It is what it is . . .

It's time to take a blogging break.

Thank you Lynngweeny, Swirl Girl, Candid Carrie, Teri, Kat, Kath, and everyone else who has visited and read this blog and been there from the start. I have had a lot of fun writing and posting. I will still visit all of your blogs as I have come to know so many of you and enjoy your life stories in this wonderful blogging world. .

Adios for now.

Happy all the time . . .

Once upon a time I received a gift certificate for a beauty day at the local nail salon. A day filled with the works. A spa manicure and pedicure. I was pretty excited. When I drove up to the salon I saw the name "Happy Time Nails" on the door and told my hands and feet to get ready for a fun-filled experience.

I entered the salon and was greeted excitedly by the owner and ten nail ladies all beckoning me to come in and sit in the happy glamour nail chair. At least I think that's what they said. I was the only customer in the joint. Either this was a very exclusive salon or the worst salon. I got a gut feeling that told me to run. I should have followed my instincts. I would have been right and not in need of medical assistance when the day was over.

I awkwardly climbed up on the nail chair and turned to face my chosen nail lady. She grinned at me and said something like, "You like me?" I nervously smiled back and said something intelligent like, " Um?" She laughed and slapped my foot as she pushed my pant leg up to my inner thigh. I heard a rip. The little lady had strong hands. She had torn my jeans up to mid-thigh with her tiny little doll hands. I wasn't expecting her to alter my clothing too. This was some salon. I came in wearing boot leg jeans and I was going to leave in a pair of cut-offs to show off my new pedicure. What a surprise. I wasn't so sure I was very happy about it yet. Hopefully they lived up to their name.

She turned on the jet powered water bath and immersed my feet. Another person had snuck up behind me and turned on the vibrating chair feature. I was expecting a relaxing experience. Instead I felt like I was riding a mechanical bull. I asked for a seat belt to keep me from sliding off the chair and onto the floor. They covered their mouths and giggled. I held on tight and wondered when the happy part was going to start.

My special nail lady with the super power hands pulled out my right foot and placed it on the towel covered bar. She examined my foot as she reached under the chair and pulled out an electric sander. She flipped the switch and there was a momentary power surge. Everything stopped, the lights dimmed for a second, and then everything went back to normal again. She pressed the sander to the bottom of my foot and my leg did an involuntary rocket kick. She grabbed my flailing foot and set the sander to my heel. She ground off a full shoe size before I asked her to move to the other foot to even out the size. I wanted my shoes to flop equally when I left. I made it through that portion of the ordeal only to have her put the sander away and bring out a drill. She was going to shape my toenails. Sand away the ridges. Even them out. Sand them off completely. And then try and sand off my pinkie toe as well. I saw red, and it wasn't the nail polish color I had chosen. I decided I had about all the "Happy Time" I could take and said I just remembered that I had to go.

Now.

The nail lady wrapped my foot in toilet paper and I hobbled out the door as the salon owner told me there was no charge for the experience. I said, "Well, I'm really happy about that."

the end...

Happy Easter . . .

You are never too old to take pictures with the Easter Rat. He uses his ears like arms to hug the ladies.

Aren't these beautiful? They came from a bakery named, "Some Crust".

These came from a day of making my sister slave over a hot oven. I'm particularly fond of the blue icing.
They taste amazing.
I made these party favors for my guests. It's all about the candy.

I found this nest in my yard. If those eggs hatch, Easter is ruined, my table decoration is ruined, and I will be really grossed out.

Do you leave refreshments for the Easter Bunny? This year I'm leaving him a note with the keys to my liquor cabinet. I drank everything while preparing the Easter feast for my family. I need to blame someone. He won't mind. I'm sure he's sick of carrots anyway.
Happy Easter everyone! One more thing...

... I can't leave without showing you these. These are bunny faces. I can't stop making them. Or eating them.
My sister can't stop making these gingerbread candy houses. Does anyone know of a Gingerbread Rehab group? I would love to drop this off on Monday so they can eat it during snack time.

Stay in school . . .

Last night was Open House at our school. This kid drew a crown on herself in every picture. Her name is Queeny. No joke.

Three students have healthy body images. Two don't. They think they are Aliens.

One kid thinks he's Elvis.
This one is in counseling.
This is what happens to your body if you eat too many sweets. Works for me.

This is an endangered animal. Probably a good thing.

This is our token Vampire Child.

This one is trying to hide her hamster with a side ponytail. I still see it.

This one is hiding something under his desk.

This one is Gumby's daughter.
This is me. I went a little heavy on the lipstick.

This is the view from my library counter looking out at the hallway. I use a long hook to catch my friends and co-workers as they race by. They love it. I think I see someone belly crawling by my door right now.
This is where I sit and read stories to the students. Personal favorites of mine are, "There really is a monster under your bed," and "Mom and Dad love your brother more than you," and the best of all is "You and your therapist: a beginners guide". Classics.

This is the library. I have a look - but don't touch - policy. It stays cleaner that way.

Thanks for attending our Open House.

Easter...

I found out in 3rd grade that I had allergies. I'm told I sounded like a cat coughing up a fur ball every two seconds and it was disturbing to everyone around.

I went to the doctor and got tested. I found out I had the same DNA as the boy in the plastic bubble.

I was allergic to everything.

Chocolate
Strawberries
Dairy
Wheat
McDonald's
The entire Universe
Et al . . .

If I liked it... I was allergic to it.

I wish the doctor had said something like, "Liver, green bell peppers, lamb, and chores." I could live without all of those things. Forever....

I found out that I was allergic to the food I loved a few days before Easter.

What in the world would the Easter Bunny bring me?

Carrots? Celery? Lettuce? Radishes? ...an I.O.U????

I was pretty concerned as any kid would be.

I wrote him/her a letter.

Dear Easter Bunny,
I just found out that I am not supposed to have any chocolate in my Easter basket this year...or ever. If you hide some under the plastic green shred I would appreciate it. My parents won't mind. They are used to me sounding like a fog horn. It's somewhat melodious once you get over the initial shock. I would also like you to leave out the Peeps. Those things taste like stale marshmallows dropped in the sand. I would also like it if you could take out the black jelly beans. Licorice gives me gas. Worse than my allergy sounds. I am leaving you an extra carrot for your efforts.
signed,
a very concerned kid

Easter Sunday rolled around and I jumped out of bed and ran to the living room to search for my bountiful basket. I saw 4 baskets lined up on the fireplace. The usual spot. Our Easter Bunny obviously came down the chimney like Santa Claus. I noticed very quickly that the three baskets for my two sisters and brother were full of large chocolate bunnies, jelly beans of all colors, multiplying Peeps in purple and yellow and pink, and lots of chocolate eggs. I saw my basket. It was full of something white. White bunnies. Lots of white bunnies. White eggs. Lots of white eggs. White jelly beans. About a hundred of them scattered in the shredded plastic Easter grass. I counted them.

I quickly set to work tasting each and every piece for flavor. After the 50th jelly bean I gave up. I'm pretty sure they were the "Mystery Flavor" which means they were factory rejects that the manufacturer cleverly marketed. I bit the ear off the largest white bunny. It tasted like sidewalk chalk. I licked a white egg. It left a coating on my tongue that tasted like Crisco. I gave up and grabbed a chocolate bunny out of my sister's basket and stuffed it into my mouth. It tasted like heaven. Two seconds later I woke up the entire family with my honking fur ball cough.

Turns out the "Easter Bunny" had given me an entire basket of white chocolate and yogurt flavored goodies.

???

I have no good explanation for why the "Easter Bunny" thought that white chocolate and yogurt were not part of the chocolate and dairy family.

the end...

Friday musings . . .

Not a glass slipper...

Not Cinderella...but close...the pretty part...not the indentured servant part...

Not Goliath's foot...but close....

further proof...

Not incredibly appetizing to look at...but incredibly appetizing to eat...

Not my size. . .

also not my size . . . but close . . . if I was still a newborn . . .

and didn't eat a lot of these. . .

Happy Weekend everyone. . .

The Spelling Bee . . .

I was in a Spelling Bee when I was a kid.

I made it to the final two.

My competitor, Lori, and me.

In order to get to the Spelling Bee competition I had to out spell all the kids in my school. Then I had to out spell all the kids in the county. Then I had to out spell all the kids in the city, on my block, at church, in the store, waiting for a bus, and so on...

I did that.

It was a piece of cake.

C-A-K-E.

The day of the Spelling Bee arrived. I woke up early and read the Encyclopedia Britannica and the Webster's Dictionary before breakfast. I wanted to make sure I knew how to spell every word there possibly was in the English language. I had no idea that I should have been reading romance novels too. It would have helped me ace the competition with my final word.

I went toe-to-toe with Billy DeLunamore on such words as, spoliator, elegiacal, pococurante, and ratoon. Easy-peasy...until....Billy was knocked out of the competition and I was left with Lori. Lori spelled every word correctly just like me, but with added flair. Lori would spell the word and use it in a sentence. I tried this. And was almost disqualified. Spelling Bee judges do not have a sense of humor. They do not enjoy hearing every word turned into a rhyming joke. I quit...right after ratoon.

Lori's last word was something like, fergalicious. My word was something straight out of a romance novel title. I was a kid. I didn't read romance novels. I also didn't know how to spell the word. I must have skipped over the letter "r" in the dictionary, and the encyclopedia and everywhere else. I did glance over a few pages of "r" words. I stopped after ratoon. I never ventured further. I should have. I lost on a really easy word. I will never forget that word. In fact I am writing a romance novel just so I can use the word in the title and write it many times over so I never, ever forget. Believe me when I say I haven't forgotten. To this day it haunts me.

I remember standing up on the stage with the hot lights shining in my eyes and the foul smelling microphone perched on the stand in front of me. I remember the whine of feedback from the speaker as I asked the judges to use the word in a sentence while I stalled for time. The judge said something like, "R----is the last word you need to spell in order to win this competition." I asked for the meaning. "R---- is a word not fit for children's ears." What? Then why give it to me?

I pointed out that I was a child and maybe they should reconsider and give me a more age appropriate word to spell. The judges conferred with one another for about a second and said, "No," and "Spell R---- please." Then someone hit the timer and I began to sweat. Time was ticking by at warp speed. I was searching my brain for the correct way to spell the word. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Lori pull out her Spelling Bee acceptance speech and study it. I was a goner. I spelled the word. I spelled it wrong. A trap door in the stage opened up and I fell through and joined all the other losers in the orchestra pit. Lori was the last man standing. She spelled the word. Correctly. Used it in a sentence. Correctly. She won the Knights of Columbus Spelling Bee.

I crawled out of the pit and asked someone to check her I.D. Maybe she wasn't really 10. Maybe she was older. How did she know that word?

Lori said that her uncle was one. Her father was one and, in fact, every man in her family was one. Her confession did not make me feel any better. Lori's mother did not feel any better either now that the secret was out about her family.

My mother was not too happy either. I told her she should be grateful that I didn't know how to spell that word. I was pure. Innocent. And as far as I knew - didn't have any male relatives who were one.

The word you ask?

It was . . . "R-O-G-U-E", ROGUE.

the end...