~“they were simply themselves and chose not to disguise it"~

It’s no secret that I love and adore children’s literature.  It works out pretty well for me, since I teach the stuff.  There are some authors that astound me, Dr. Seuss being one.  Read it, really read it.  One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish is not just for kids. The Lorax?  Certainly not.  Don’t even get me started on Shel Silverstein or A. A. Milne.   But this?  No, this is not necessarily children’s literature (although if I had kids, it most certainly would be).  Oh, how I want this though. Oh, how it would make me so truly happy.  

Alas, it is out of print.  There is but one listed at Amazon, for $257.  Ummmm, by the way, this is for the re-issue, not the original 1939 publication.  File under:  things that make language teachers swoon.

~“Underwear is such an emotional thing”~

Warning:  I’m in the mood to over share.   I feel very strongly about my skivvies.  No commando for me.  I need undergarments, and I need a specific kind.  I love Victoria’s Secret, and Victoria loves me.  I’ve tried other kinds, I really gave it a go, they just made me cranky.  Now this love I speak of, it is strong.  I get birthday cards, I get rewards, they get financial support.  They are there in times of need.  They provide me with skivvies that stay put and last.  The lasting part is important.  I do not provide anything in my home with special care.  Let us say they outlast the men folk around here.  Perhaps this is a contributing factor in the most recent parting of the man folk.  In retrospect, he was giving more and more hints regarding the lace, and I was growing more and more comfy in my boy shorts.  As for the lasting, it was most definitely time to make that investment in the interest of my nether regions.  As for the relationship that I have with VS, I have decided that should I ever again develop a fondness for a particular man folk, I will buy undies from him.  It works wonders and strengthens bonds.  Now, there are actually three things I need to discuss regarding VS.  Not complaints, never complaints.  Just curiosities. 

Thing the first:  On my skivvy searching adventure, I encountered some fantastical undies with which to clad my behind.  They had FISH on them.  Also, some with mermaids.  But seriously, fish. Oh happy hiney. Unfortunately, the happiest of all underpants sported a gigantic bow.  Humongous.  A gargantuan bow?  What am I to do with this bow, please?  I have enough to worry about with getting my ass in my pants!  A bow?  I hope you are not wondering why these ended up in the sale bin Vicki. 

Thing the second:  Victoria’s Secret is way creative.  Exhibit C

Honestly, it made me blush to thing of posting  images of Exhibit A and B.  Therefore, Exhibit C.  VS is also convincing, as evidenced by a lengthy consideration of  purchasing both A and B.  Surely with all of this creative genius, they can devise a plan to keep loud, insane children out of their store, so that I can ponder their ridiculous bow placements in peace?  This was no ordinary child, I tell you.  This was an unusually LOUD child, with a plastic yellow bunny, making what I assume he thought were yellow plastic bunny noises.  Now, as someone is very familiar with bunnies and their noises, my thoughts of bows were halted in their tracks and turned  to serious considerations of educating this child on the quiet nature of rabbits in general.  Something along the lines of “You realize that bunnies only sound like that if they are in fear for their lives or actually dying, right?!  Even yellow bunnies?!  They do not screech like that unless death is eminent.  Do you want your bunny to die?”  See, I should not be having these thoughts in such a happy place. 

Thing the last:  There is no man in my life, past or present, that needs to encounter this image on my behind.

They simply do not belong in the “most-loved panties” section of the website.  No.  A sneaky man had something to do with this.

~“Men are not the enemy, but the fellow victims. The real enemy is women's denigration of themselves.” ~

I am on my last glass of wine and hoping for sleep in lieu of another bottle.  I have been meaning to post about what a fantastic time I had in Florida, both times I’ve gone this summer.  Swimming in the ocean, jet skis, sand in the bed, shooting stars, giant sippy cups of gin, hunting for seashells.  That will all just have to wait.  I’m tired.  Today I have:

1.  Exchanged the rental car for one without a glowing check engine light.

2.  Been so glad that Carmax gave me a rental without me even asking, although it’s not part of my warranty. XOXOXO. 

3.  Decided that I do not, after all, want a Yaris.

4.  Missed my car immensely. (Waiting for it to be returned with a working air conditioner.)

5.  Cried.

6.  Snuggled the out of town best friend’s very fluffy cat.

7. Raided the out of town best friend’s garden for lots of tomatoes. 

8.  Cried.

9.  White Russians.

10. Worked in my own garden, resenting its lack of ripe tomatoes.

11.  Checked to see that, yet again, I did not win a mixer for the out of town best friend.  I need that mixer to make her my cookie slave!  Darn Pioneer Woman’s random selection.  (I still love her though. XOXO.)

12.  Avoided phone calls.

13.  Watched re-runs of Weeds.  Nancy makes worse choices than I do.  I love that about her.

14.  Drove aimlessly.

15.  Cried.

16.  Opened a bottle of wine.

17.  Washed muddy paw prints out of my sofa slipcover.

18.  Cried.

19.  Called baby brother and talked of teeny tiny pigs, expired eggs (nevermind), “I told you not to date a cop,” and The Great Book of John (the band, not the Bible.)

20.  Drank more.

21.  Cried.

22.  Wondered why the hell the policeman left me without even a goodbye. 

Have you ever cried so long and so hard so long that you forgot why you were crying?  Yeah.  Then you stop.  Only to remember, and start again.  Then catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, and realize how ugly crying makes you, which makes you cry harder, and probably lots uglier?  Me either.  Shit.  I am NOT a crier!

Oh, wait, 23.  Cried.

24.  Opened bottle # 2.

~“If I'm not back in five minutes... wait longer”~

~“Civilization begins with soap”~

Open letter to a select few (you know who you are):

Hear ye, hear ye!  Wash your hands please.  Wash them a lot.  Wash them especially if we are in a public restroom together.  PLEASE?  I am watching, and if you don’t, I have to stifle a shriek.  It is sooo difficult for me to stifle my shrieks.  It kind of makes me want to kick you in the shin (I won’t), and ruins my day just a little bit, too.  See, I know you are going out there into the world and touching stuff.  Since I have no way of guessing what you might be touching, I can’t touch anything.  Also, I have to sanitize frantically the rest of the day.  Well, more frantically than usual.  We can blame my mother and call me neurotic if you’d like (as long as you wash first).  She very lovingly taught me such things, and probably encouraged me to regularly wash my hands with something along the lines of, “Honey, I love you very much.  So, it would make me really sad if I had to give you away to a family that won’t mind if you are an unsanitary non-hand washing child.”  She even likes to check periodically to make sure that all her hard work stuck.  Just recently, she suggested that I sing a song while I wash my hands to make sure that I’m washing for long enough.  The ABC’s, The Eensy Weensy Spider, Row, Row, Row Your Boat, all excellent selections.  It makes it more fun too.  Maybe you could try that?  People in public restrooms may think you’re crazy, but they won’t think you’re nasty.  All you need is love, I know, but you are an adult now.  You should know better. 

~“The problem with the world is that everyone is a few drinks behind”~

I left my beer under the cart in the Walmart parking lot.  I do these things, I do.  I remember thinking two things last night as I left Walmart at 12 am:  1.  Hey you! Good job, you remembered to get your purse out of the front of the cart! & 2. Holy canoli I do not want to be at Walmart anymore and I must get out of here right now, immediately.

I never would have been at stinkin’ Walmart in the first place if a) a stupid headache had not prevented me from visiting by beloved Publix during regular business hours & b)  I thought I might be able to convince the policeman that triscuits, peanut butter, and a can of artichokes totally counts as having food in the house when he came in from work hungry this morning.  I don’t do my best debating in the morning though, so off for the necessities I went.  Eggs and beer. 

It was not even until the day was approaching afternoon, and my fuzzy brain began to clear, that I realized that I had LEFT MY BEER HOLY CRAP! HELP! HELP! So I calmly called Walmart, who quickly informed me that they are not responsible for anything once it leaves the store.  Not even in their parking lot.  Not even on their cart.  Nope.  Not their problem.  They checked to see if anyone had turned it in. . .no. . . shocking.  Who is going to turn in beer?  Well, besides me?  Definitely not the teenagers whose parents apparently allow them to play in the Walmart parking lot.  So great, now I am contributing to the delinquency of minors.  Stinkin’ minors drank my beer.

No let me tell you, if  I stripped to my skivvies, built a temple to Ninkasi out of carts  and danced whilst singing her a lovely song that I wrote, in an attempt to bring back my beer?  Suddenly, that parking  lot would become Walmart’s concern, I’d bet you.  Right now, it is not at all affiliated with the store. 

I know it’s my own stupid fault for forgetting.  The only reason that this is bothering me, is that because were this to happen at Publix, I’m relatively certain that they would have no problem replacing the beer.  They would probably chill it for me and have it waiting with a red bow when I got there.  And a frozen mug.  Then, apologize that no one reminded me to get my beer from the bottom of the cart.  We’d all laugh, fire up a grill and crack open the beers.  Ahhhh, Publix.

Emergency Situation, No Time For Quotes

I cannot find my bathing suit.  I have strict instructions to be packed tonight.  I have searched every inch of the house.  All the good swim suit hiding spots.    I checked under the couch, under the bed, under the bathroom sink, under the dogs, in the vegetable crisper, it is nowhere to be found.  I am at a loss.  Life as I know it is essentially over.  No, I am not being dramatic.  This is the only bathing suit I have ever truly loved. There is no time to form a bond with another.  Seriously, this swim suit is circa 1995.  We are talking vintage people!  Is there a chance that the Policeman will understand the gravity of the situation?  Absolutely no.  Is there a chance that he will buy me gin to console me?  There is hope.  Is there a chance that Walmart would have anything that even vaguely resembles my long lost love?  That’s a definite negative. Conundrum:  continue frantic search, or late night traumatic experience at Walmart?  This is what you call a no win right here.