30 November 2009

Ode to a Brat*

I'm sick as a dog. Someone please shoot me in the face. (I'd make a Dick Cheney joke here, but it's so passé. And if there's one thing you know I am, it's totally up to date on that crap.)

SO. I have this blog. But see, here's the thing:

1) I never have time to write on it.

2) That's a total lie. I have lots of time. What I don't have is hands-free time. And I really hate typing one-handed. Hence why I just stare at your blog for hours at a time waiting for you to update it.

3) My mind is a blank. And I don't just mean I have writer's block or something like that, I mean I have a completely empty skull, wind whistling through it Homer Simpson-style and everything, 24 hours a day. I don't think anything at all. Ever. Even now I'm staring at these words wondering what the hell I'm writing. I'm sure you and I have that in common at least. It's nice to have friends.

4) Cheese and crackers.

So I have nothing of worth to tell you, but I almost started to feel guilty the other day for not writing anything in nearly a month so I figured I'd better get rid of that feeling right-quick. Wouldn't want the ol' emotions to get in gear after all this time or anything.

Hey, speaking of food, I have a random story to tell you. So back in the church congregation the Husband and I attended when we first got married I was one of the folks in charge of making sure all the kids saw the light and got religion. I remember one of the kids that moved into the ward's boundaries was named Rusty. Rusty was maybe five or six, was very active, and had never been to any church before in his life. The concept of sitting still, without inflicting damage or harm, was completely foreign to him. Speaking of foreign, this kid was German, too. He was born in America and all, but his parents were flat-out German, accents and all (this is important, trust me). He was a big, sturdy, solid, German kid.

So anyway, little Rusty was a handful. The Sunday School class he was in had to have two teachers, despite the class's small number of students: one teacher taught the class, and the other teacher held Rusty down until he got learnded good. Or I'm assuming that's what happened; all I know is it took two of them. And frequently they needed more than that because Rusty was quite often brought to his mother rather than cause any further medical or emotional distress. So one Sunday a group of us gathered outside of Rusty's classroom door, waiting for him to be shoved out by his handler at any moment. He had already been talked to once that day and had been given his last warning, and wouldn't you know it, he didn't seem as if he was going to heed that warning any century soon. So it started with me (one of the counselors) and Bryn (the other counselor), and eventually grew to include, I believe, the secretary (who knows what her name was), and the entire bishopric. Normally, the only member of the bishopric who should have been there was [Kirk], but Rusty usually attracted a crowd and we got all of them. All of us standing in the hall, not two feet from his door, waiting for him to be shoved out, and all swapping Rusty stories in the mean time. [Kirk] told a great tale that day in the hallway. He said one day Rusty was acting up (of course) so he personally took him to the foyer and sat him down on the couch, sat next to him, and they sat there for the remainder of church together. He said their conversation soon turned to Rusty's very solid, German-like frame:

Rusty: I'm hungry.
Kirk: Sorry to hear that.
Rusty: I'm really hungry!
Kirk: No, Rusty.
Kirk: Well, you can't eat right now. You'll just have to wait.
Rusty: But I wanna talk about sausages!

Kirk said it was all he could do to not crack up laughing. It wasn't even that Rusty wanted to EAT sausages, he just wanted to TALK about them.

Kirk, thinking to himself: Geez, kid, how German can you get?

I'm fairly certain that Bryn and I said, "But I wanna talk about sausages!" to each other for months afterwards, busting up laughing each and every time. I still laugh just thinking about it. See, now you're in on the joke, too.

So there you have it. My Rusty story for the day. I'm pretty sure either he'll wind up on America's Most Wanted or wind up speaking to us at General Conference. Either way, I wouldn't be surprised in the least.

*Get it? Brat? 'Cause "brat" is short for bratwurst? Man, I'm brilliant even on my stupidest day.

05 November 2009

Hairy Care-y

Couple things. It finally occurred to me this morning that I must not care anymore. I wander out of the house without showering constantly. I run errands first, then come home and shower, not the other way around. I remember a time when I would have rather cut my hands off than leave the home unbathed. And yet, today I didn't even attempt to do my hair before running off to Toys R Us for a birthday party gift. And of course, today's the day the Marine Corps is hanging around at the exit looking for donations for Toys For Tots. Gotta love impressing the Marines with scraggly hair and frumpy clothes. And get this, on Monday I told Greta I was going to the commissary. An hour later I pull into a parking spot, look at the car next to me, and see Greta sitting there looking back at me (she's stalking me; I'm flattered). And of course I hadn't showered yet then, either, because honestly who am I going to see at the commissary? Have I reached some magic point in my life when everything else takes priority over how I look to strangers? That I only shower every day so my husband won't have to see me in my PJs when he comes home at night? What's next, public, drunken nudity?

So Greta. This lovely woman. She claims to be baby hungry so she can steal your baby and babysit her, but really she's just trying to be nice or some such crap. Anyway, I took her up on her babysitting offer the other day. How great of her was that? And she even took pictures of her so I wouldn't have to be a parent and do it instead. Fantastic! Here's one she didn't put up on her blog but still let me have:

Cute, ain't she? No, her hair isn't really that dark, she just needs a shampoo. And lest you think I've been ignoring her hygiene, her hair looks like that about six hours after washing it. It oils up FAST. And to add to that joy, she has dandruff like crazy. And it's not just a little flake here and there, her entire fricking head is peeling. You lift up any section of hair and you see the entire top layer of skin in sections waiting to peel off. It's down-right creepy I tells ya. Other than that, she's adorable. Honest.

02 November 2009

It Hurts When I Think

Hey, have you ever taken an item out of its packaging, and then accidentally thrown the item away and held onto the wrapper? And when you look at what's in your hand and realize what you've just done you have to get another item out? And then you do the exact same thing again?

I just wanted you to know what kind of a person you're dealing with here.

Answer: complete moron