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I leave notes everywhere...to everyone. I have a smallish white board hanging on the fridge. I have it divided into four sections (groceries, notes, upcoming dates/to-do items, The Kiddo notes/to-do items) and I add to it frequently. If you check my purse at any given time, I will usually have at least TWO notebooks in there and it is full of notes for the site and TO-DO lists.
I leave notes for my boys where ever I think they'll see it (in pockets, on doors, windshields, etc.), and not just notes about things to please do today, but things like "Have a good day" or "I Heart You" ...sometimes with "heart" spelled out, sometimes not. I once went to ridiculous trouble attaching one "I Love You!" note to George's tennis shoe, complete with safety pins and string, proud of myself for the lengths I went to (to display my undying love for That Which is George) ...only to later find that he no longer WORE those shoes. I will leave George notes in the mirror steam - taped to the shower door - stickies on the counter near the toilet, but most of all I will leave him invisi-notes and jokes and mini-conversations through ...magazines. We have mucho reading material in the bathroom, of course, because there is SO MUCH out there to read (and make fun of) and most of what we have in That Room is mindless crap so our asses don't fall asleep due to something too interesting to put down, don'tchaknow.
Because of said trashiness of material, there are often hilarious, bizarre, disturbing, and sometimes downright shocking items to be seen. I can't just enjoy (or cry over) them by myself...I must share. So I will leave magazines open to certain pages and articles and leave them on the rim of the tub across from the toilet, knowing that it's the first thing George will see when he sits down. Apparently he's only just caught on that I do this, because he's been asking more frequently, in a confused and somewhat bothered tone, "Um...was that supposed to mean something???" and it will be hours and hours after I left it there, so I will sometimes forget and will be equally confused (what fun!) which happened today, like so:
George: "Um...was that supposed to mean something???"
Gracie: "What? I didn't say anything."
George: *is actually scratching his head and kinda squinting, like his brain hurts* "No. The thing..."
Gracie: "Cause THAT helps."
George: "Dude, the magazine? The bathroom?"
and just as it was dawning on me, he felt he needed to drive the point home juuuust a little more and said "you apparently want me to get my vagina lifted??"
I can see your interest has piqued, dear readers. So let me let you in on the secret. Click here to view the ad I was so disturbed by that I had to leave it open for George (I also included several choice comments for your reading pleasure). Then come back here. And play CLOSE ATTENTION to the list of available procedures, mm-kay?
Okay, ya done? Let's move on. Well, soon... first, though, can we just please pause a moment and hope that their atrocious lack of spell-checking means that they are fantastic doctors and ...no, screw that. Their web design company shamelessly promotes themselves on as many pages of the Vaginally Young n' Fresh site as they can...THEY are in charge and should have caught at least 25 of them. Especially the simple, common ones! Word.
We had a good laugh about the craziness of that ad and moved on. We had lots to discuss, due to some recent developments and opportunities that have presented themselves in George's career, so we quickly forgot about the ad (or so I thought) and moved on. The Kiddo was home and was coming into and out of the room every so often to ask questions, play with the dogs, get snacks, dance a little bit, what have ya. He's known for that sort of thing. Thankfully, though, he was not privy to The Ad, so scarring was not on the plate today (or so I thought).
So George and I were discussing our many things this afternoon; his job stuff, his recent resignation, the reactions to such (because I'm a girl and have to know every detail...and it's like pulling teeth cause guys don't CARE about that sort of stuff and/or don't notice it), the Crazy Jesus Lady I encountered recently (that I will tell you about tomorrow), and on and on. About an hour or so later, I finish one of my brilliant conversational pieces, scattered, a.d.d.-ish, and OCD-laden though it may have been, and I put the proverbial ball back in George's court to either change the subject or further contribute to what I had just talked about. Guy's Choice. He chooses to surprise me with something else entirely:
George: "I want my hood clamped."
I, of course, am shocked and appalled. Just SHOCKED. Okay, well maybe not totally shocked, as it is George we're talking about, but I was so NOT in the mode of The Ad right then and in fact was thinking of 87 different items besides the ad and his response was so totally out of the realm of what I expected that I could do nothing but blink rapidly, turn my back, point in the direction of upstairs (while trying not to laugh) and say:
Gracie: "Get out."
George found this immensely funny. That he was so witty AND disturbed me? That was a clear highlight for him. He kept asking me "Whaaaat? hee hee hee WHAT did I say?? WHAT? hahahaha." and on and on. We also discussed the fact that I was no longer facing him (or anyone or anything) and he inquired as to why that was. As though he didn't know.
The Kiddo came back into the room and, as our family is wont to do (hey, you don't like my overuse of that phrase? Send me a better one!), we quickly changed the subject. My mother-in-law recently gave me a starter rose bush for Mother's Day and it is absolutely flourishing. I can't believe it, cause I kill EVERYTHING. But I've been really taking care of my roses and they are gorgeous and plentiful. What started as a couple of stems are now nearly twenty roses, just since Mom's Day and they continue to sprout more. They are a deep peach color, somewhere between red and pink...like Tropical Starburst! and I adore them (um...the roses not the Starburst).
After watering and cutting back the bush, I brought some of the discarded flowers into the house the other night. I had to cut them, as MIL instructed me to cut them back when they were clearly dying off, if I remember correctly the purpose of that is to ensure that the water is properly routed to the living, thriving flowers and not being sucked up by the dead ones (which does still happen, even when the flower is gone) and I had to remove one good one in order to get rid of two of the bad ones. Even dying off, they were so pretty that I couldn't bring myself to throw them away, especially not the beautiful "good" one, so I put them in a little miniature vase on the shelf over the sink and patted myself on the back for being so Martha Stewart-y, utterly convinced that the men in my life would be proud and their days brightened when they saw the loveliness I provided (there in the midst of the dirty dishes).
Somehow during our previous Discussion-o-Rama mentioned above, the subject of these flowers came up and I was all wounded (mostly fake wounded, of course) that neither The Kiddo OR George noticed them above the sink until I mentioned it. And I was sad that they were dead and no longer as beautiful as when I had brought them inside...less than TWELVE HOURS ago. I mean, I know things die, but...that quickly from gorgeous to looks-like-shit?? The Kiddo, clearly sensing a weak moment on my part, went in for the kill and, in his best teenage-ish, "You are SUCH a stupid adult! Let me spell out your stupidity and my astounding genius for you, shall I??" tone, asked if it ever occured to me that perhaps WATER in the vase WITH the flowers maaaaay have been a wise choice that I clearly forgot?? After being politely told to shove it (cause I DID forget, of course) he was undeterred and quickly moved on to his next question, wanting to know why I bothered cutting them in the first place when they were just twenty feet away out there by the pool where I could easily see them and where they were still ALIVE, instead o' bringin' 'em in here to DIE n' all. I again helpfully suggested that he shove it (which sounds like "HEY!"), then told him what my mother-in-law told me about having to cut them back and how sometimes a good one has to come off with a bad one, and he, of course, couldn't just leave it at that. He is, after all, a Student of George. My nearly-eighteen-year-old's reply? "Huh, sorta like testicular cancer surgery, right?"
Gracie: "Get out."
The Kiddo: *Laughing* "I don't know why that came to my mind."
Gracie: "I'm not kidding. out. BOTH of you. GET. OUT. NOW." and I refused to look at either of them until they both left.
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Not much later, George comes down and puts on his shoes, on his way to the driveway to look at The Kiddo's wheel (which has to be replaced, of course) and Kiddo magically reappeared and went outside with him. George comes back less than two minutes later--alone--and goes back up to his computer to complete the sale (at a 300% discount) at eBay. I was curious why it was taking The Kiddo so long to return to the cool cool inside of the house. I thought maybe something shiny or buzzy caught his eye, but he'd be close behind George nonetheless.
Nope. Close to ten minutes later, The Kiddo is still nowhere to be found. So i yell up to George "Sweetie? Where's Kiddo?" and George responds "outside?" as a question, which not only means "LeemeeLone" but also to indicate "how the hell should I know?" and just then The Kiddo walks inside carrying several items from his car, as though it will be gone for a while and these items need protectin'. And I'm about to voice some form of this sarcastic observation when he beats me to it. He looks me right in the eye, while closing and locking the front door with his free hand behind his back and says, "Hey, can we buy a spider monkey??"
"eeeeet eeeeeuh" is the closest I can come to spelling the sound that came from deep within me. Maaaay be in the neighborhood of gutteral? I also lost vision in one eye and I got that funky squishy pain in my temple. I finished the conversation with a general yelling of "SEE GAWDAMMIT, THIS is why my head hurts all the time!! You people need to leave. me. ALONE!" and he left, chuckling at my pain. (Much like how George leaves ...well... EVERY room!)
Can you start to see why living in my house is sorta like eating ice cream REALLY FAST, but without the benefit of the yumminess?
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Someone Arrived Here Searching For:
do sexy girls ass stink [they stink like COOKIES, of course.]
home-town-porn
pimples on dogs
who loves enemas? [this sounds like a very disturbing new version of the Nair "Who Wears Short-Shorts?" commercial! Make it STOP!]
learn to pelvic thrust [brilliance like that can't be TAUGHT, sugar]
"teach my ass" [apparently THEY don't listen to me either.]
"boobs for christmas" [wow. if THAT'S appropriate list material, I TOTALLY have a new list for Santa!!]
grannies over 70 [there are so many levels to my shuddering disgust right now.]
sexy african grannies [apparently they needed to be more specific. Great.]
soccer moms getting enemas [i can't...just...even...not...]
do cows yawn [you're welcome.]
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