Wednesday, June 30, 2010

World Cup Widows

I think that I understand why the World Cup is only held once every four years.

It is the FIFA's effort to take pity on the women of the world.

These patient women:.

...whose husbands disappear for endless hours into the "man cave"... they monopolize the TV set for weeks at a time....

...and take up cursing in 15 different languages... they scream and yell at nobody in particular...

...surprising their wives who didn't even know they liked war/conflict/ethnic cleansing....or whatever you want to call it...

I'll admit - at first I was excited. World Cup meant more "me" time. Now I just want my husband back - not to mention the restoration of world/household peace.

Can anyone tell me when this thing (or rather, series of endless "things") is going to be over?

Please make it soon.

Pretty please.

For heaven's sake, The President of Nigeria announced today that he is banning his country's team from playing soccer again. All because they lost. Does that even make a lick of sense? If his country can't play - how do they get better and eventually win?!

And he better be glad that his mom isn't my momma. Because she has no problem walking out on the field during the middle of the game after her child makes the mistake of exhibiting unsportsmanlike conduct. Athletes (and coaches) beware - she'll pull you from the game.

I think the world needs more mommas like mine.

If it did, I can guarantee that sports wouldn't impact world peace and there would be fewer World Cup widows like me.

Tuesday, June 29, 2010

The Ugly Truth

Dear Cancer,

I don't like you. You are not invited to my friend and family go away! I'm not going to say "please" and "thank you" because I don't feel like being polite. (My mom doesn't mind)

If I could - I'd scratch out the love in my "Love, Me' signature. I don't want you to get the wrong idea - you are an unwanted guest in the life of someone I return from whence you came.

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

Ambian Take Me Away...

Confession: I have O.C.D.

Seriously, I do. (just ask Mr. Thompson and/or my baby sister who used to live with me).

Signs of my O.C.D. include (but are not limited to):

  • No dishes allowed to be left in the sink.

  • Unorganized closet space keeps me up at night.

  • Clean desktop policy in effect for my department at the close of each day. (in my defense - this is a company policy! I just enforce it.)

  • I alphabetize my canned goods.

  • I organize my walk-in closet from light to dark...short sleeves in front...front of garment facing the left...with exact space (two fingers width) between each hanger.

  • Speaking of hangers, Mr. Thompson has white hangers and I have black.

  • Hospital corners a must when I make the bed

Do you agree with me on my self-diagnosis? Trust me, that's just the tip of the iceberg.

So...last night as I was organizing the closet which has kept me up at night...I started sorting through my medicine. (side note: I sure have a lot of medicine for someone who doesn't like to take medicine. The infertile obviously keep pharmaceutical companies in business but how quickly I digress...)

So there I was sorting though all this medicine when low and behold I found a prescription of Ambian. My doctor prescribed it after a few years ago when I was in the throws of grief and my hubby narked on my poor sleeping abilities...hummm.....didn't remember that.

I must have been really out of it because for two years I've maintained those poor sleeping abilities...don't know why... and have been relying on Unisom.


So when I found the Ambian, I felt like I struck gold. I won the lotto. Pay dirt. Even though upon closer inspection I discovered that it was "technically" expired.

Which caused a moral dilemma.

To take or not to take. That was the question. For five minutes I sat there with the bottle in my hand going back and forth. Does medicine's expiration date mean anything? Truly?...or is it more like milk which doesn't even get to the sniffing stage in my house? ("Sell by" means "use by" in the Thompson household).....No, I think it's more like Corn flakes in which the date is a mere suggestion because let's be honest - Corn Flakes taste stale no matter how you dice it!

So is expired medication like milk...or Corn Flakes?

I couldn't resolve this moral dilemma for myself so I took my problem to my trusty source - Mr. Thompson. He didn't give me a really clear answer so I then took the problem to Google my backup. Unfortunately, Google wasn't really clear either - rather, they (whoever they at Google really are...) called it a "murky issue"

So the bottle beguiled me and I partook.

Then I got on Facebook to burn some time until I got tired. Within a half hour my friend Holly asked me if I was drunk. The diet chat wasn't going the way it should.

To be honest, I think I was. Drunk.

But I sure did sleep like a baby about 5 minutes later....and didn't even lose sleep over that unorganized closet.

(which mysteriously was much better organized when I woke up - a feat considering that I walked away and left a mess in the hallway as soon as I found this little bottle of temptation. )

Tuesday, June 22, 2010

Sunday, June 20, 2010

What Love Is

Do you know why I love my dad?

Because for the 10 years after my grandfather dad would walk down the road at 10:00pm to my grandmother's house. She would be waiting for him in her rocking chair by the window and he would help her up to shuffle down the hall to her bedroom. This was an espeically difficult task after she had her stroke at 89, but together they would make the journey where he would tuck her into bed each night with a prayer and a kiss.

First, they would talk about their day and she would usually cry as she would lovingly pat his cheek. They would end it with a sweet and simple nightly prayer... and after a kiss as he would turn out the light, his final words were always "goodnight my little petunia. I'll see you in the morning".

And he would.

In all those years, I can count on one hand how many times he wasn't able to make that late night walk to help his mother. Even after waking up at 5:30am each morning for a hard job.

Without a doubt I know that my dad would make the same walk for me... with the same sacrifices.

Because he has many times.

I'm his "little balulah".

Happy Father's Day Dad. I love you.

Saturday, June 19, 2010

When Chocolate Isn't a Food Group

Here's an even better Nevada story....

After my roomie and I had the rat experience and moved "home" (to her parent's trailer house next door).....I decided one morning that I was cold.

And I wanted some hot chocolate.

Because I love hot chocolate.

Even in the middle of a hot desert summer in Nevada.

So I made myself at home and dug around the pantry until I found what I wanted. Way in the back.

And made myself a cup of the tastiest stuff around.

It hit the spot.

As luck would have it - it even had tasty little marshmallows. My favorite! And it was loaded. So I made myself a cup and sat down to enjoy it.

On my second cup Daddy Dean (the boss) came into the room and asked me what was all over my face. Upper lip to be exact.

"Probably the marshmallows. I love em and this good stuff is packed'!", I replied (or something to that effect).

"Marshmallows? What exactly are you drinking?" he asked with a weird look on his face (or something to that effect).

Hot chocolate.

So he checked out my hot chocolate because #1 - he was surprised they had any....and....#2 - if they did it wouldn't have had marshmallows in it.

Upon further inspection he laughed so hard he almost fell down.

When he could stop laughing long enough to speak discernible English he let me know that it wasn't marshmallows in my cup and all over my upper lip. It was...


(another reason why I learned to curse in Nevada!)

Friday, June 18, 2010

Oh Rats - A Long Post!

Attention Everyone.

Gather 'round.

New York has announced that it may...just may...have a rat problem.


I never would have guessed.

Which reminds me....there is no question about Nevada.

Nevada definitely has a rat problem.

I know because I've experienced it. Intimately.

And when I say "intimately"...I mean "intimately".

Once upon a time I lived in a trailer house on a ranch in Nevada. (side note: my little sister has an actual goal that she wants to live in a trailer house some day just to "try it". dumb girl. Trailer houses are sooo overrated.)

Back to my story. It was a summer job which helped pay for college. I was a swather girl. (basically I drove a big lawn mower around in circles all. day. long.).

Back to my story. I also lived in a trailer house with the boss's daughter. Unfortunately, our trailer had a mouse problem. Not a big deal because we were living on a ranch. In the middle of the desert. With snakes, badgers, and other fierce animals like...wild boys.

Mice? No problem. We set traps. We put out bate. We cleaned up mice poo without batting an eye.

At least we thought we did.

Until I woke up in the middle of the night (a pitch black night) to one of the guys, from the boy's trailer next door, rubbing my arm. I thought it was my friend Gary trying to wake me up at "butt crack of dawn" to go to work. So as he rubbed my arm in soothing strokes...I mumbled a few things like "dream on Gary".

Something about him leaving me alone because I was tired...and to quit touching me because he didn't stand a chance.

He kept rubbing my arm.

I kept mumbling for him to leave me alone.

Eventually I rolled over.

And Gary stopped rubbing but stayed next to me.

For an uncomfortable period of time (or what felt like an uncomfortable period of time).


I opened my eyes and Gary was gone. But the something wasn't.

Which was not right! In the middle of the night.

And while I was trying to figure that out - the something scampered across my bed.

Which made me spring up in a flash! I didn't know where it was....but I sprang to the end of my bed and stood the pitch a trailer Nevada...on the end of my bed.

While the non-Gary something also stood the other end of my bed...right next to the light switch.

We had a stand off and I didn't know what to do or who would win.

So I did what all girls are supposed to do - I screamed bloody murder.

But nobody heard me.

Nobody was my roommate Anessa, the boss's daughter, who was asleep at the other end of the trailer house. With her earphones on.

As a last resort, I bounced up and down on the bed to scare the something away.

It finally clawed it's way down the side of the bed and ran away.

A mouse! A freakin' mouse! It was in bed with me! I cursed a lot (because I also learned to do that in Nevada) and I stayed there - standing on the end of the bed until I was sure it went away.

Then I turned on all the lights in the house as I made my way to the other end of the trailer to yell at Anessa for not coming to my rescue. I told her that a stupid mouse was in bed with me and she groggily told me to go back to bed.

Over my dead body!

I wasn't going back to bed. The same bed a mouse was just in? I don't think so. I was going to do what every other girl would do - sleep on the couch.

With all the lights on.

(Somehow that felt like a really good idea.)

Until about 10 minutes later when I heard the mouse enter the adjacent kitchen. I cursed some more (really, I perfected this skill in Nevada) and quickly sat up on the back of the couch hollering for Anessa who was on the other side of the wall.

She didn't answer until I saw the mouse....and started pounding.

My pounding got her up to come yell back at at me...which she did until her eyes followed my frantic points to the kitchen counter across from us....

Where there was a gopher.

You read me right. A gopher.

In our house!

Which was HUGE! (no kidding - about 1 1/2 feet long including the tail!)

We screamed. We cried. We threw boots at it which broke a window and turned on the microwave.

The gopher didn't care.

It just crawled all over our counter mocking us, eating food from the dishes in our sink (we didn't care when we thought it was just a stupid mouse!), doing it's merry little business with no care to the two screaming females that were trying to make it go away.

When that didn't work Anessa did what all girls do - she went to get her dad. (Correction: she DROVE to get her dad... who lived about 500 feet away). While I sat there on the back of the couch, watching the gopher trying to figure out how it got in our trailer house.

First a mouse. Then a gopher. What was the luck?!

When her dad arrived he sauntered in full of disbelief...(I can still see him pulling up his pants)...until he looked in our kitchen and saw what we saw. Then his eyes bugged out and he said, "girls - that's not a gopher - THAT'S A RAT! And this calls for a gun."

Which he went to grab and promptly started shooting at.

Missing the gas line by an inch.

Hitting the microwave which was stilled turned on from the cowboy boot which had been thrown.

Shooting through walls, the oven, kitchen counters, doors, the bathroom shower (on the other side of the kitchen), the bedroom (on the other side of the bathroom) get my point.

Ultimately, the rat got a way.

Because the boss didn't have his glasses on.

And in it's wake - our trailer house looked like the OK Corral. Gangland.

When it was over there were a bunch of boys on our porch who heard the shots and thought that having their boss... shoot at a rat... in a trailer house... in the middle of the Nevada...was ever so cool.

And I admit, I did too....

Until about a 1/2 hour later when I told them about the mouse in bed with me....and realized that the something rubbing my arm...wasn't Gary, or the mouse, or the gopher.

It was that rat.

Which ended up being a whole family of pack rats. That lived under our not-so-awesome-anymore trailer house (take note sister!).

Anessa and I had moved "home" by the time the sun rose. 500 feet away.

And we drove to get there.

Thursday, June 17, 2010

Humor Me

Not only did I not get a lollipop....

But the first poke hurt.

All for naught.

The second in the other arm wasn't much better.

Not a drop. At this point I was hoping for a Red Cross phlebotomist because they never fail me in spot #2.

Nurse had to be called.

Who went for a third poke by the second and fished around.


So she tried my hand.

And promptly blew the vein.

For which I cursed. (what can I say - I'm a wuss)

So...the doctor was called.

Who must have worked in Iraq at some point in his career because after 5 minutes of tapping my veins like a drug addict... he jabbed a needle in and moved it around in my wrist until my body had enough pain and gave him what he wanted.

Quadruple damn. I think more tears leaked out then blood.

And as a reward (aka: apology) I got this:

And that was just the pregnancy test.

Which was negative. Just like I told them....

Infertility is funny, right?!

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

A Lollipop... With A Cherry On Top

Dear Dr. Hatasaka,

If I'm going to get a shot at 8am in the morning to "reboot"...I should get a lollipop.

And while you're at it....

Please be kind.

Pretty please.

With a cherry on top.

Because I hate those shots. They hurt.

Monday, June 14, 2010

Start Spreadin' The News!


This week we are buying our plane tickets to New York. Doesn't get better than that. I can't believe that Mr. Thompson actually agreed to go. He's been holding out.

Because he has concerns.

Consequently, he has rules.

#1 - He refuses to take the #7 (red line) which is problematic as most of my favorite places/people in Queens involve the #7. It goes straight past the School Of Hard Knocks and I can't understand why he wouldn't want to experience that. By far one of the best subway routes... although not the safest. I can't wait to show him my old apartment in the middle of Jackson Heights - transvestite capital of the world. My Texan will get a kick out of that.

#2 - Coney Island is out of the question. Another problem as that is where my best friend Sayid lives. Since his pizza joint just received "Best Pizza In Brooklyn" rating...Mr. Thompson just needs to trust me. He'll thank me after one bite into a slice. If I ever moved back - I'd move back to Bensonhurst.

#3 - He's not going to Yankee Stadium. I'm okay with that...since they tore it down. I like to think of the new stadium as "The Big Ballpark in the Bronx" or "The House That Jeter Built" so I think I can probably get him on a technicality. The Red Sox are playing the Yankees so I can guarantee that he'll be going to The Big Ballpark. It's going to be wonderful because I can guarantee that he'll wear his Red Sox hat and then I'll have to defend his honor. I'll be a hero!

#4 - He gets to pick the hotel. I'm okay with that since I know that he's going to go for the Marriott in Times Square. My home away from home...and where I spent most of the year after 9/11. I already know that the beds are comfy so I'll have a soft place to fall.

#5 - I have to drive. No problem - I get to bust out my old tricks. Horns, snaking cars...I'll be in heaven! (might have to lace his drink with Dramamine though)

#6 - He wants to meet a real Italian with mob connections. I know just the guy. Fast Eddie here I come.

#7 - We can only stay a couple of days and then we have to go to New England for ten days. He might have to twist my arm on that one.....not! The only thing better than NYC is NYC before Maine!

I'm giddy just thinking about it. Think I can get him on a NYC rooftop? If I can master that - I can die in peace. Think I can get him to do a B&B tour in New England during the fall colors? If I can master that - I can die in love.

Peace and love. We might make a baby yet!

(Consider this more clinical research for the "just relax and take a vacation" method...where there is always sucess in the unsucess!)

Sunday, June 13, 2010

Staying Positive In A Negative World

Negative is so....negative.

No matter how you look at it.

I swore I wasn't going to fall into the trap this month. By Day 44 I had no choice.

Don't worry - I'm still smiling. The pit in my stomach has no effect on my face muscles.


Even though I've faced this negativity 42 times. That's a lot of negativity even for the most positive person.

Simply put - it sucks.

Note to self: No rainbows.

On the "glass half full" mom called and sang me all 99 verses of "You Are My Sunshine" yesterday. Super funny. Then my sista stopped by with her passel of young'uns who literally rolled on the floor when I hyperventilated trying to play my bagpipes. Even funnier. Most especially to the four year old on the couch who actually eked out a tear. His first tear of laughter.

Compliments of Moi.

Take that little stick of negativity!

Saturday, June 12, 2010

Blame It On The Rain

Confession: I've been feeling a little....


Blah. Blah. Blah. Blah. Blah.

Maybe it's all this rain. It should be 90 degrees right now but yesterday it was 56.

Maybe it was all that snow. It should have stopped coming in March but we got it into late May...

which killed my Mother's Day rosebush...

and rusted Mr. T's Father's Day BBQ.

Maybe it's because I have a mud pit in my backyard. Coulda' / Woulda' / Shoulda' replanted grass before all of this moisture instead of waiting for it to stop so I could plant sod. Bad call.

Maybe it's because I got really scared when lightning struck the farmer's big sprinkler next door which made my house shake. No comfort from Mr. T since he is trekking across the country (and back) in a Ryder truck.

Maybe it's because I have to go to the doctor for another darn shot to "reboot" my system. Heavenly Father obviously didn't create me with a surge protector like he did that farmer's sprinkler.

Maybe it's because a mouse ran across my foot yesterday at work. Five minutes after I ripped my pants. Seven minutes before I read my report that we were down 666 units of blood for the month. 666 - not a good number and the mouse knew it! Rain caused it all.

Solution: I'm going to play a little Milli Vanilli (girl, you know it's true!) ...and turn this frown upside-down and smile that frown away.

Then I'm going to put on my waterproof coat (yes - I said coat) so I can go to the Highland Festival and pretend like I'm back in Scotland... where there are raindrops and roses and whiskers on kittens.

Because rain makes us grow, right?

Sunday, June 6, 2010

We Are Family!

My sisters and I took a road trip this weekend to my oldest niece's high school graduation (more to come on that later as it was by far the funniest and most entertaining graduation I've ever been to. God bless little rural towns in Idaho which have the local rodeo clown as the keynote speaker!).

(How quickly I digress) So I took a road trip with the sisters....ever taken a road trip with your sisters? Ever taken a road trip with MY sisters?

If you have, then you know what I'm talking about.

I think I wet my chonies (underwear) at least a dozen times in laughter.

Because they are funny like that!

Case in point: I am having a texting war with my baby sister as I write this post. We are fighting over who gets to be Rosemary Clooney and who gets to be Vera Kelly. (If you've seen White Christmas then you know what I'm talking about. If you haven't...then you don't!)

I get to be Vera.

Rosemary may have been the better singer but Vera was definitely more pleasing on the eyes.

Yep, I get to be Vera.

Speaking of texting wars....I was sitting in my office on Thursday feeling a little overwhelmed when I got a text out of the blue from my Irish Twin brother (If you're Irish then you know what I'm talking about. If your not...then you don't.)

His text simply stated, "u r stinky"...

So I sent a text back which said, "u r ugly"...

He countered with, "I can smell u from Idaho"...

I countered with, "& I can see you from space"...

And then we were done.

He obviously doesn't get that I'm Vera Kelly.

Because Vera Kelly not only looks good ...but smells good!

Thursday, June 3, 2010

United We Stand - The Wilson Family Reunion

Organize the clan and pack your tents...

For the Wilson Family Reunion.

Saturday, July 3rd - Monday, July 5th at Clan Headquarters in Nampa.

Itinerary is as follows:

  • 12:00pm - 5:00pm Water kickball, games, water relays, volleyball and prizes
  • 6:00pm - 9:00pm BBQ followed by a Wilson Clan Hootenanny (bring your instruments!)
  • Bonfire and family movies in the park after dark
  • 11:00am - 2:00pm Church
  • 5:00pm Dutch Oven Dinner
  • 8:00pm "The British Are Coming!" featuring George Washington and his horse
  • Birthday Blowout and fireworks after dark
  • 9:00am Breakfast with friends and Marine Corp. Boot Camp featuring the almost Private Cody J Wilson, his Drill Sergeant, and a clan of wild Plebes (wear your boots and pray we make it!)

* $40 per family to cover food and fireworks.

** Some will be camping at the Diamond A Ranch Friday - Saturday. Call JaLae if interested.