stand tall against Lisa by imagining her married name: Lisa Hicky Kluckle, but I digress.

Fast forward to last night. Those were fightin' words and I wanted in! Okay, I wanted to send a salty reply but my maturity caught up with my righteous indignation just in the nick of time. I "let it go", I "took the high road", I "turned the other cheek". Plus, my husband wisely pointed out that if I were to accelerate things, it could get icky or sticky and we don't want that.

Really, I'm potty trained

I am supposed to be on Spring Break, but due to somebody's trigger happy mouse finger, the wrong departure day was chosen for our flight to the glorious southwest. To pacify the masses, we are doing Spring Break-y things in our area. We went to our nearest metropolitan area yesterday to go shopping. It was a lovely time. Our little one, L'il Juanita is learning to use the "big girl potty" and a trip to the mall is fraught with the fear of accidents at every turn. We were at a kind of fancy mall that had not only clean restrooms, not only family restrooms, but clean family restrooms with teeny little toilets for toddlers! Juanita thought they were very cute and wanted to spend our entire day with the little potties. She didn't want to use them, however. So, we were in the restroom with a toddler with wet undies (the pants stayed dry somehow) and nothing to change her into. Fortunately, this lovely restroom had a coin operated diaper machine! I'm saved! In go the quarters, out comes nothing. A janitor was right outside so I asked him for help.

Me: Hi, the diaper machine ate my quarters, could you help me?

Jan: You need a diaper?

Me: Yes.

Jan: Okay...... let me get the other janitor, she's a lady.

Me: Umm, okay.

Jan: (On radio with speaker on) Hey Barb? Barb? Yeah, hey, there's a lady here who needs a TAMPON! What? A TAMPON! Yeah, she said the machine ate her money. Can you come and give her a TAMPON? Oh, yeah, I think I have the key to the machine.

Me: It was the diaper machine.

Jan: Just a minute, and I'll see what I have in our supply closet.

10 seconds later, Jan reappears with his hands full. In one hand he has two diapers. In the other, he has several tampons. He just held out both hands to me for me to decide what I really needed. I chose one diaper. He told me to take the extra one, just in case. I wanted to say to him, "Look, Buddy. I'm no astronaut, now give me the diaper!"

Astronaut Love Triangle

So, I was watching the "news" last night, okay it was Nancy Grace, but anyway..... she was talking about the astronaut love triangle. I just love saying that, "astronaut love triangle". It's like the Bermuda Triangle, only worse. Instead of disappearing, you just have every minute and humiliating detail of your life broadcast to the entire world, with pictures! I have a problem with broadcasting minute and intimate details about the victim. "Steamy emails found in astronaut love triangle!" None of them were to or from the would-be kidnapper/killer lady, so why air them? Plus, they weren't that steamy, I thought they were sort of sweet in an email-has-no-emotion-but-we-are-in-love/lust sort of way. But they were obviously not for public consumption.

Oh, Doctor!

I've been teasing my husband about how the hygienists at our dentist are all in love with him. I know, another dental blog. Normally a trip to the dentist doesn't inspire much more than an improvement in dental care, but not ours! After the cannibal dentist event, I took another child in and while we were waiting to be examined, two hygienists came giggling into the waiting room and said,

"We just had to meet the wife of our favorite patient. He is SO handsome!" (giggle, blush, rib jab).

Umm, ewww? True, the guy is easy on the eyes and he is devoted to his work out regimen, but do you really say that the the Mrs.? And what am I supposed to say in reply? Thanks? I know? I just smiled and gave them my patented nervous giggle. I guess if they were going to act on their crush, this was better than some alternatives I could think of. But, today... was my turn in the chair. I know my dentist likes me. He always tells me and anyone in the vicinity that my teeth are like pearls and he wishes everyone was as devoted to their gums as I am. Hey, you take your boosts where you can get them. Today, though, as I'm laying there wondering if they tilt the seat back another inch if my feet will go cartwheeling over my head and I'll land in the tray of tools, Dr. Bill sits beside me after my cleaning and begins the usual "oohing and ahhing" over my choppers. Then... he notices my blouse! I have a little mirror in my mouth so I can't contribute to any conversation other than eyebrow maneuvers and unintelligible throat noises. Good thing I was a communication major. He says,

"Look at your blouse! What a pretty color! It's just perfect for you, and your eyes, and.... everything."

(Me: move eyebrows, drool, and grunt in appreciation).

"You know I love your teeth, I tell you that all the time. You're pretty cute, too! Have I ever told you that?

(Me: grunt, snort, gargle)

"Oh, well I'm telling you now, for the record."

I roll my eyes back in search of the hygienist, praying she is paying attention. I catch her gaze and remember she is one of the ones who likes my husband. I'm thinking, "Where am I, 1970?" She just looked at me from behind her mask and gave me back my nervous giggle.

Fortunately, my dental insurance "picked up" the whole visit.

Keystone Cops

I have a love/hate relationship with eBay. I've been buying a lot and selling a little for a couple of years. Don't let anybody fool you, selling on eBay is a ton of work! The cleaning, the pictures, the posting, the terms: it's exhausting for the little to be made. And, if you've sold something that is sentimental to you, the seller, chances are the winning bidder won't have the same rose colored glasses you do and object to the quality. This happened to me once with a baby outfit. I had her send it back for a full refund and the set now rests in my cedar chest with the other things I will never part with. I took that as the eBay god's way of telling me not to sell my baby clothes. Obviously I was selling the wrong things. I've just "won" an auction for a vintage badge from my sorority. I say "won" because, although I am jumping up and down and my heart is still racing, I shelled out a pile of money to keep it out of the hands of evildoers! My little eBay nest egg is empty! People, if you don't want your badges/pins/pledge pins anymore, give them back to your greek letter organization or local chapter. Don't sell them, you will just be giving sentimental sorority girls like me a big, old heart attack.

Keystone Cops, Unite!

Call me Bubble

I've just returned from Nashville, which was marvelous. There was actually a flake or two of snow while I was there, which is funny because the last time I was there, 20 years ago, it snowed! That time it was ankle deep. I stayed at the Opryland, which is massive but nice and I'm sorry to say, reminded me of Disneyland. I wish I could say it reminded me of some wonderful southern location, but I don't have that knowledge, so Disneyland it is. The architecture was similar to "New Orleans Square" at the Mouse House. I think I need to venture further than the nearest theme park. I like Nashville and at one time I was very close to moving there. The funniest thing that happened on this trip was meeting someone who reads my blog! It isn't difficult to type away at home in my jammies. But to have the acknowledgement that real people are reading this stuff was a bit unsettling! But, on I go.

You can't pick your nicknames. Once in college this guy tried to get everyone to call him "Biff" ( am I dating myself?) but we thought that was goofy and refused to do it. Nicknames come from inside jokes, name derivatives and baby talk. There are cousins in my family who call their Grandpa both "Bumpa" and "Papa". Same guy, two different nicknames that came from the toddler perspective. My great- grandmother, for whom I was given the name, "Mable" (and you thought I was making that up! Oh no!) was known as "Bubble" to all of her grand and great grandkids. Come to think of it, there wasn't a "Grandma" in the bunch, they all had nicknames. Not that I'm in ANY hurry for the distinction, but I would love to be known as "Bubble" to my grandkiddos. Of course, if I try to press the name, it will be rejected for whatever they come up with. Just don't call me "Grandma". Ever.

Prince!

My last post, while therapeutic in a way, did not help in the "get-it-out-of-my-system" way I prefer. Instead I haven't stopped thinking about that whole deal. It was years ago. I need to move off this and onto other things. Like Prince at the Superbowl. First, let me tell you about the Janet/Justin Superbowl. When her top ripped off and exposed her pierced breast I sort of tilted my head to the side, squinted my eyes and said, "Did I really just see what I think I saw?" At the halftime show with Prince I did the same head tilt-squint and said, "Isn't this a little Austin Powers?" I love Prince. Correction, I love the old Prince who was always reliably naughty. His stage shows were great, but bawdy and funny. Then, not long ago, I read that he was changing and we wouldn't hear any cursing or see any questionable antics or lyrics from him anymore. I was happy for him, if that's what he needed to do, but this new Prince would take some getting used to. I went to see him in concert, proudly wearing purple, of course and his show was indeed PG and not the NC-17 I'd grown to appreciate. Well folks, after this halftime show, I think the old Prince is back, sense of humor in tact. I couldn't be happier.