WTF - Ice Bucket Challenge Edition

Now before everyone starts screaming at me, I did the Ice Bucket Challenge, OK?  I just have a few observations about this and thought I would share.

1.  I was getting worried when no one challenged me to the Ice Bucket Challenge.  I wondered:
Am I a loser if I don't get challenged?
I mean, I am not afraid of cold water?  Should I tell my friends that?
What if I really don't have any friends?
I mean, they've all done the Ice Bucket Challenge.
Who's left to Challenge me?
Should I just act like I was challenged?


2.  Thank goodness, I was CHALLENGED!  Then came a whole new set of questions:
I can't wear white, did you see what happened in that FAIL video?
What should I wear to the Challenge?
Should I change?

3.  Who's going to dump the bucket?
Am I strong enough to pickup a bucket full of water?
What if I miss?
If I let me kids do it, will their twisted sense of humor come out and they wail on me with it?

4.  Finally, where to do it?
My shower is not clean.
The grass in the front yard is dead.
Guess it will be the driveway.

In case you think I'm overthinking this Ice Bucket Challenge, here's a few more challenges:

5.  It is a bucket of water.  Not a cup, not a bowl, not a plastic bag.  A bucket.
4.  It is
an ice bucket.  Guys, where's the ice in your buckets.  Ice hurts when it hits your head.
3.  If you can't afford ice, then at least make the water cold.
2.  By all means, challenge some people.  Pick ones you know will do it.
1.  Finally, do what I did.  Donate, then do the challenge.  Make it a win/win!

So go out and find your nearest bucket, or better yet.  See that friend looking all sad?  She's probably not been challenged yet, so she's wondering if she is a loser.

Challenge her!

Behind every good idea there's that little voice,

So this morning as I was settling with a cup of coffee and a little writing, dear hubby walks up and says, "Let's paddle across Taylor Creek to Carrot Island and walk to the beach!"

(I'm thinking, "WHAT?"  "Are you kidding me?"  "What about my writing?")

"Sure honey, let's do it."  (Am I really going to make it across the creek?  What about the boats?  Stand up paddle boarding across the waterway?  What if I fall in?  Why is my heart beating so fast?)

It's a adventure of 5 - Erik in a kayak with Emma, Jeff in a kayak, Maria and myself on the paddle boards.  Now comes the real adventure of the trip.

"We're going to walk across to the beach!  See it way over there?"

Me, on the paddle board, "Where?"  (Walk?  Over all that muck?  Oysters?)  "Oh, way over there in the horizon?"  (Warning objects are farther than they appear)

We hit the shore and immediately are knee deep in muck.  Jeff pulls his foot out of the muck and has lost his shoe.  Erik immediately puts Emma on his shoulders and steps into the muck.

We start walking, Maria jumped, "I just stepped on something really big that moved."

Emma looks at me, holds out her sweet little hands and quietly says, "Help me....."

I'm thinking that I am smart to have my river shoes on until my foot comes out of the muck minus the shoe.  Now I have to dig in the goo for my shoe!  I get it back put it on and some unfortunate snail gets stuck under my arch.  (We're really walking through this crap all the way over to there?)

We decide to try and get around to the dry horse trail, walk the trail to another mucky part which takes Jeff's flip flops, Erik's flip flops and adds more snail to my shoes.  Emma has this look on her face as her Dad sinks into the mud, not terror, just a "Is this a good idea" type look.  (I'm with you Emma.)

We finally find a path to the beach and as we start walking normally, husband jumps about ten feet into the air.

"What!"  I almost jump with him.

"I almost stepped on a crab," he points.  We both go over and look as poor Jimmy, pissed over a  little coitus interruptus with Shirley in the marsh.  (Sorry crab dude, we're just trying to get to the beach.  Atleast someone is getting some)


We are walking, birds are flying over us wondering who these random humans are in their uncharted territory.  I'm thinking, "First rule of survival, find potable water, then food, then shelter."  I look around.

We're screwed.

The beach is amazing!  There's miles of sand, not a soul on the beach.  We're finding conchs, hermit crabs, and the biggest scallop shells I've ever seen!  Emma is walking behind me in the water, much happier.  Jeff and Erik are talking conch recipes, while I am secretly saying, "Swim away little conchs don't become dinner!"  Emma enjoyed watching the conch spit ocean water as we picked them up, then letting them "be free" in the ocean.

The walk back was shorter, my husband the only one getting stuck in the muck, "Honey!  Don't come over here, it's a mine field!  I lost my shoe!"

Two perfect conch shells later, our pockets full of scallop shells, our memories full of laughter watching others look like little old men walking through muck, the fish biting our ankles and of course that sweet little voice saying, "Help me."

I got all excited about a HUGE conch shell sitting on the beach only to have to leave it to the hermit crab that called it home.

A few lessons learned on this trip:

I am better at paddle boarding that I thought.
It hurts to have a snail in your shoe.
Sometimes a little child can voice what you are thinking.
It really is cool to still that little voice in your head and just for for the adventure.

And, sometimes three hour tours are worth while!


So the next time you are listening to people mention what would be a cool little adventure, and that little voice starts in your head telling you every reason it is a bad idea?

Don't listen to it.

You may find something amazing.

WTF - How do you define success?

Everyone has their own definition of success, I thought I would throw a few things out there that put a zippidy do day to my day.

10.  When the pants you put away last summer actually fit, and I mean you are not laying on the floor trying desperately to close the zipper.

9.  When the dog has not decided to get up in the middle of the night and take a shit right next to your bed.  (Think she is trying to tell me something)

8.  When my gas low light dings AFTER I have dropped both children off to school.  Can't be stuck in the car with them saying, "Well, why didn't you get gas before?"

7.  Everyone after a long 7 hour drive in the car emerging alive.  (That takes a lot of restraint)

6.  When you bite into the lemon filled Krispy Kreme doughnut and it doesn't explode down the front of your shirt making it look like you puked yourself.  (I was not successful this morning)

5.  When a friend stops by for a glass of wine and you haven't already poured one for yourself.  At 2pm in the afternoon, on a weekday.

4.  Finding that really cute shirt you bought on the sale at the end of last summer.  Actually, forgetting about the sale and shirt and everything then that Christmas feeling of finding something new with the tags still on.

3.  Finding money in the pockets of everyone else in the family's pants.  Especially after it has been freshly laundered.

2.  Opening the Chateau de Box of wine and finding you still have another glass left.

1.  Someone actually repeating back to you a job you want them to do, especially younger aged children and men married over 10 years.

What do you call a success story?

SIT! What? I said, SIT!

I can settle different parts of my life based on the four legged friends in my life.  Their age, moving at the speed of 7 years at a pop means that there are many passing through my years.

My favorite childhood memory was dogs that never listen.  I believe this taught me early in childhood that it was considered in good taste to not listen to my mother.  Because, no one, not even the dog listened to her.  We would periodically look her way wondering, "Why is she screaming like a maniac?"

Sometimes my brother would listen, but that's because all of us, including the dog, thought he was a brown noser.  He also enjoyed telling on us all the time.

We learned the not listening trick from the first dogs that I can remember.  Taffy #1 and Taffy #2.  Taffy #1 hated my grandmother, so much that she'd take a shit every morning right outside my grandmother's bedroom door when she came to visit.  We'd swear up and down that we took her for a LONG walk but, she saved what she had in her shit savings account making a withdraw right before my grandmother woke.

Taffy #2 was brought into the house when Taffy #1 passed from old age.  Not to confuse us children about which dog is which, they both looked exactly the same (pekingese) and answered to the name "Taffy."  Taffy #2 didn't have as much of a beef with my grandmother, or with us kids.  She hid with us in the closet so we could cut her, and our, hair.  She did everything we asked of her, and not a single thing my mother asked her to do.  Simple things, like please go to the bathroom outside, or if someone peed in the toilet and didn't flush it, please do not drink it.  Poor Taffy #2 didn't listen to anyone when they we were yelling, "GET OUT OF THE WAY," and ended up in the back yard after an unfortunate encounter with the back wheel of our station wagon.  All I remember was my father saying, "We have reservations at Disney World in two days, the dog's dead."

This brought Red into our life.  A very large Golden Retriever who came into our house due to tragic circumstances of his own.  After giving birth, his mother was shot by a neighbor because his father kept getting into the hen house (but that's another story for later.)  This dog had such a gregarious personality, and he was such a cute puppy that he got away with not listening.  We took him to obedience school, which he flunked.  Tried a private instructor when he dragged me down the street on my belly chasing after a squirrel.  Red also caused neighbor troubles like his father, his being that he'd take a big shit in the neighbor's yard, him yelling that he knew it was OUR dog because of all the neon Crayola Crayons making the shit psychedelic.  

The dog would go and find rabbits, decapitate them and bring them home as a prize for us, usually throwing the bloody head or leg on my father's bare foot because he was constantly trying to earn the love of the one person that never noticed him.  He noticed when something cold and slimy hit his foot.  He got put into the dog house in the garage when he decided that he could eat my brother's rabbit (Thumper) as fair game and leave the head in my brother's bed.

My mother would complain that the dog never listened to her, that something would happen to him, but when push came to shove, he showed her he did really hear something in obedience class.  We were all in the station wagon on the way home from school, coming around an off ramp close to home when the dog decided he didn't feel like staying in the car with fighting kids, jumping out of the back window, going for a run!  My mother pulls over to the side of the highway, we're out running, except my baby sister who is wailing in the car, trying to corral the dog who's thinking, "Wow, I should have done this sooner if I knew it was such a fun game of keep away."

My mother pulls out the "Mom Voice," that voice that gains the most naughtiest of kids attention, not making them be good, but gaining their attention.  It comes deep from her belly, sounding like the spawn of Satan.

"Red.  SIT!"

Granted the dog flunked obedience school, ate through most of the house (2 rabbits, 4 door jams, 3 pairs of shoes, 2 hairbrushes) oh, and of course 6.5 boxes of Crayola crayons.  We all figured a car was going to dispose of Red and Daddy would bring home a Red #2.  (What?  That's where kid's minds go.)

Like drunks, kids and dogs, God watches over them, much to our amazement, the dog's butt slowly lowers to the ground with a look of, "Am I really in trouble?"  He doesn't move until my mother gets the leash on him saying, "Good boy," which he promptly jumps on her, knocking her over.

She brings him back to the car, "Maybe something did stick with him after three sets of obedience classes."  He jumps in the back with us kids, spreading mud all over us.  We didn't care, we didn't need a Red#2.

Obedience classes?  Are you kidding?  Later than evening my grandmother comes to visit wearing a coat and rabbit skin hat.  Red, in slow motion, on the hunt, comes through the den, into the laundry room toward her.  In his mind, he is that wolf getting ready for the kill.

"Red.  SIT!"  My mother tries the Mom voice again.

He tackles my grandmother to the ground, attacks the hat right off of her head, shakes it (fur flying everywhere) disappearing out the back door into the night with his kill.  My grandmother (not the smallest of women) struggles back up, "I'm glad he didn't get my fox stole."

Later when he comes back after effectively killing the rabbit hat, we notice a box of Crayola crayons has gone missing.

Some things never change.

Flash Fiction - Frances and Larry

1,000 words, take an event from my life and rewrite it as fiction.  Here's my dear friend Frances and love her life - Larry.

Bust a Move

It was too early to ask for the dance, he knew it but walked up to the girls anyway.

They didn’t acknowledge him at first, talking to each other deeply about something that involved looking over at the bar then back to each other.  When they realized he was waiting for them to acknowledge him, they both sat down in their beers.

“Would you like to dance,” Larry asked, hoping inside that one of them would say yes.  He wasn’t going to be picky that night, all he needed was a warm body so he could show off the great moves he learned on Let’s Dance.

Frances looked over to Kelly, who shrunk in her seat.  Kelly, was having mobility issues, something in her right hip was limiting to only The Bump.  A appointment with the chiropractor was due for a hipness check.

Kelly looked him up and down, thin, flexible, eager.  “You go,” Kelly said to Frances, “He looks your type.”

Frances looked over to Larry, “I don’t know.  I really don’t want to up stage anyone like I did before.”

They both looked over to see the poor young man drowning his sorrows in a shot after his attempt at dancing with Frances.  No one at the ski resort knew her, it was in the lowlands that she gained the title “Master of the Dance.”  Starting at a young age with The Hustle, Frances was known around town as one that could spin any move.  She could pop when most would hop, swirl when others could only twirl, and tweak what ever came her way until her partner would drop in surrender or exhaustion.

Kelly smiled at her friend, “Just tone it down a bit lady, he may survive.”

Frances walked out onto the dance floor with Larry, both eyeing each other like wolves ready to devour.  “He’s got some nice thin hips, he’s in decent shape, maybe he can keep up with me,” Frances thought as she rolled her hips to soften her stance.

“She’s got some cordination.  I don’t really need her, but I always look desperate dancing with myself,” Larry figured as he looked over to the band and put his hand up in the air.

The first song was pulled straight from the 80’s, Toto’s “Africa” one with an easy beat, not too many crazy twists and turns, so the most basic of dancer could not keep up.  They both looked each other and circled the dance floor like wrestlers getting ready to rumble.

Frances laid down the first line, leting her hip flexors go, the side swipe of her hips caused several guys seated at a table in front of the fire to look her way.  Larry stopped and stared at this woman in front of him and thought, “Oh you want to play that way,now don’t you?”

Larry returned her fire with his hands over his head, his back thoroughly stretched out from yoga that morning letting him show her there are many different ways to show off his assets, the tight blue jeans clinging, black leather vest slight open showing the 6 chest hairs.  The rapid fire of his pelvis caused Frances to stop in her tracks and look at him.  With a slow smiled she moved up close to him, letting him smell her Love’s Baby Soft perfume only to disappear with with a quick dart and twist.  Larry moved with her, picturing the dance mat under his feet, Miley Cyrus on the television, his mind seeing the next light before his foot even stepped there.  Frances, sweating slightly, enjoying their joust, pulled out the shimmy shake, causing several at the bar to completely miss their shot ski.  The tight ski pants, straining against her assets, held on as she moved close to the band, Larry right with her.  They got to the front of the dance floor, as Larry grabbed her around the waist, ducked her under the red lights of the band.  The lead singer came to the part in the song, “AAAFFFFRRIIICCCCAAA,” as Larry came in for the kill.  Frances could smell machine oil on him, wondering if it was part of his job or he just used it to lubricate parts for dancing.

“You’re quite good,” she said as he face came close.

“And you are too, my lady,” Larry replied, taking in a long whiff of Love’s Baby Soft.

“I’m sensing a few Let’s Dance moves here,” Frances said.

He dipped her lower, “Just a few.”

“Then follow me,” Frances said as he moved in for a kiss but she was gone before he reached her, leaving only Love’s Baby Soft in her wake. 

She went over to the side of the dance floor, her body twisting and turning as more eyes went from the party at hand to the dance floor.  Larry followed like a puppy, his eyes never leaving her assets but his rhythm shown in how effortlessly he slid right in behind her.  She showed him a move, and he followed--the yin in her yang as they told a story with their hands, bodies and eyes.

When the song stopped, both stood by themselves in the middle of the dance floor, the bar silent.  The slow clapping started by the poor guy with the shot at the bar, “Well done friend, well done,” he said as he clapped.  It went around the room, as Frances bowed then walked back to her seat next to Kelly.

“Damn,” Kelly said as she took a sip of her beer.

Larry thought he had found his soul mate, he walked back over to their table breathless.  His future wife sat there, the love of his life.  They could trip the light fantastic as they faded into the sunset.

“Would you like to dance,” he asked.

“I don’t know how to,” Frances replied going back to her friend and her beer.

“Another lonely night,” started the second round by the band.

REAL Conversation Hearts

What candy hears should really say - For All The Single ladies--

U R NOT 4 ME

Y NOT GO AWAY

OUT OF YUR LEAGUE

U DON'T MAKE ENOUGH

DON'T WAIT 4 TXT

I'M NOT DESPERATE

TOO MUCH 4 U

NOT TODAY

NOT EVER

IT'S NOT ME IT'S U

LOOKS DO MATTER

C U LATER SUCCA

AIN'T GOT TIME FOR DAT

For the Kids in the family - 

YUR FACE - my boys love this saying so much, and it would fit so well on a conversation heart.

WTF? -  You know, Want The Fudge?

CLEAN YUR ROOM

Y YOU FIGHT

BRUSH YUR TEETH

STOP!

B-CAUSE I SAID SO

And Finally for us Moms - 

NAP 4 U

I'M IN THE TOILET, PLS!

GLASS O WINE

MILF

SEXY YOGA PANTS

CALL ME A SITTER

Clearly the OMG Christmas Gifts!!

Gifts I do not want for Christmas:




1.  The Wine Rack - a combination sports bra and wine holder.  I'm assuming this is only for red wine as the cubes in the white could have your puppies barking - giving it away as you try to sneak in from the tailgate.  And at only $9 you know you can put cheap wine in your rack and not feel guilty.

2.  Thumb War Arena - I love playing thumb wars, but putting it into an arena?  Seriously.  I'll still win and make them feel worse when we record the match.

3.  A boob creamer - I love cream in my coffee and I don't really care to know where it came from.  But a squeezable Boob Creamer?  Honestly, It should look like an udder not a boob, unless during your breast feeding days you want to fill it with, well, never mind.

4.  Butt Putt - a farting putt putt hole, complete with all the sound effects.  As a mother of boys, I really don't need anything else in the house that farts and plays with balls.

5.  Nose Pencil Sharpener - I don't like anything up the nose, hence why I will never do drugs, but sticking a pencil up there and twisting just seems twisted to me.  Especially if the pencil comes out sharpened but with a nice green gooey substance all over it.

6.  Please, please buy me the Santa's Farting butt pillow - it would be perfect!

Now, how to accept a gift you do not want:

1.  Sharp intake of breath - this makes them think that they took you by surprise.  By getting EXACTLY what you wanted.

2.  Wide eyes with sharp intake of breath - show surprise that they were so thoughtful that they picked the PERFECT gift for you.

3.  Mouth in shape of an O - this tells them that you are having hot flashes over the gift, hold your breath and your face with turn red enhancing their experience.

4.  Put everything down and look seriously at them - with a "how did you know" type look.  How did they know to find that perfect gift.

5.  "You shouldn't have"  This is partially true, they will not understand it until they find their gift sitting under the tree next year - regifted.