Do these things happen to other people?

see more Lolcats and funny pictures

Okay, I promised I would share this story and I've been trying to get it done but my mental keyboard keeps jamming and.... oh hell! I just hope this is semi-understandable. Also note the battle I fought with the blogspot spacing demon. Yeah. I lost.


A few weeks back I woke briefly at too-dark o'clock thinking that I heard a weird noise coming from the other end of the house. If you know much about me, you know that since last November everything sounds bit odd to me. And if you know anything at all about me, you know that I am a VERY sound sleeper.

~~I hate to brag but sleeping really IS what I do best.~~

So the idea that a sound had the power to wake me should have set off some major alarms in the self-preservation part of my brain.

~~Like 'Wake up dummy so you live to sleep another night!'~~

You'd think.


But, you'd be wrong.

MY brilliant response was to assume it was Homer kicking up some kind of ruckus during one of his middle-of-the-night feeding frenzies.


Seriously, I consciously chose to NOT reach out and confirm that the spot next to me was, indeed, empty. My reasoning ran along the lines that if I were to encounter a warm body I would either have to worry about what the noise had been, or worry about who it was in bed with me.

~~Granted, that last option could have tilted more toward excitement than worry but either way, I knew it would mean I'd be losing some sleep.~~

So I rolled over on my good ear and got back on the train to Snoozeville.


Then... big derailment as I am jolted awake by bright light and foot poking.


"Jane!"
poke, poke
"Ja-ane!"
poke

~~It's amazing how many things can whiz through your sleep-befuddled brain when you are startled awake. Like OMG, I overslept! that stupid alarm! I told you it was broken, wow it's dark out, did the sun burn out? is it a fire?! OMG, am I wearing good underwear? where are the dog, the cats, the kids? why is he whispering? a burglar! OMG, if some slimy thief touches grandma's silver lutefisk spoon I will personally see that he has the biggest, baddest boyfriend in the entire prison!~~

But it sounds like Homer is saying "Jane! Jane! I've got a good one for you!"

~~Good frickin grief, drunk at 4:30 in the morning? He seriously did NOT wake me up to tell me a joke. WHAT is he saying???? something's in the dining room....????~~

"A what?"


"mruffdll"



"Huh?"


"uritull"

~~FYI - my hearing gets no better when I'm stressed.

Or awakened prematurely.~~

"A.... a pit bull?!?!"

"YES!"

~~I'm still suspicious that he's under the influence of something.~~

"Reee-leee?"

~~ Sure thing honey, where's Ashton Kutcher?~~

"YE-US!!!"

~~And it was so cute because he was standing at the foot of the bed - cleverly out of striking distance - sounding like a little kid reporting a boogy man under his bed.~~

But then he starts fleshing out his story with how he thought he heard PepperAnn whining (she doesn't whine, EVER.) so he bravely/foolishly went to see what was wrong with our precious princess when all of a sudden a growling pitbull charged at him from under the dining room table! Yeah. Pit bull. In the dining room. That's what he said. And strangely, I believed him.

AACK!!!

~~ I won't be getting back to sleep, will I?~~

Then I'm all freaking out about the safety of our dog and our slutty cats that tend to stay out all night and our daughters even though the daughters are 1000 miles away....

~~Let me tell you right now that it is IMPERATIVE that Homer and I never become part of any emergency response effort. Ever. We are not resourceful. We are not quick thinkers even when held hostage in our own bedroom without a phone or a weapon more deadly than a nail scissors or even a steak laced with pitbull tranquilizer at our disposal.
Dammit! Who's turn was it to thaw the steak?!?!~~

Homer keeps mumbling that he needs his PANTS! which are in his closet ACROSS THE HALL! which would necessitate OPENING! the bedroom DOOR! and giving that PITBULL direct access to OUR THROATS!

~~Well, hold on a sec honey, let me baste myself in gravy so I go quickly.~~

At some point we did surmise that the marauder was probably one of the pit bulls from across the street and that it must have jumped our fence and come in through the dog door. Or maybe we figured that out much later. It's kind of a blur but we did calm down enough to notice that PepperAnn was safely bedded down in the corner of our room. Homer couldn't resist shooting her a scornful look and belittling her watchdog abilities to which I pointed out that P.A. is a herding dog whose contract merely states that the herd be kept together. There is nothing in there about offering herself up as a midnight snack.
Anyways, isn't it the job of the MAN of the house to sleep with a baseball bat next to his bed lest treachery threaten his family in the wee hours? I think that's how it was in Father Knows Best.

~~One of those plaid robes would have solved his pants problem as well.~~

Butennyway, now I am pissed because it's bad enough we have to worry about those nasty dogs getting OUT and terrorizing the neighborhood, now they've gotten IN, so after Homer reports that the dog has gone downstairs, I grab a phone and call 911.

I know.
You're thinking that might be a tad excessive, but let's just say that our local boys in blue are not overworked and I'm pretty sure they won't have to drop a murder investigation to come running.

~~Okay, between the time I wrote that and today, our fine city did actually have it's first homicide. I feel like a karmic accessory to murder!~~

But I'm talking to the 911 operator and she's asking if the dog is vicious and I'm telling her that IT GROWLED! and it has a reputation for KILLING CATS! And it is IN MY HOUSE! so I did NOT ask about its personal feelings towards us.

I hang up and the pit bull, which must have found his way back to the dog door downstairs, is outside and back over the fence and when the police show up LESS than a minute later (what'd I say?) that dog and it's accomplice, who had been posted on our front lawn, are nowhere to be found.

Seriously, they totally vanished.

The cops nosed around with their flashlights and rang the doorbell at the pitbull residence, but the dogs were gone and so was the owner so they eventually went back to their donuts and I headed back to bed.

Homer was a bit more wound up and after he barricaded the dog door and located ONE of the slutty cats, he suddenly came running into the house yelling that the dog was back.

In the front yard.

Growling at him.

Whatever.

~~It's not in my house and I'm still hoping for some more sleep....~~

But by then the 'hood was coming to life and the dog chased a jogger and a guy walking his weiner dog and it all turned into a crazy circus of law enforcement and animal control people and regular people chasing after these two very fast dogs who actually jumped over EIGHT FOOT FENCES, entered another home through the dog door, jumped on the counter and pooped on the carpet before getting caught.... SIX hours later.

Oh but no worries, their owner finally came home late in the afternoon and swiftly bailed them out of dog jail.

But that's all a whole 'nother story.

~~And no, I did not get back to sleep.~~

Like the Mary Poppins of Bloggerville

Yes, I know I'm supposed to be AWOL.
Indeed I remember that I gave up blogging.
True, I said I had to focus on some other things.

But we all know how short my attention span is.
And how I can't resist putting in my 3.5 cents (inflation, you know).
More importantly, I can't stand to see a smart, capable, professional woman dissolve into a messy puddle of tears, cake and chenin blanc.
I could see she needed me.
I mean someone has to help her before she lets her hair go.

Yes, I am that good of a friend.
So I won't tell you all that she's afraid to drive on the freeways.

Are you confused?
Just because I started in the middle?
Hey, I am not claiming to have found the divine karma of orderliness during my sabbatical so try to keep up, 'kay?

You see, dear blogbuds, it turns out my friend Junie is on the verge of losing her first child to higher education.
Yeah, totally against her wishes, her oldest manchild, Wally, has chosen NOT to change his name to Bare Pierre and give wings to her dream of opening a chain of naughty French bakeries, all the while remaining safely under her wing as well as her roof.
Yes, indeedy, Wally is escaping.
And Junie is crumbling.

Being the total optimist that I'm not, I suspect that just as soon as Junie gives a little more thought to this development, she will mop up her mascara tears and stiffen her neatly waxed upper lip and see this for opportunity it is.
C'mon Junie! Let's make some lemonade!

Trust me. I mean I'm already the proud owner of a college SOPHOMORE!
Okay, she hasn't actually bothered to leave home yet. But just in case she does, I'm keeping a handy list to remind me of all the benefits that go along with taking a cut in children.

1. An extra room is freed up! Go ahead and paint it shocking pink and tell everyone it's your naked yoga room. They will leave you alone in there for days! And so will that pesky church lady once they tell her why you can't come to the phone. Don't forget to install a little mini-fridge. Big enough for a box of you-know-what.
   
2. Only half as much of your stuff will disappear. This might be more applicable to those of us with girl children, but think about how much longer that batch of cookies will last before they all end up.. on... your.... thighs. Okay, bad example.
3. Much better chance of captaining the remote control! Think of it, Junie, just you, a box of Franzia and Mike Rowe.
   
4. And after Ms. Franzia and Mr Rowe get your engine revved, the odds are better that the id-kays won't be around to witness wild rumpus with the Wardster!
5. And then there's the quiet sound of siblings NOT arguing about whose turn it is to clean Mom's pink, naked yoga room.
6. And only half as many thongs to wash. Ew, hopefully, that one doesn't apply to you. Unless your last name is Chippendale. It isn't, is it?
7. Okay, here's one for you - only half as much he-debris in the bathroom sink. You know - that shaving cream/toothpaste scum peppered with little whiskerettes?
8. OMG, the smell! Think of how your house will maybe smell a little better! What IS it about teenage feet that make their shoes and everything in the same zipcode smell like week old roadkill after a good rain? Yes, even girls.
   

Okay, I totally don't know if you wax your lip or suffer from housatosis, but see, Junie? This is something you can work with.
I bet you are feeling better already.
I know you can do this like I know you can find a way to fill all the extra time you'll have.
"Oh, Ward!"

Just remember not to let the door hit Wally on his way out.
I mean, it could hurt him.
And delay his departure.

She waved the blog-crack under my nose

Because I loves the Mud and Lorrie and she caught me in a weak moment...

http://ournameisblog.blogspot.com/2009/06/jane-is-in-da-nest.html

The Last Friday

Friends, Republicans and enemies, lend me your ear…. or is it ears?

Okay, my Shakespeare sucks, if that even IS Shakespeare, however modified. But I don’t really want to borrow your ears, anyway.

Wait. What am I saying? If they’re in good shape, fairly small and don't protrude a lot, I would LOVE to borrow your ears. Ah, but then you’d probably want them back and I’d be no better off than before.
Okaynevermind.

What I really want to say is that I’m leaving The Nest.

















There.
I said it.
Whew! You have no idea what a load off that is!

If you are all nosy like Me! and would like a reason, please pick one:
A) Don’t have time.
B) No longer enjoying it.
C) Have to be too careful about what I say because someone, who shall remain nameless, has been reading my blog.
D) All of the above.

Not to worry, though. I will still be stalking many of you. And most likely leaving the usual disturbing comments. Mostly, I want to thank all of you for your bloggy love, support and understanding these last couple of years and especially for your ability to make me know that I am not the only crazy bitch in this world.

Sooooo, I guess I should just say
Peace, Love, Blog on………..
And who knows? I may even be back one day.
I mean, if ilovejoebiden.com isn't already taken.

When swine fly

I heard someone on the national news this morning define the word gaffe as when a politician accidently speaks the truth.

In case you don’t pay attention, the latest ‘gaffe’ from DC is Vice-prez Biden’s comment about staying out of enclosed spaces like airplanes to avoid contracting the swine flu.

Of course the airlines are all pitching a fit because he said that and now there is all kinds of backpedaling going on to kiss and make nice with the airlines. Whatev. That's nothing unusual, but is there anyone who does NOT think that flying in a commercial jet is the viral equivalent of French kissing 147 strangers? I've not only seen the 20/20’s (Jane's generic term for all news shows) about airplane air quality, I have experienced it first hand.

I’m generally a pretty healthy specimen. I don’t usually get more than the odd cold, possibly two but maybe none, each year. Unless I fly.

I’m a big hand washer. I don’t touch my eyes or nose and I avoid phlegmy people like I avoid polyester and still it seems that half the time I deplane infested with something.

Maybe I’m just bitter because I believe the virus that ate my hearing was contracted a mile in the sky, but methinks the airlines protesteth too much.

It’s probably already too late for this particular epidemic, but maybe the airline spinsters should throw their resources more toward letting some fresh air into the cabin and less toward corralling the hot air in Washington. Who knows? They might even save something more important than their bottom line - like some lives.

Have a great weekend.

Peace, Love, Jet me to Costa Rica, I'll take the chance!

Saving up her Social Security for pole dancing lessons

Have you met my 80-something MIL?

She not only let her granddaughter 'do' her up in the blond hair extensions, she specially requested the purple accent piece to coordinate with her Hugh Hefner jammies, which she wears so she can slip right away if FIL tries to grab her in bed.

I have a feeling this one will be on her Facebook by noon:

All this happened shortly after we abandoned her at Applebee's.

Yep, she was left standing on the sidewalk while her husband and son snuck out the CarsideToGo door. They assumed she was riding home with Omega and me. But we had stops to make.

Luckily her son picked up on the discrepancy a short while later and Omega zipped back to collect her before the authorities became involved.

She wasn't worried. She said she planned to call someone when it got dark.

Warning: Do not invite this woman to your home if you are struggling with bladder control.

The Regal has Landed

I'm not actually sure what kind of car they drive, but the in-laws have arrived.


At one point in recent history they did have a red Buick Regal, but not only am I pretty unobservant when it comes to cars that I don't have keys for, I have trouble keeping up.
Those two change cars like I change my story.


To my FIL, a flat tire is a sign of vehicular degradation and if it comes on the heels of a carpet stain, it is an immediate ticket to the trade-in lot.

I can tell you that their current car is white, it is something from the Cadillackish league and it is parked in MY spot.



Which leads me to my question of the day; Why do the more expensive cars have numbers and letters instead of words as their model names? Have you noticed that? Almost without exception, the higher end car lines use some combination involving X, R, S, 4, 5, or 0 as their model names.



This was driving me seriously batshit on the drive in this morning.


Why is there no Mercedes Malibu or BMW Beetle?


I, don't usually subscribe to conpiracy theories but I suspect it might be to keep oblivious people like me out of the luxury car market.

If I can't remember the name of it, how am I ever going to buy it?



In my humble opinion, the worst car choice name EV-ER?

The Volkswagen Touareg.

WTH is that anyway? Tell me, if you were going to sink $50k into an SUV would you pick one with that name or one called Porche Cayenne? As I understand it, they are the same vehicle... but Touareg?

Gak.

Sounds like something Texans use to clean their shoes.

'Cain you all toss me that Toh-Rag so ah can wahp the cowpiah offa mah bewts?'*


Have a most excellent weekend. And watch out for cowpies.



Peace, Love, Poor-sha!



*Offended Touareg owners and Texans, be aware that it is Friday, this blogowner is under extreme pressure from work deadlines and In-law visitation and as usual has her basic bitch-0n. Therefore she cannot be held responsible for offensive ramblings at this time. Or any time really.

AND WTH is up with the spacing (or LACK of) on this???