Monday, March 30, 2009

Misty Water Colored Memories

Memories . . .

like the corners of my mind . . .

Last night I stayed up wiping my eyes like I was watching a Barbara Streisand movie.

But I was only watching a bunch of little boyz making misty watered colored memories on my living room floor.

(That's not what it sounds like, btw.)

This is the way they were at 11 p.m.

This is the way they were at midnight.

This is the way they were at 1 a.m.

This is the way they were at 3 a.m.

This is the way they were at 5 a.m.

Tomorrow these little boyz will be nothing but a memory.


My living room floor will be empty.


Life is so unfair!

Why did I only get 3 little boyz instead of 6 little boyz?

Why? Why? Why?

But don't cry for me Argentina.  I can make do with half a half a dozen if I have to.



Why does everything always end up a misty watered colored memory of the way we were????

Saturday, March 28, 2009

The French are So Darn Versatile

He he he

I've got my evil mad scientist hat on today.

he he he

That's why I'm cackling.

he he he

(Does my evil mad scientist cackle need punctuation?)

he he he! he he he. he he he: he he he; he he he-- he he he . . . he he he?

(Am I even spelling my evil mad scientist laugh correctly? LoW spells it heh heh heh)

OMGOSH!!! It just hit me that I've been doing Lamaze breathing instead of mad scientist cackling!!!! You guys probably thought I was in labor, huh?

How embarrasing!

(Lamaze doesn't work, btw. I recommend the epidural!)

The reason I can't stop doing Lamaze/cackling is because yesterday I was totally in the right place at the right time. Don't you love it when that happens?

My rockstar brother and his groupie wife wanted to go to the PCC (Polynesian Cultural Center) so they dragged us all along.

Just as the canoe show began I noticed a paparazzi photo op floating down the river (insert evil mad scientist Lamaze cackle here)

Remember Raphael? My French student who thinks he can steal my heart away from Wolfgang?

Well apparently when he's not in my English class saying oui oui, he's at the PCC pushing canoes around.

I was incognito with my baseball cap and Jackie O. sunglasses so he had no idea I was snapping these photos.

heh heh heh.

I love tom-foolery and tom-sneakery.

So who wants to see Raphael looking like a man? Raise your hand.

Who wants to see Raphael looking like a woman?

The French are so darn versatile.

heh heh heh heh heh heh HEH heh heh HEH! I'm COL (cackling out loud).

Actually I'm ROTFCOL.

Wait! Did he just see me?

Friday, March 27, 2009

Family Visitors: Don't Try This at Home!

If you were to squeeze my mom like a tube of toothpaste she would ooze empathy and compassion.

I don't recommend brushing your teeth with empathy and compassion, unless you want to end up with a mouthful of cavities.

So if my mom ever comes to visit you, look alive, peeps! LOOK ALIVE!

Don't look dead. Or weary. Or exhausted. Or downtrodden. Or sick. Or annoyed.

All of these looks will land you one extra large toothbrush full of empathy and compassion, and this is what it will sound like while you're brushing your teeth with it:

"Are you tired? You look tired. Are you sick? You look downtrodden. Are you exhausted? No wonder you're so annoyed, bless your heart!"

She won't just bless your heart either, she'll bless your dryer's heart too."

Yesterday she told me that my dryer wasn't drying anything. I said, "maybe we need to empty the lint catcher."

And you know what she said? She said, "maybe it's just tired because we've been using it all day, bless it's heart. We should give it a rest."

I said "maybe we should tell it buck up li'l cowboy! That's right. You heard me. You best giddy up and get your groove back on cuz we ain't near done with you yet.

I wasn't being rude, I was being honest. Dryers work a lot better when you don't give them any sympathy.

Besides the cavities I kinda enjoy family visitors. When you've lived away from home for 20 years you have a lot to learn about your famdamily.

Take my brother, Dan, for instance . . . we practically grew up together. We listened to America's Top Forty every week and started our own rock band writing hit songs like Kiss, Yea Yea and Kiss is in Trouble. Every year we rode in my papa and gigi's Subaru to the Mojave desert where we spent our summers eating Oreos and breaking our papa's t.v. and hiding from the promiscuous neighbors.

And yet there are so many things I never knew I never knew about him.

Like I never knew that if I said "hey, let's go to the beach," he would say, "Okay, let me run take a shower and put my jeans on."

And I never knew that he would fix my daughter French toast for breakfast so she could win her tennis matches.

And I never knew he would laugh himself silly while watching The Office then tell me I make the most tremendous freakin' caramel popcorn in the history of the world.

(I nearly hugged him, btw. And then I nearly told him it was Swirl's recipe.)

Having family visitors is cool, but proceed with caution. It's a dangerous game and I wouldn't try it at home. Leave it to the trained professionals because it's risky, man! Before you know it you may look around the living room floor at a half a dozen boys strewn out and snoring and realize your stone cold heart is drooping and your eyes are sweating.

(Not to mention you've got a mouthful of cavities.)

Wednesday, March 25, 2009

Thank You Universe!

Dear Peeps,

I miss you, do you miss me? Yes or No? Please write back.

P.S. I think I LY.

P.S.S. XoXoX


My sincerest apologies for not doing my visiting teaching to each of your blogs this past week. I am up to my eyeballs in little boys and Doritos and Code Red Mountain Dew right now.

In fact, I have a whole case of little boys on my living room floor at this very moment because my rockstar brother and his family are visiting.

And I have a whole case of Code Red in my fridge right now because my rockstar student, Juicebox, doesn't read anything I assign. He says he just wants me to teach him how to write, but he doesn't want to jump through any hoops. He'd rather just give me guilt gifts and text me smiley faces to try to melt my stone cold heart.

Ironically I don't even drink Code Red. I only let my blog drink it, while my body drinks Code V-8.

Well don't tell my body, but I'm totally strung out on Code Red right now--flying sky high.

Do you want me to tell you a story since I'll be awake for a while?

Today my daughter played a 3 hour tennis match! 

She is a freshman playing 2nd singles on the high school varsity team. (Was that TMI? In a Braggedy-Ann sense?)

She fought her little heart out for every single point.

I had to rub my eyes to make sure that was her pumpin' her fist and kickin' A. She won the first set in a tie-breaker. Then lost the second set in a tie-breaker. 

Instead of playing a third set they played a super tie-breaker--first to 10 points. She lost 8-10 but it was the most gorgeous loss I've ever seen in my life.

Does that look like the smile of a loser?

Well it is.

But let me back up.

By the time she was half-way through her second set all the other matches were over. Slowly but surely the whole tennis team began to gather around to watch my daughter.

Picture the courts surrounded by a tall fence and screened with a windbreaker. You can just barely make out the figures gathering outside the screen, but you can hear them saying your daughter's name, encouraging her to hang tough.

You can do it!

Don't give up!

Keep fighting!

You're not tired!

You can take her!

How do you describe that feeling?

By the end of the match the crowd was breaking into wild applause every time my daughter won a point.

I was thinking about how cool it is to have people in your corner--people on the other side of the fence cheering you on when you want to give up and applauding you when you don't.

If I know the universe as well as I think I do, I bet every single one of us has a huge stadium of fans on the other side of the screen, eating hot dogs and popcorn and cheering us on from the sidelines.

Thank you Universe! We couldn't do it without you!

btw, we caught that runaway cockroach in our van. Here's photoGRAPHIC evidence that it's still in pampers:

(Three foot cockroach my eye!! Silly goose Mom!)

P.S. You better stop telling my mom she's adorable because it's going to her head.

Look at her going all Mary Poppins on me in her fit flip shoes that exercise her calves and buns while she just sits there blinking and shrugging and looking cute.

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

Ms. Crash Test Dummy Speaks Her Mind

Tonight I'm too pooped to pop. That's what my gigi always says.

The reason I'm too pooped to pop is because my mom has been cleaning all day to prepare for my rock-star brother's arrival. It's exhausting ordering my mom around all day. She's such a passive resister.

And remember how I said my mom isn't as quirky as my MIL?

Well I lied!

She cheats like a mad hatter at Sudoku. And she doesn't wear her seat belt--even when the car is screaming down her neck. And she speaks softly, but she doesn't carry a big stick. And she takes no for an answer--even if you don't say no.

And you should see her eyes fill with terror everytime I ask her to do a guest post. She won't even send her own kids a copy of her Christmas letter. Is that the quirkiest thing you've ever heard or what?

So I will go ahead and guest post for her, seeing as I know exactly what she would say anyway.

First she would say "Hey, dummy, we're on the plane. You can take off your rose colored sunglasses now."

So here is me doing an impression of my mom guest posting on my blog:


Can everybody hear me? I don't really have anything to say but I'm the dummy's mom and we just had a really nice time on Kona at King Kamwhatchamacallit's hotel.

It was really fun watching my grand twins play basketball, except when the dummy accidentally elbowed me in the face. Twice. All because my feet wouldn't stop tap dancing and my mouth wouldn't stop doing the hokey pokey.

Alls I was saying was "OH GOSH! Oh my goodness! Oh GREAT! Oh No! Oh Dear! Oh oh oh, we are going to lose. I can't take it. How do you stand it? How sad that you married a sports freak and then you went ahead and gave birth to a bunch of little sports freaks."

But I was right. They did lose in the semi-finals. I totally called it.

But we still had fun and I taught her a lot of important things about life.

Like did you know that if you chew gum for 20 minutes your brain becomes more focused?

And did you know you can actually buy shoes that will exercise your calves and your buns simply by wearing them.

And did you know that big hair is happening, but brown purses are (YAWN) so not happening.

Candy Apple Red is more like it.

Crash has been a wonderful daughter, but I think she's been in Hawaii for too long. Like today we were driving to the airport to pick up my son and his family. The dummy was on the phone when out of the blue a 3 foot cockroach crawled down my arm. You could hear me scream from the Statue of Liberty. I accidentally flicked that cockroach into the dummys face. It bounced off her bangs and slid down her crooked nose right into her candy apple red purse.

She didn't even flinch. She reached down and grabbed that cockroach and was just about to toss it into the oncoming traffic when it wriggled away and scampered out of sight. EWWWW! I couldn't stop creeping out. I couldn't stop gettting chicken skin and I got whip lash from looking over my shoulder. But do you think the dummy would pull over? No, she just kept laughing her evil mad scientist cackle and saying the roach was only a baby--still in diapers.

It's a good thing she didn't tell me about this cane spider who lept to it's death into her bath water yesterday. I think I would have herniated a disc or three.

Anyway, thanks for being so supportive of my daughter's blog. I personally don't love to read it because she's kinda . . . hyper. Plus I really can't stand the word BLOG. Blog is such an ugly word.

In closing I just want to say the highlight of the trip for me was taking 30 photos of ourselves on the plane.

Here is Crash flogging me through clenched teeth.

"So help me, Gad, If you cut your face off again I'll poke your eye out!!"

Monday, March 23, 2009

If you were a fly on my dashboard . . .

If you were a fly on the dashboard of my rental Ford TaurusX, this is what you'd hear while driving along with me and my mom in Kona.

ME: "I dunno."

MOM: "I dunno either."

ME: "I dunno more than you dunno."

MOM: "No, I dunno more than you dunno."

And then I'd turn the radio up.

And then my mom would say, "remember that guy in that movie?"

ME: "What guy in what movie?"

MOM: "That one guy in that one movie about the whatchamacallit."

ME: "The one with the thingimabop?"

MOM: "No, the one with the thingamajig."

ME: "The one where he starred with that one girl who had that whodamofo?"

MOM: "No, I think she had a whydamofro."

And then I'd say, "HEY, did somebody move the street? It was just here a second ago?"

MOM: "I dunno."

ME: "I dunno either . . . "

MOM: "I dunno more than you dunno."

NOTE: If you ever come to Kona with my mom you should know that they move their streets around a lot. And don't expect my mom to be able to remember where they went. In fact, she might be the one who moves them around.

I'm actually feeling compassion for my husband right now. I always thought it was enough to sit in the passenger seat blinking and shrugging and looking cute.

Sorry, honey bunches of oats!

So in my last post I told you I hadn't eaten in 3 days because I was waiting for my mom to make a decision. Well, we DID finally eat. One of our friends recommended this fab-U-lous Mexican restaurant.

"It's the BEST Mexican food EVER!!!"

That's what he said.

So we spent an hour blinking and shrugging and looking cute until we finally found it.

Do you want to see what the BEST Mexican food EVER looks like?

WAIT! HANG ON! I serve my casadillas on the same floral paper plates from Costco. Does that mean I'm the best Mexican chef ever?

Here's my cute mom and my cute twins pretending to love the food.

We also found the cutest little sandwich shop called Brewalalai. They know how to work some magic with avacado.


I would go back just for the square plates.

FYI, for those of you thinking my mom would do a guest post, think again. Ain't gonna happen peeps! She won't even leave a comment in my comment box.

Saturday, March 21, 2009

Having fun in Kona! Wish you were here!

You guys want a great dieting tip? Run away to Kona with my mom. We haven't eaten in 3 days because I'm waiting for her to make a decision. Even a suggestion would be great. Every time I ask her what she feels like eating she says, "anything is fine with me," or "I'm not really that hungry."

But if I ask her what she feels like smelling she would yak attack my ears off.  "Ooooh, how about Estee Lauder Beautiful, or Glade Clean Linen, or Febreeze Lavender Vanilla and Comfort or Bath and Body Works Brown Sugar Creamy Vanilla Mocha Iced Chocolate Chip Banana Pancakes."

And then she would drag me to Macy's to try on every perfume in the store to determine whether I'm a spice, a floral or a citrus.

(I'm a floral, btw)

Her nose knows what it likes but her taste buds are severely neglected. I'm thinking of calling social services on her. Seriously! If you ask her what she wants to drink she says "water, please. Straight up. Or with a twist of Mozart." But if you say "Mmmm hows about a Pepsi?" She'll say, "No, I don't want a Pepsi because I enjoy Pepsi."

What a silly goose!

Other than that she's just like every other normal, run-of-the-mill, ordinary, mom who's saw Purple Rain over a hundred times in the 80's before flying to L.A. for a Prince concert (before he was formerly known as the artist-formerly-known-as-Prince).

She's not as quirky as my MIL. She'll actually laugh herself silly over The Office and peer pressure me into adding U2's latest song Get On Your Boots to my playlist becasue "doesn't it have a Beatles flavor? Don't you just love all the rifts?"

And we can gab like girlfriends about American Idol or Dancing with the Stars.

Anyway, today was an absolutely astonishingly gorgeous day.  I'm not exaggerating, it was a take-your-breath-away day, especially through the lenses of my new rose-colored sunglasses my mom talked me into buying along with 3 new shower curtain liners, a $13 T-shirt and a candy apple red purse.

But guess what, peeps!  Life is so much more beautiful when looking through rose colored sunglasses, especially if you're carrying a candy apple red purse. Everything is deeper and richer and brighter and rosier.  You can't stop saying WOW and HOLY HELK!  

I highly recommend it.

Soooo do you want a summary of why I'm here with my mom and my twins?


Everything boils down to basketball in my family.

We're watching my twins play basketball. But in between the basketball games, we've been sneaking around and doing some sight seeing.

You know how the church says to stand in Holy Places?  Well, today we've been taking their advice and it really works. Besides doing a session at the Kona temple, we visited a heiau built by King Kamehameha in 1790. If I had asthma I would have needed an inhaler--that's how high the holiness factor was. I'm telling you, you could cut the holiness with a knife.  

Kamehameha built this sacred temple after the prophet Kapoukahi told him he would conquer all the islands if he built a large heiau dedicated to his family war god atop of Whale Hill (Pu'ukohola).  

Imagine thousands of men camped on this hill for a year to work on the massive structure constructed of water worn lava. These men formed a human chain nearly 20 miles long transporting the rocks hand to hand.  


Do you have chills right now, cuz I do. At least I did while I was looking at this:

I got excited because I thought I captured a ghost on film.

But then I realized it was just my shadow.

Anyway, having fun in Kona! Wish you were here!

Friday, March 20, 2009

My $10 post

So I just paid $10 to sit in the lobby of the King Kamehameha hotel on the Big Island so I can pump out a new post to my peeps.

That's how much I love you guys so please leave $1 in my comment box on your way out of my private diary. Maybe if you give generously I can make enough $$$ to sit in the lobby again before I go home.

Can I just get something off my mind before I begin this post? I don't know how people do it day in and day out . . . live their life rather than write their life. It's so much harder that way.

Since my mom's been here I have realized that when you're living you have no time for writing. 

Just another harsh reality of our mortal existence, I suppose.  

Speaking of harsh reality. Remember how I told you the temple was missing? Well it's not really missing, per say, at least not it's body, but it's soul is long gone.

See for yourself.

So sad to see it all lopsided and boarded up and bare neked.  

I would say the lights are on but nobody's home, but the lights aren't even on!  


So hard!  I can't stand the empty, vacuous, black, inky, nothingness hole in the Hawaii skyline where the light used to be.  It's like a dagger in me every time I cast my eyes upon it's general direction.  It hath cleft my heart in twain more than once. 

What I'm trying to say is IT REALLY STINKS, BIG TIME! 

But guess what?  I got to go to the Kona temple tonight.  YAY!  Me and my mom made the long and perilous journey across the ocean.   

Long and perilous journeys are so much more difficult than dashing out your back door and running 100 yards to the pearly gates.   Long and perilous journeys leave you wide open to the opposing forces of the dark side.  

Don't forget your light saber if you decide to take a L and P J.  

Usually I psych the dark side out when I go to the temple.  I don't breath a word about my intentions--not to a single human soul.  Then after my kids leave for school and my husband leaves for work I start dusting the living room and whistling a merry little tune.  Then when the dark side isn't looking I nonchalantly throw on a mumu, grab my recommend and race to the temple.  Within 5 minutes I'm safe in my place of refuge and Darth Vadar is none the wiser. 

But it's harder to fake out DV when you have to make hotel, plane and car reservations.  He was so onto us today.  We missed our plane due to a car accident.  (When you live on Gilligan's Island you can drive left or right.  If a pole goes down to the right, then you have to turn around and drive left which means getting to the airport takes two hours instead of one.)  

But everything else was great even though we had to buy a dozen cans of Glade air freshener because the rental car smelled like vomit and the room smelled like wet poodle.   Oh and my mom made me buy 100 Glade Plug-in's for the lobby and the hallway leading to our room as well.  

I was handling my mom's sensitive nose just fine until the parking attendant totally took me down.  I mean she really wiped my trash.  Or is it kicked my trash? Doesn't matter, she wiped AND kicked my trash.  I have never been scolded by a teenager like that before.  And I've never had to use my middle finger on a teenager like that before either.  At least not in front of my mom and my kids.   

Once I got to the temple I was back to my spiritual self though.  Nothing could touch me, not even when the cute temple lady kept telling me my clothes were on upside down and inside out and sideways.   I didn't even use my middle finger while readjusting my attire.   That's how spiritual I am right now.

K, but I'm also super bored right now.  Lobby's kinda lame-0 and I've got some more living to do.  

Lator gators!

Tuesday, March 17, 2009

Duct Taped for Eternity

My peeps are rioting in my comment box! Something about how my anniversary post was a rip because I didn't show any wedding pics.

You guys want wedding pics?

I can't hear you?


Well first let me tell you a sad little story about a girl you don't know. I hardly know the girl myself.

Her name is Dummy.

She was only 19 years old when her high school sweetheart was called away on a magical journay to Argentina. His wicked mother wanted to know if her son's sweetheart was a real dummy so she conjured up a long and arduous test.

"He he he," cackled the wicked mother, "only a true dummy could complete such a long and arduous test to earn my son's hand in marriage."

She gave the poor girl a million strands of maroon and pink thread, only it wasn't magical invisible Chinese thread that held people's destiny together, it was plain-ole, regular, perfectly visible thread that held quilts together (and not magical quilts either).

And then she gave the poor girl a million quilt blocks with a redundant design and said, "My precious child, if these blocks are not completed before my son returns from his magical journey, I will know you are not a true dummy and I will not allow you to be duct taped to me for eternity in the celestial kingdom.

So great was the poor girl's desire to prove she was dumb that she stitched and stitched and Lilo and Stitched until her fingers ached and ached and achey breaked.

And then they turned hard and calloused and fell off.

But she did complete her task and she took the quilt blocks and thrust them in the wicked mother's face and said, "It is done. I have proven myself worthy to be duct taped to you for eternity."

And the wicked mother did accept the blocks and did piece them together and did quilt them into a quilt to be displayed at her son's wedding feast.

But while her son was on his honeymoon with his poor dumb bride she did take the wedding quilt and hide it away and she curse it.

When the couple arrived home from their wedded bliss the poor dumb bride did say "wherefore art my wedding quilt?"

And the wicked mother did say, "What wedding quilt?"

And when the poor dumb bride did shake the wicked mother diligently, the wicked mother spew forth these words:

"If you so much as lay eyes upon that quilt ever again, I will tell you family history stories throughout all eternity!"

And the poor bride did tremble with fear and did relinquish all desire to lay eyes upon the wedding quilt ever again, settling for a tattered photograph to keep her warm during the long, frosty Hawaiian winters.

Don't let the smile fool you!

Okay, now for the wedding pics, but DANGER: BEWARE: WARNING: PROCEED WITH CAUTION: My bangs just might poke your eye out.

Oh brother! (where art thou?)

Pssst . . . I have so much to tell you guys, but I can't spill it all at once.

Let me start by saying that my mom is so romantic!

Look what she brought me for my anniversary.

A week's supply of my favorite smell in the whole wide world--Bath & Body Works Cherry Blossom!

Which means extra much since Hawaii doesn't have a B&BW.

She even brought me this little pot to cook me up some B&BW Cherry Blossom oil so my house can smell like the Garden of Eden.

Sooooo . . . BIG NEWS! I'm going to have a give-a-way so I can share my extreme good fortune.

After all, how can I see another's need and I not share? Especially since it's almost gone anyway.

The first person who makes a comment will get my leftovers for absolutely FREE (after shipping and handling.)

Monday, March 16, 2009

The Dummy Waxes Romantical

So grateful my mom is flying across the ocean to see me today. If she weren't coming then my oven would not be clean right now, and neither would my windows or my garage or my fridge.

Thanks, Mom. You're my inspiration.

Oh, and happy 20th anniversary honey bunches of oats! If we hadn't tied the knot on March 16th 20 years ago we wouldn't be celebrating our 20th anniversary today.

(Isn't life ironic?)

Hey, do you guys mind covering your ears for a sec? I'd like a moment alone with my hub.

Hi Sweetie, remember how bored we were on our honeymoon because we were in Manti and there was no T.V. in our room? And remember how you whispered in my ear in your dreamiest voice, "I wonder what we'll be doing on this day 20 years from now . . . "

And how I whispered back in my cutie-pie voice, "well if we're not divorced, you'll probably be scrubbing toilets in our rented town home while I'm doing sudoku. And then we'll probably be frantically stashing our extra crap into suitcases so we can shove it under our beds before my mom comes to visit."

And remember how you whispered back in your lucky-charm voice, "and we'll probably be up all night listening to our son cough and wheeze until we have to give him a nebulizer treatment."

And how I whispered back in my cream-o-wheat voice, "you silly goose, you don't even know what a nebulizer is yet?"

Did we call it or what?

High five, babe. And thanks for being so romantic even when we're just frantically shoving our extra crap under our bed and giving our son nebulizer treatments.

Jack Johnson's got nothin' on you. Well, besides a successful music career. Oh, and the Curious George thing. But your dance moves can trump his any day. And I bet you'd look better in a van down by the river.

Lub you!

Mahalo for the privacy, peeps! Tomorrow I PINKY PROMISE, as Gad as my witness, I will reveal the name and face of my favorite student as well as more finalists in my I-double-dog-dare-you-to-steal-my-heart-from-Wolfgang contest.

Saturday, March 14, 2009

This message brought to you by the universe

I've had something too much on my mind as of late. More and more often it creeps up and startles me like a swift kick in the pants. But usually it lingers vaguely in the back of my brain like a nagging toothache.

It's my vacuum bag.

My vacuum bag is full to overflowing and needs to be replaced.

Every time I make a TO DO list I write BUY NEW VACUUM BAGS! But I never actually buy them, I just think about buying them.

I started putting post-it notes all over my house--on my fridge, my bathroom mirror, under the kitchen sink, inside the rice cooker.


I even cut out early from a girl day with Martha and Swirl so I could buy new vacuum bags. But did I buy them? Nope. I couldn't even remember what brand of vacuum I own so I went to Abargios to listen to George Michael and drink Mountain Dew instead.

But I really needed new vacuum bags because my mom is coming on Monday!

Did you hear me, peeps? I said my mom is coming on Monday!

So a few days ago I got on-line and shopped until I dropped, but do you know how much it costs to ship Y shaped Hoover vacuum bags to the middle of the pacific ocean?


No thank you, I will just keep sweeping my floors!

My mom offered to help. "I can run down to the Hoover store and bring you some vacuum bags when I come," she said. "I've been trying to think of something to get for your birthday anyway."

It was tempting because I've been wanting vacuum bags for my birthday, but I finally finally finally found some in the very first place I looked.

Hallelujah for Sears!

When I got home I opened the cupboard above the dryer where I keep my vacuum bags and time slowed way down. I blinked. I rubbed my eyes. I blinked again. I closed the cupboard door and opened it again. Closed. Opened.

I laughed. I cried. I almost died.

Stacked neatly right where the vacuum bags are supposed to be was a pile of . . . vacuum bags.

There's a moral here, peeps. There's a definite moral here: Don't waste time listening to George Michael and wishing for things you already have.


P.S. Remember last week's crock pot message from the universe? Well, I was hauling Martha's basketball snacks out of my van when my first counselor drove by and yelled, "Hey, I read your blog. I've got your crock pot!" Of course I stuck my leg out and tripped her van. (Was that spiteful?)

Sometimes my life is just like the movie Castaway.

P.S. My husband is back now, btw, and I have a raging headache.

It's not just because of the constant yakety yak yak in my ear every time I sit down to blog my brains out.

It's also because of all the presents he brought back from the Big Island for our 20th wedding anniversary--shortbread cookies dipped in chocolate. Jelly beans dipped in chocolate, a huge bag of chocolate covered macademia nuts, a huge bag of dirty laundry, more choc covered mac nuts, more strep throat, and a hotel and resorts shower cap that you can only get in Hawaii, Fiji and Tahiti.

Oh, and a pair of hungry eyes. (You'd think he'd never seen a 41 year old in a pair of flannel jammies before!)

Guess what I got him?

A visit from my mom. (Isn't the 2oth the MIL anniversary?) Do you think I should dip her in chocolate before I bring her home from the airport?

Friday, March 13, 2009

Made With Love

So my next door neighbor, Martha was off-island this week, but the day before she left she came banging on me door.

"Hey, dummy," she said in her cutest voice, "I'm supposed to do basketball snacks this week, but I won't be here so can YOU do it? No worries if you can't, but remember all those times I let your kids take tennis lessons for free?"

"Martha, you know I hate doing snacks!"

"Remember all the times I brought you pasta salad?"

"Martha, I really really hate doing snacks."

"Remember those magic skimmer shorts I bought you from The ones you were wearing the night you met Jack Johnson?"

"Okay, I'll do it!" I said, "but I won't like it."

See in Hawaii snack is code for full-on meal--pizza, chicken, chili and rice, bentos, musibi, prime rib, coconut shrimp, etc.

When the dreaded day came I was in a dilemma. I knew I couldn't pretend to forget like I usually do, but I was so busy doing Facebook quizzes that I didn't really have time to shop, let alone cook, so I decided on bologna.

I was going to do bologna parmesian, but I've been out of mozzarella cheese since early 1990 so I had to settle for bologna sandwiches.

My son wrinkled his nose and shook his head, but I didn't let that stop me.

My bread was frozen, but I didn't let that stop me.

My 5 gallon jug of mayo was at it's wits end, but I didn't let that stop me.

I'm a nose to the grindstone kind of girl and even though I was literally up-to-my-elbows in mayo and had to spread that frozen bread with my fingers I wasn't going to let Martha down.

As for the accessories, I can be very creative/resourceful, in a waste not/want not sort of way--lerned that from my MIL, so I ventured to the deepest corners of my cupboards and the darkest recesses of my fridge. BINGO! Amazing the treasures I found--an old bag of flaming hot crunchy cheetos from our Superbowl party, a package of left over soda crackers from my super ferry adventure, a few sprigs of brocolli that survived the flood in my crisper drawer, some bread crumbs, a can of bean with bacon soup, a box of raisens . . .

It was a plethora of potpourri. A smorgasborg surprise.

And I'm nothing if not thoughtful, which means I whipped out a permanent marker and gave credit where credit was due by writing on each brown bag in my best handwriting:

Made With Love by Martha

Thanks Auntie Martha!

(That's what they said.)

(Speaking of made with love: Check out the latest entry on The Magic Quilt. It will give you tingles.)

P.S. Wanna know what I think of Facebook quizzes?

Two words: Stu. Pid.

I took the how dumb are you quiz and it told me:

you have the normal amount of dumbness..congratulations !!

Who writes those dumb quizzes anyway?

Thursday, March 12, 2009

Benjamin Buttars and Wolfgang

Nevada, this one's for you, girlfriend:

Nevada wasn't the only one who noted that my student, Benjamin Buttars would make a better glittery vampire than Edward. (I added the glittery part because BB despises glittery vampires.)

If you look closely at his face you can see it shimmering.

(he he he)

Imagine me breaking out into an evil mad scientist laugh as I made BB's face sparkle against his will.

I never noticed it before, but Nevada has a point.

If you look closely you can almost imagine Benjamin Buttars sitting in class being repelled by the scent of true love.

Look at him struggling to resist his conflicting impulses. Should he turn and run from love? Or should he take a bite out of it?

But who does he love? Is it the lovely Jasmine seated next to him? She is muy muy bonita, afterall.

No! It is the lovely April sitting across from him. (Sorry Jasmine. Blondes really do have more fun, trust me.)

Now scroll back and watch him struggle.

He he he

(I should have been an evil mad scientist instead of an evil mad English teacher.)

What will Benjamin Buttars do? Can he control himself for love?


But will he and April still live happily ever after?

Or will Jacob come between them?

(That dude's name isn't really Jacob, it's Justin.)

Real life is an awful lot like movie life if you ask me.

And guess what else Benjamin Buttars is in real life?


He's got a band and he's going to share his music with us. But first you'll have to sleep over in my comment box waiting for the ticket booth to open. (Didn't I tell you guys my students were V.I.P.'s?)

And here's one more weird Benjamin Buttars story with a Wolfgang twist:

Next week BB is going to New York for a journalism conference so I'm like, "you oughta go see Les Miserables on Broadway since we'll be reading it next month."

And you know what he says to me? He says, "I've seen Les Miserables on Broadway many times."

So I'm like, "Oh yea, well I bet you haven't seen it more times than me. I've seen it six times! TOP THAT Benjamin Button!"

And you know what he says to me? He says, "Oh yea, well I played Jean Val Jean during my summer stock theater days. TOP THAT Dummy!"

Guess what popped into my head as soon as he said that?


I had a vision of Wolfgang pushing Jean Val Jean down the stairs. Isn't it weird how life plays itself out backwards and upside down and sideways?

Do you think Wolfgang was foreshadowing his own Benjamin Buttars envy?

Just in case, I hereby declare Benjamin Buttars ineligible to compete in the I-double-dog-dare-you-to-steal-my-heart-from-Wolfgang-contest.

It wouldn't be fair to put a tremendous Austrian up against a summer stock Jean Val Jean/glittery vampire/rock star.

No doubt Wolfgang would push him down the stairs.

So do you want to see the first finalist in the contest?

It was a tough choice.

I was going to pick Kyle Kyle, but he fell asleep.

And then I was going to choose Emma because she wears tie dye and because she was born with a tooth in her mouth, which has gotta be some kind of omen, don't you think? But Emma is almost as mouthy as Kyle. The first thing she says every day when I walk into class is "Can we cancel class? Can we? Can we? Can we? Huh? Huh? Huh? Can we go home? Huh? Can we NOT take this quiz? Can we NOT do this assignment?"

So I've decided the first finalist will be Raphael. He used to be a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle and he's a French beat boxer. (I'm hoping French beat boxing is more romantic than Americn beat boxing because boxing isn't my favorite violent sport.)