Gaawwwd... I HATE it when I'm wrong.

Some boiled, spicy goodness...



Plus a cold beer...




A good way to end the day.
Thanks, babe...

Speaking of headache-inducing...

I think it goes without saying... but I'll say it anyway.

Honey... darling... angel husband of mine... I love you. I can't imagine my life without you. But sometimes, I swear, you get your mind wrapped around an idea, and there's just no shaking it.

Today just HAD to be the day? The day for you to boil up a whole mess o' shrimp and corn and potatoes and mushrooms... (otherwise known as a 'shramp bawl').


The day that you had to work late, and I was watching a friends' kids, and we're all tired...
and its late...
and its hotter than two gophers going at it in a wool sock...
and we have headaches...
and I was going to put everyone down for an early bedtime...
and picking up Bush's Chicken would have just been SO MUCH EASIER for dinner???

Truly, I love you. I do. And I love boiled shrimp. Especially with spicy cocktail sauce.



And in your defense, it was an idea that sounded GREAT six hours ago. Right now, I'm just hungry and cranky.






I guess that's just me being shellfish. ;)

Which is why it's 1:00 in the morning, and I'm just now getting on the computer...

I *swear*... the minute these kids go BACK TO SCHOOL, I will have a half second to myself, and I can once again post blog entries that are hilariously witty, poignant, and thought provoking.

Or mildly amusing.

Or potentially headache inducing.


Whichever.

Because, really, it makes perfect sense, if you think about it...

Little sister: "Can I please have more turkey?"


Mommy (who just happens to be me): "It's actually chicken. But sure."


Big sister: "Yeah, don't you know the difference in chicken and turkey?"


Little sister: "They're the same. They're birds."


Big sister: "They *are* both birds, but there IS a difference. A very important difference."


Little sister: "What's the difference?"


Me (thinking that this should be stellar): "Um... yeah... what IS the difference?"



Big sister: "Turkeys are the ones that dress up like peacocks. You know... for Halloween."



Little sister (thinking about it, and evidently coming to the conclusion that this is a satisfactory answer): "Oh, okay!"



Me: "Oh. Um... okay?"



Dare I even ask?






You know I can't resist.




Me: "And chickens?"





Big sister: "Well, chickens? Chickens HATE Halloween."



Doesn't EVERYBODY know that??

Wiped out.

I have a guilty pleasure.

I mean, other than eating a spoonful of ice cream straight out of the Bluebell carton once or twice a day. Because I wouldn't do that. Ever.

My guilty pleasure... nay.. my somewhat shameful secret...




I can't get enough of 'Wipeout'.



And I'm not talking about the the Surfaris' hit song, with the drum solo that is impossible to duplicate if you are even remotely uncoordinated. (p.s. if you can do it, you MUST demonstrate the *very* next time you see me. I will hold you in the highest esteem. And I might even give you a bite of my ice cream.)


The 'Wipeout' to which I am referring is a T.V. show which features an insane foam obstacle course that contestants must meaneuver (or blunder) their way through to try to win $50,000.

This show... it's all about the thrill of victory. The agony of defeat. Regular men and women taking a chance to step forward and be heroes for that one brief moment in time.



Plus they get punched in the face. A lot.


It feels so wrong, but I just can NOT look away when those folks head across the 'Sucker Punch' wall. They are just minding their business, focusing on the boxing gloves popping out at intervals along the wall, threatening to send them ass over teakettle, straight into the mud.

And it happens. Every. Single. Time.



And I laugh. Every. Single. Time.




I can't help it. I laugh the first time it happens... and then the next three times they play it. In super slow-mo.

'The Sweeper'... 'The Motivator'... and let us not forget 'The Big Balls'. Oh, the Big Balls are the best!! (wow. That was just weird.) When they have to jump across those giant red bouncy balls to try to get across the course, without sending themselves bouncing and flailing into the drink?

Well, I'm in hysterics by this point, hands over my mouth, giggling like a crazed clown who's sucked down too much helium.

I'm not proud of it. I'm actually amazed that someone hasn't been seriously hurt doing these obstacle courses.

So why do I watch?

I think it must tap into some deep, hidden belief system that I have. Mainly, that people who act ridiculous and/or stupid should be publicly humiliated.

And potentially? Punched in the face.



Okay... maybe it's not so *hidden*. ;)

On my cell phone with my husband...

Me: Hey honey! Did you get a chance to run by the store?


He: Yeah, I picked up…


At this point, our youngest (who is sitting next to me at the pool, waiting for swim practice to start) begins to shout into the phone… “HI DADDY!! HI DADDY!”


Me: Gee, can you hear her okay??


He: Yes.


Libby: I LOVE YOU DADDY! I LOVE YOU!


He (laughing): I love that little punk-@$$ kid.


Me: Um… you’re on speaker phone.


Guess I should tell him that in advance…

Fixated on near-nakedness

Well, that’s a heck of title for an entry, isn’t it?

Sorry if you just sent your Great Aunt Edith to my blog because you know she’ll just love reading the sweet little anecdotes about my charming and adorable children. Clearly I’m on a roll with the naked blogs.

Because last night, I went to see ‘Eclipse’. And if you’ve been living under a rock, I should let you know that it is the third in the series of Twilight movies. Oh, and… “GET OUT FROM UNDER THAT ROCK!”

So, yeah…I’ve read all the Twilight books. Oh yes, I did it. I borrowed them from a friend, and read all four of them within about a week and a half. I find it next to impossible to put a book down once I have started it (see last entry for example), which explains why, outside of the required reading for my English classes in college, I did not pick up and read a novel for the entire four years I was at UT. I can’t trust myself to do much of anything else when I’m in my ‘book zone’, especially not something as mind-numbingly boring as studying for a Geology final.

Anyway, all that to say, I went with a girlfriend to see the movie last night, and it was pretty good. I liked it. But this has been one of those VERY rare instances where I’ve actually preferred the movies to the books. My friend (who loves the book series), on the other hand, said… “Well, I didn’t HATE the movie.” And if THAT’S not a ringing endorsement, right there…

Which brings me back around to ‘the naked’. (Doesn’t it always come back to ‘the naked’?!) Or in the case of this movie, it was ‘near-naked’.

A nearly naked werewolf.

Taylor Lautner, who plays ‘Jacob the werewolf who is inexplicably in love with the brooding Bella’ (I think it even says that on his dressing room door), only wears a shirt in this movie for approximately four and a half minutes.

And you think I’m kidding. But I’m not. And yes, I know I sometimes may TEND to overstate a little for the purposes of your amusement… but in this case, that is *not* the case.

For the rest of the movie, he is shirtless. He and all his werewolf brothers strolling around in their shirtless glory, wearing nothing except little cut-off jeans.

Now, *that* part was just the teensiest bit weird. All they needed were construction helmets and Indian headdresses, and they could have been the new voice of the Village People.


Not that I’m complaining, mind you...it’s just a lot of gratuitous…er… glistening…pecs and abs in this flick.


*sigh






Alright… so, I still WATCHED! Jeez. What can I say? I didn’t mind checking out those werewolf six-packs (hmmm… Sounds like a new beer).

And even Great Aunt Edith can get behind that.