Twilight Action Figure

I dropped Big J. off at the airport today, now I can play with my new ACTION figure!

Hello my love, please come in. Would you like something to drink? A bloody mary perhaps?

Don't worry, my darling, you are my superhero and my bad guy.

Yes, please do sit down while I go get your drink.

Polly Pocket, you traitorous witch! How could you?

Polly, prepare to meet your demise.

And as for you Edward, Bite Me! ...please.

The Flasher

When I was 12 years old, I saw a flasher. That may not seem like too big a deal if you are from a big city like New York or Chicago, but when you live in a three traffic light town that folds up the streets on Sundays, it is a huge deal.

We lived in town and my mom had a small store there. It was summer and I was watching my little brother, age 5, and had to deliver him to her at the store. This was nothing new. It was commonplace to walk everywhere, to the sundry store, to eat, to shop, to the movies.

I was holding his little hand, he was a talker, that kid, and funny too, even at age 5. He was chattering away as we walked down the sidewalk past some old storefronts. These were no longer stores, but had been turned into apartments, so they had long, heavy drapes covering the full length windows.

Some movement caught my eye, and as I glanced to my left, a man stepped from behind one of the curtains wearing nothing but a pair of dark socks. I quickly turned my head back forward and stepped up the pace. I think I was probably dragging my baby brother by this point, because I heard a tiny voice say, "Kim....hey, Kim, snap out of it!" (Funny kid).

I looked down at the confused little fella trying to keep up and said, "Didn't you see that?"

"See what?"

"Nothing," I said. I wasn't about to tell him. If I was in shock, what would he think? So I kept going and delivered him, safe and sound, to the store. I never said a word about it for a very long time. My logic was, if my little brother hadn't seen it and he was standing between me and the window, nobody would believe me.

When I look back on it now, I have to laugh. Not because some perv thought showing his junk to a little girl would be a turn on, but because of how my little 12 year old brain worked at the time and how much people change over the years.

I was an incredibly shy kid, so at the time, I was absolutely terrified. I never walked on that side of the street again for the remainder of the two years that we lived in town. When I thought of it, it sickened me. I buried it in the depths of my brain and tried not to ever think about it.

But what is really funny, is what it looked like to me. That thing looked like a nasty, 2 feet long missile that had its radar honed in on me.

My reaction then was like someone who had seen a war atrocity. Keep going, don't talk about it, don't think about it. Nowadays, I would probably try to make the guy feel like crap by pointing and laughing or saying something like, "Hey buddy, if you're trying to put out a fire, you're going to need more hose."

The moral of this story is, that if you ever see a flasher, point and laugh and say something to make them feel like crap. Because they are. Then call the cops.

Feel Better About Yourself Today

Ladies, how many times have you gone through the supermarket checkout and seen those magazines lining the lanes with the faces of beautiful young women with hard bodies and super taut skin on the cover and left the store feeling better about yourself? Well, gals, this one's for you!I don't usually buy tabloids because I figure 99% of what's in there is a lie anyway, but when something makes you feel this good, I say go for it. Drop that $3.49. Believe that lie.

Now I know what you're going to say, these pictures are probably Photoshopped, these gals don't really look this bad.

By the same token, do you tell yourself that the 21 year old babe with the muscular six pack on the cover of Women's Fitness has probably been Photoshopped? Maybe. But does that make you feel any less fat as you're pushing your cart full of beer and potato chips past that breast augmented chickie staring back at you?

So I did it! Shame on me for buying that tabloid! Then I brought it home and opened it and, by golly, I am going bathing suit shopping today. I feel great!

Toe Socks

Toe socks are nasty. I never liked them for my own personal use. My toes are somewhat of a close-knit family and they like the comfort and warmth of each other in a regular sock.

My daughter, however, loves toe socks and when a sock is called for, she prefers her toes individually wrapped. This would normally be a non-issue, if not for the fact that I occasionally like to help her out with her laundry. If she has a lot of homework, or is working at the pizza place, I'll pitch in a help a girl out.

I don't know about all your daughters out there, but my daughter's feet smell like she has been walking across dead bodies. When a 17 year old comes in from the gym and peels off her socks to take a shower, do you think she bothers to unwad them and turn them right-side-out before she tosses them into her hamper? Never. So these puppies have been rode hard and put away wet.

By the time I get to them, they have dried into a crusty little ball. In case you hadn't figured it out yet, there is a chemical in dried up kid sweat that causes it to become hard, yet friable, upon touching. Sort of like asbestos. Not only do I have to turn this toxic tuft right-side-out, but I have to stick my finger in each and every slot. That's 10 crusty crevices per pair. Yummy!

Breaking a Boob Man

Doesn't he look all sweet and innocent snuggled up sleeping next to Emily?Well he isn't. He comes over to you all sweet-like with this exact expression on his face as if to say, "Please, just one little pat on the head."

Then, the minute you raise your arm to pet him, exposing the left one, he sees his opening and...bloop!...bloop! He bounces your boob with his nose before you know what has hit you. He always does it twice, I guess in case he misses the first time.

You're left shaking your head wondering, "Was I just molested by that dog?"

The question is...how do I break him of it? Screaming and smacking him on the snout certainly isn't working. If he doesn't quit knocking knockers, he is going to need rescued again!

Thank You Mrs. Parks

I have to give a big, fat Thank-you to Mrs. Parks at www.theparksfarm.com for the new blog layout. Isn't she talented and generous? She is also very "SWEET!"
(Visit www.winsweetstuff.com for the sweet reference.)

The Fish Hatcheries

The best part about fixing the watergarden is... We get to go the fish hatcheries! Yay!

Now that's a fine kettle o'fish

A Vat O'Cats

Pretty sly for a white guy.

A Bowl O'Minnow

Hey kids, stay in school!

A Tank O'Tads

You guys don't have a leg to stand on...except for that guy.

A Bucket O'Shebunkins

Don't be koi with me.

Pails O'Fantails

And I'm your #1.

Busy Day - Lots of Pics

Back in 2001, when Heefus still lived at home, my fantastic men-folk dug me this beautiful watergarden. They dug it all by themselves with picks and shovels. We got the rocks from a friend's farm, carried them one at a time, and stacked them around the pond. It was a lot of work, but it was beautiful. It had a waterfall and a fountain.

These were our little fishies. The white one with the orange head was named Boop Boop. Then Diddum Daddum, Waddum, and Choo. All the kids would come over and I would go outside and dig up some worms. The kids would dangle the worms in the water and the fish would swim over real fast and suck them down like spaghetti...good times.

There is one drawback to trained fishies, though. One day a Blue Heron, came and stood in our little pond. When his skinny legs hit the water, our poor, unsuspecting fishies swam over to him expecting their worms. That crane sucked them down like spaghetti.

This is what the watergarden looked like yesterday, after a year of a broken pump. My awesome husband decided this might be a good day to start restoring it to its former glory, since he will be going back to Russia next week. What a guy!

The root systems from the waterlilies had tangled themselves together and taken over the entire pond.

This required the use of a machete. Umm..a machete-wielding man.


It didn't get any better when we got to this end.

Cash wants to know, "Who called the plumber?" (Props to Emily for that joke).

This mess of rotten roots and bottom-sludge had a special stench created by years of decay and fish droppings.

I will take a cue from Cowguy and try to describe this putrid odor as what one might expect emitting from the carcass of a rotting water buffalo, hollowed-out by a crocodile, which in turn, died inside said water buffalo and proceeded to be eaten by vultures who pooped all over the both of them at the beginning of the dry season on the Serengeti.

Emily wanted to help so she could get a little sun.

That lasted until she accidentally flung a bunch of muck all over the front of herself. Bye Emily!

As a reward for all of Big John's hard work, I offered to pull my top down and take him for a ride.

What were you thinking, you naughty thing?

I was going to make a joke here about grabbing his stick, but I thought that would be too juvenile.

You know, if you have to tap your brakes more than 27 times in one mile, you may be riding too close...I'm just saying. He is not angering me, though, or even annoying me. I'm just glad I'm not in front of him!

These two were facing us at a red light. I am digging that horned helmet!!

THE END