The party has moved, and your invitation is right HERE!

If you are still coming here, you aren't going THERE, which is such a shame. You've missed out on all of the big Tish news, like new patient stories, Drunkette's new remodeling of our home, and other fabulous posts that can only make your life better. Update your blogroll now.

You've reached a blog that has moved, please make a note of it....

I see you are still clicking the old Tish blog for the latest news, gossip, and general nonsense.

If you haven't been contacted by email, then forgive me. We've had quite a bit going on here, the least of which is a car driven INTO my bedroom. Want more details??

WWW.TISHASHARP.COM

The car fiasco is in the August archives, complete with pictures and commentary.
Please update your blogrolls, light a candle, say a prayer, and then come visit daily. You never know what you might read at my place!!!

Grab a box, would ya?

As it is in real life, my blog has taken a different path.

I will continue to check in here, but for the record, The World According to Tish has officially relocated to:

www.tishasharp.com

I will try to visit everyone on my blogroll and give personal invitations, but if you are reading this, as they say down in these parts: You've done been invited, just don't forget the tater salad.

Please update your blogrolls if I am fortunate to be on them. If I'm not, then why not? Do I smell? Did I offend you? Better take a number then, 'cause that line's awful long and we don't have a free concession stand 'round these parts.

Okay, let's see. I've got my blogroll, my new email: tish@tishasharp.com, my pics, and my typewriter, so I guess this is it. Don't you hate to close the door on a great house, apartment, or experience? (sniffle) I'll miss this place, but the new digs are bigger, better, and has more options. What's a girl to do??

THERE'S NO CRYING IN BLOGGING.

Say goodnight, Tish.

Goodnight Tish.

Hello www.tishasharp.com

Hope ya'll come over and visit.

Who ya gonna call?

Don't get caught alone oh no Ghostbusters
When he comes through your door, unless you've just got some more I think you better call Ghostbusters.
Ooh... who you gonna call (Ghostbusters)
Who you gonna call (Ghostbusters)
Ah, I think you better call (Ghostbusters)

From the moment a child can understand, we teach them their parents will protect them. Sometimes it is in the form of a swat on the backside, or a long timeout, but the message is the same: it's for your own good.

Then in the blink of an eye, they enter grade school where they are bombarded with programs about police (DARE), crime fighters such as McGruff the crime fighting dog and Smokey the Bear. Officers visit the school to build respect and garner trust from the youth so that in case they ever need help, they know where to go and who to call. The message grows beyond what is for your own good, but also the good of the family, city, state, and country.

And now these same children who are taught to believe in their country, military, and police are being inundated with Anti-American sentiments from other Americans as well as accept the disrespect for authority figures in popular music, television, and movies. Video games glamorizing the murder of cops and the hypersensationalism of Anti-American protesters leaves little Johnny and Jane wishing for their own Ghostbusters for protection.

Pacifists call for an end to war, which if it were possible at this very moment, it would be a great thing. No one I know is 'pro-war'. Ask most veterans and they'll tell you that not only is war Hell, but not many people relished the thought of going to battle no matter, how just the cause.
It's not that I'm one of those "shoot first, ask questions later"kind of people, but I do believe in the notion that the best defense is a good offense. If someone breaks into my home, do you really think diplomacy and negotiations will keep me from being raped? If a knife is held to my child's neck, do I really care why the criminal is acting out? What good is diplomacy and tact if the very same people you want to deal with view you as an infidel worthy of a painful death? The feel-good psychobabble in today's media only serves one purpose: to eradicate responsibility for one's actions. Diplomacy has yet to save a child's life when abducted by a monster, nor did it save thousands of Iraqis buried in mass graves. Tact won't appeal to Osama, or the BTK killer, or any other evil that is hell bent on the destruction of life, innocent or not.

If the police all are corrupt, who ya gonna call?
If the military is fighting the wrong war at the wrong time, when is there a right war at a right time?
If the country is divided amongst itself, how can she defend herself from within?
If we can't acknowledge God, who are we gonna call?

Croc shmock, can you cook?

Dear Steve,
As an avid fan, I've watched you for years on Animal Planet. Your ease with crocodiles and other dangerous beasts is mystifying and somewhat scary to most normal people.
Not to be critical, but I think you've exhausted the animal kingdom for material. Even children are desensitized to the snake bites and gator charges you have endured, so I would like to propose some new adventures for you and your lovely wife. A myriad of challenges, if you will, that could entice new fans as well as thrill your long time admirers.

The Crocodile Hunter Meets WalMart: In this episode, Steve faces his nemesis, the WalMart Sporting Goods Manager all decked out in reptilian apparel. In his quest for twenty items from the sales aisle, he is confronted by three large women hellbent on beating him to the prize. Stay tuned for Steve's confrontation with Laverne and her twin sister Malvern.

The Crocodile Hunter Diaries: Slumber Party: Terri Irwin joins her husband on his most dangerous expedition to date, chaperoning a slumber party of six nine year old American girls fresh from a day at the mall. Watch the pink feathers fly as he refuses to wear the dress-up boa and Terri is reduced to a weeping blob in the corner.


Assignment: Crocodile Hunter JobShare: Steve's emotional and mental grit is tested to the limit as he shadows a home health physical therapist for a week. To his horror, he is forced to listen to the ramblings of a former debutante now beginning Alzheimer's patient rant about bad romances and, gasp, her recipe for alligator chili.

As you can see, the possibilities are endless and can only increase your ratings. Imagine, you and Terri waiting tables at Chinese Buffet restaurant on the same night Ultimate Fighting Championships are held...or serving as a sales associate for Catherine's, a plus sized clothing shop. It's cutting edge, it's reality TV pushed to it's limits...frankly, it's got you written all over it.

Thank you for your time and consideration. I look forward to seeing you discussing the virtues of collegan at the next BeautiControl party as the season premiere.

The most feared word in the US right now...

God.

There it is, ladies and gentlemen. This three letter word has sparked more debate and caused more controversy than any Hollywood screenwriter could invent.

What's ironic is our country was founded on principles found in a book solely written by (divinely, of course) and about God. The Ten Commandments pretty much cover all that is deigned law in the present day, but God forbid we have them displayed! Maybe I shouldn't say 'God Forbid', seeing as He is being escorted out of our society with a swift shove by many in power.

Can't have God in the Pledge of Allegiance. Why, that might sway the minds of our youth to actually believe in something other than Scooby Doo and Pokemon!
Can't have Jesus' birth acknowledged for fear it could hurt the feelings of those that don't believe.
Can't have God's word as part of decision making. That could lead to the something our society is shying away from: identifying certain behaviors as right or wrong. There is nothing that can't be rationalized, explained, or excused away now so don't bring God into the mix.

Since 9/11, Muslims living in the US are able to insert their religion into our society without backlash, without incident but let a Baptist child say their prayer in school and all Hell breaks loose. Instead of respecting all religions, our nation has become so politically correct that we've literally lost the faith our foundation was built upon. No one wants to be beat about the head and neck with the Bible, or threatened with hellfire and brimstone, but what's so wrong with letting those that choose to worship God do so?

I had an instructor once that boasted about his atheism. He tried day after day to prove my faith was not only misguided, but altogether pointless. In the end, his constant prodding only made my faith stronger. Maybe this is what is happening to our nation right now, a test to strengthen our faith as a whole. Are we passing the test? Hard to tell right now but one thing is certain, if we fail the test, our children will pay a price far greater than any generation has ever seen in the history of the world.

Talk about Hellfire and brimstone...

Back by popular demand: Biblical Interviews

Today we have the pleasure of Deborah, the Bible's only female judge in the Old Testament. Lucky for us she is between cases at the moment.



Deborah: Who let you in here?
Tish: Your bailiff, Mr. Byrd. We had an appointment for this interview, remember?
Deborah: DON'T TELL ME WHAT I HAVE TO DO, YOUNG LADY!
Tish: Uh, yes ma'am. We had an appointment--
Deborah: ZIP IT! Do I smell like turnips to you?
Tish: Huh? I don't mean any harm, Judge---
Deborah: ENOUGH! I didn't fall of the turnip truck, missy. You can't get one by me so watch yourself.
Tish: Okay, then. I'll just be going now.
Deborah: Do I look stupid to you? You waltz into my private chamber and say you have an appointment and you think I'm not going to do something about it? PETRI, COME HERE!
Tish: I'll see myself out.

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Due to unforeseen circumstances, I was unable to complete the interview with Deborah as planned. Next week's interview will focus on Orpah, a multi-millionare talk show host, I mean Old Testament wife with a story to tell. Until then, stay safe and smile at strangers.

Riddle me this, Riddle me that

As the world contemplates the future effect of the Israeli withdrawal from Gaza, the neverending media focus of Mrs. Sheehan and her anti-war protest, and now Madonna's horseriding accident, there are other issues that beg the question WHY.

Why do some women wear full makeup when going to the gym? Clogged pores aside, isn't the whole reason for exercising to sweat? Maybe it's just me, but mascara and eyeliner has no place when lifting weights. Who wants to wipe off patches of Maybelline foundation from the machines? Not me.

Why have some men hung onto the 'sock' look while at the gym? Like millions of other teenagers in the early 80's, I had that poster of Jon Bon Jovi sitting on a table. His obvious 'girth' was not genetic, if you know what I mean, but he was a ROCK STAR. For men that strut around in bike shorts and a padded jock, one word comes to mind: Don't.

Why does ESPN waste time on Terrell Owens? Talk about the worst thing to hit the NFL since free agency. Not only is he a virus for sportsmanship, but his antics and selfishness should be banned from the sport. But what do I know, I'm just a girl that likes football.

Why hasn't someone told Donald Trump his hair is ridiculous? Three words: Emporer's new clothes. Money can buy almost anything. The keyword being almost, Donald. Of course, supermodels with dollar signs in their eyes and gold digging fingernails are oblivious to his comb-over.

'Why' is the first question children learn to ask. It's curiosity living within us all that makes 'Why' so alluring. And so dang funny sometimes.

If it ain't one ticket, it's a warning

If you've never watched Supertroopers, you've missed the most hilarious first fifteen minutes of all time in any movie.
For those who have, I was pulled over by a FARVA clone today. Before any rumors spread about me and speeding, I wasn't. The cruise control was set on 70 in a 70 MPH four lane highway.

'Farva' pulled me over for occupying the passing lane. He strutted up to my door, all 140 pounds and 5'6" of Texas Khaki. Far be it from me to criticize a person's height, no one can control that, but doesn't it seem a little on the funny side to look down to a highway patrolman? Unless you are driving an 18-wheeler, eye to eye contact would be the norm, would it not?

In the span of five minutes, I learned that he was unmarried, didn't watch TV or have a computer, had no children to speak of, and enjoyed two-stepping. Um, officer, maybe you didn't see the wedding ring on my hand or the four Power Rangers in the backseat, but I am definitely married with children.

As he eyed the oncoming traffic, his chest swelled with pride. "Yep, I pulled over three cars in a row today for going over 75."
Wow, I kept to myself. Good to know our taxes are paying for 'Farva' to harass everyone on HWY 59.
While he wrote my warning, the ball in the back of my SUV caught his eye. "What's that for? You bounce on it?" He goose-honk laughed at his own joke.

His interest perked up at my career of choice. Leaning onto the car door, he confided,"You know, I could have been one of them therapists." He swabbed his nose with a closed fist and continued. "But the force called to me, so here I am. Protect and serve, that's me."

Uh huh, well I've got another patient to see so thanks for the warning.

He patted my bumper before I sped away.

I wonder if he sat on a seat cushion to see over the dashboard.

That was mean, I'm sorry.

But still, don't you?

Boy did I pick the wrong day to quit...

Day Two in Hell
The world as a whole is against me.
Maybe it's my imagination, but was today "National Drink Dr Pepper Day"? At least fifty people imbibed the sugary concoction in front of me without any semblence of shame. Three women standing in line to pay the standard Texaco $100 gastank charge bragged about the perfect ratio between carbonation and syrup, as if I needed to hear that! A group of teenagers poured theirs out in a covert attempt to drive me insane BUT I remained strong. When a former patient of three years ago dropped by to say thanks, she held in her hand a cold Dr Pepper. Even though I nodded during the conversation, the faint sound of Dr Pepper himself whispered into my left ear, his hot breath tickled my neck:

"It looks delicious, no? You vant it, do you not? Vie not take a leetle sip? It von't hurt you, my precious leetle gerl."

For those that Dance with the Devil by the Pale Moonlight (AKA Diet Dr Pepper Drinkers), I have tried that route many times. Whoever says it tastes like the real thing also substitutes tuna for lobster. As for the caffeine free version, that's like kissing your brother on prom night. Same action, no passion.

Only 24 hours left, and I will have lasted the dreaded three day dry-out phase.

It is three days, right? The worst is over in three days, RIGHT?!

ARGHH!

It's official. The divorce papers were filed yesterday, and I, for one, am happy. This love/hate relationship was doing nothing for me. Sure, at first he seemed harmless. He'd entertain me with his bubbly personality and then energize me all day with his charm. It was nothing for us to meet three or four times a day.

But something has changed. He doesn't act the same. What once was enjoyable became flat and dull. The sweet disposition that captured my attention suddenly turned syrupy and somewhat nauseating. And talk about baggage! He bought with him at least an additional 20 pounds into our world, which isn't healthy.

Bottom line, I will have to go cold turkey. We can't be friends, can't have a casual dinner, nothing. I know, I sound cold hearted, but what else can I do? This is not a productive relationship by any means.

Sixteen hours and I feel fine...really....OH GOD HELP ME, I MISS HIM SO MUCH!!!

Thank you, Thank you very much....

Unfortunately, there were no PB and B rollups but to my surprise there were two corn concoctions that were either desserts or main entrees.
Notice the Budweiser lights? Yep, those are pool tables transformed into delicious buffet tables. There was a chicken enchilada dish that screamed EAT ME NOW. Four different deviled egg containers begged for my attention. And of course who can miss the bag of chicken? Confession time, that was my contribution. My mother suggested an easy way out since I was busy scanning and cropping photos for the family auction.

The stage's backdrop has always been the Budweiser gang. I think the women in the poster altogether weigh as much one normal person, but who cares?
That would be my husband with the full styrofoam cup. Free drinks, homemade food, and kareoke makes for a happy spouse. After a good four hours of friendly banter and drinking, he sang Merle Haggard, George Strait, George Jones, and our duet parody of "To All The Girls He's Loved before." Quite the concert, if I do say so myself.

Every year, this family gathers together to laugh, sing, drink, and eat. We lost the oldest member this year, a WWII POW and his sister as well. New babies joined the group, too. My one year old nephew garnered the youngest Prize. Casper sang "God Bless America" which earned a $5 prize, but Drama Diva was too busy playing with her cousins. She did add her own bit of history to the day by getting stung by TWO yellow jackets above and below her eye. Oh, the agony! As much as it hurt, and I have no doubt that it did, she worked it to the fullest degree. We are talking Oscar worthy performance.

There are more pictures to post this week, and more stories to tell but for now, I shall prepare for Casper's first day of KINDERGARTEN tomorrow. Don't mind me, I'll be the mother weeping in the corner.

Bologna and peanut butter, anyone??

Every year on the second Saturday in August, a distant branch of my family tree gathers at a bar. Yes, I said BAR. Nestled in the backwoods of a small Oklahoma town sits Skinny's, a basic hole in the wall joint. Two pool tables are transformed to a buffet, and the full horse trough becomes a swimming pool for around ten children of all ages. A fire hazardous, rickety trampoline made in the Dwight Eisenhower era and five llamas decorate the front yard.

The first year we attended, we were greeted by the hostess with, and I kid you not, bologna and peanut butter rollups with a banana slice garnish. Of course I passed on that, along with the mystery meat next to the seven KFC buckets. This is our fourth such reunion, and I have attempted to bring some sort of culture to these people. Last year I made 75 crab stuffed mushrooms. In less than five minutes, all were gone from the pool table/buffet. The bearded man that is relations to me in some odd way six times removed had the last four 'shrooms. Watching his wife chew hers without teeth while laughing at the latest "Git'er done" joke squelched any appetite I had for three hours.

Why do I go? Well, apart from the free beer and great blog material, one word:

KAREOKE!

Oh, yeah, uh huh, I'm a singer, yes I am...oh, sorry, got a little carried away there with the Cabbage Patch move. Duets, solos, and group renditions of all genres can be heard up and down the Red River. I am still legendary for my Melissa Etheridge impersonation, and hubby sure can "sang like that country sanger Toby Whatshisface". Drama Diva has practiced "Baby Girl" and Casper will delight the audience with "My Last Name."

So, as much as I hate to leave, this weekend will be blog free for me. I will, however, brainstorm some new Sunday Interviews for those that have so enjoyed them. While I am away, you are all required to LAUGH. That's it. Watch for Sunday's returning home post. It's sure to be eventful.

Stay safe, everybody.

Midgets and Donkeys and Boils, Oh My!!

You know your day is going to be interesting when someone tells you out of the blue that they have built a local midget a home. One of my patients detailed all of the modifications for the home, and just when I thought I wouldn't laugh outloud, he says...

"You know, their little butts fit right in the palm of my hand."

Something about a 9o year old man measuring out the width of a midget's rear end tickled my funny bone but I wasn't prepared for what happened next. My patient has hallucinations, mainly from medications and age-related dementia. He looked past me at the corner of the kitchen.

"GET DOWN FROM THERE 'FORE YOU TEAR UP THE MOLDIN'!" He shook his fist at the darkened corner. "Damn kids, they done tore up my bedroom. I'ma gonna call the schools tomorrow. They're old enough to be learning."

"Grandpop, there aren't any kids here." His granddaughter held a smirk for a moment before laughing.

"The hell there aint! I damn near fell on one of them yesterday in the bathroom. They just don't say a word, none of them."

Three patients later, donkeys surround my car. For some unknown reason, the family enjoys the braying and stomping of loose donkeys. One donkey, in particular, likes to charge the fence every time I pull up. This time, I thought I'd wave goodbye to the animal seeing as it was my last visit. Not smart,especially when the gate is open.
Did you know donkeys will try to bite a person?
Thank God I left my door unlocked.

And for the finale, one of my patient's family members has a large sore on his nose. When I say large, I mean half-dollar and right on the tip. Try not staring at it while he commands your complete attention regarding a fishing story. My patient, the only one that can hear in the entire home, likes to talk about it with him sitting only four feet away.
"Look at it! I can't stand to eat with him and that festering sore. Just look at him." All the time, he's smiling and nodding at me.
"Want something to drink?" He offers.
"She can't drink with that sore staring at her!" The patient screeches, but the man doesn't hear her. "SHE DOESN'T WANT ANYTHING!" He nods and continues to smile at me. I think his nose winked at me.

Flaming Blograffiti hits hard at the World according to Tish

How does that old saying go, you can please some of the people some of the time?

Well, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, last night I experienced my first flaming comments. Many of my blogger friends have disclaimers on the sidebars warning against malicious comments but it wasn't until last night that I truly considered adding my own.

Stupid me, I deleted the comments from the post . The vulgarity and complete stupidity demonstrated by the writers is so offensive that I contemplated whether or not to share their hateful words. Now I wish I would have kept them on the post so you could read them there instead of here.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
you are one iritating egotistical and average looking bitch
--
Posted by rapunzel the beautiful to Welcome to my world - The world of Tish at 8/07/2005 11:40:42 PM
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Being called a bitch by someone that cannot spell the word irritating is beyond ridiculous but at least she/he spelled egotistical correctly. I imagine this person is either very young or very unhappy with their life, their own appearance, and has low self esteem. This comment didn't bother as much as this one:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I bet your husband fucks other women, because you and your shit must drive him crazy..heres some advice....dont hire a hot babysitter!! your bored husband will fuck her tight young pussy all night long and wish he never met plain ol' fat thighed you. I bet you suck in bed, too. You look stiff.
--
Posted by Anonymous to Welcome to my world - The world of Tish at 8/07/2005 11:43:40 PM
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This is a coward, unable to sign his/her name to such filth. Maybe it's a man that has no sense of morality, or a boy teetering on the edge of puberty, or a woman that is so unhappy with herself or her life that her only recourse is verbal harrassment of someone they do not know, have never met, nor will have the right to judge in this lifetime.

The sitemeter information wasn't very helpful in identifying them. I know they are in New York, and came via a search on the bun and thigh rocker on Yahoo but other than that, nothing.

Sad, isn't it? Just when the blogworld feels like a friendly BBQ where all can sit and chat, there's always that idiot or group of idiots that ruin it for everyone.

A Glimpse into the future PC-USA

Hollywood, 2055
At this year's Annual Academy Awards, every actress worth her salt will be wearing the fashion of the century- Burkas. Once thought as denigrating to women, today's elite embrace not only the full coverage that Burkas provide, but also have integrated this new Conservatism into Hollywood. No longer do we worry about nudity, foul language, or promiscuity. Each movie, approved by the UN and Islamic Clerics of the PC-USA, instills positive messages of submission and subjugation overlooked by such heretics like Stephen Spielberg, Ron Howard, Ang Lee, and Nora Ephron.

Of course, there are still those that cling to outdated notions of freedom and equality. In order to reduce the number of public beheadings, Amnesty International purchased all of the empty Federal Prisons to house such enemy combatants of the new PC-USA. Christians, educated women, literate children, and former military are all placed within these walls for their protection. Between the ACLU, former Islamic terrorists turned Senators, and pedophiles on the streets, the chances of survival for the rebels are slim.

It is the hope of the government that researchers can identify why these insurgents have not responded to the new PC-USA Constitution so that one day, any and all resistance to the new way of life can be extinguished with a simple vaccine.

In the meantime, the legacy of Osama Bin Laden and other heroic individuals that helped to squash the last of the rebellion will be taught to all male children in the caves all across this great nation.

In Allah We Trust.

Stupid Tish thought JAIL was appropriate

There are geniuses amongst us, people. They walk into courtrooms everyday wearing flowing black robes. With the wisdom of Solomon, these invaluable individuals are our last defense against the wicked and evil that walk in the shadows of our society.

Or so we thought.

On Wednesday in Judge Rose Guerra Reyna’s 206th state District Court Robert Wayne Thompson, 46, pleaded no contest to aggravated sexual assault of a child and indecency with a child by contact.
Because Thompson has a history of heart problems, the judge allowed him to knit afghans for 320 hours of community service. Each 40-by-40-inch afghan will count as six hours of community service. Thompson told the judge he could make two afghans a day.

Words escape me, at least the ones that I will use on my blog. Knitting? Are you kidding me?
What's next on this supposed judge's docket? Needlepoint for rapists? Or would that be too stressful on the criminals' eyes? Oh, that's right, we should consider the health of each felon so maybe something along the lines of sketching portraits or macrame would be better choices.

Let me offer this solution: give me the knitting needles and the child molester. I can teach him a thing or two about missing a stitch that won't easily be forgotten. Or resuscitatable, if you know what I mean.

STOP THE MADNESS.

Do I have to solve everything???

Illegal immigration. Once a romantic idea, crossing over the border for a better life and opportunities but with national security concerns , border crossings are tantamount to pre-terroristic attacks. A few Islamic militants can afford to bribe the already poverty stricken immigrants on their journey to the Promised Land. Problem is, once they arrive here with their travelling companion, all Hell can and probably will break loose.

The other argument that swirls around illegal immigration is we, the tax payers of the United States, absorb the cost of their education, healthcare, and housing. We've all heard how the migrant workers will do the jobs that Americans won't do. Hmm, we have thousands of incarcerated criminals with three square meals a day, healthcare, and housing...and what are they doing? Sucking from the teat that is government. The fact that new for-profit prisons are being built all across the nation should be the first clue that our prison population isn't shrinking. It sounds to me that we are not utilizing a workforce population that has an endless supply of labor.

Truth be told, we will cannot and will not ever stop illegal immigrants from poring into our country. There is too much money involved but that's where we as American citizens can get our piece of the pie.

I claim my kids on my taxes, seeing as I pay for their well being with my hard earned dollars. The same can be applied to illegal immigrants. We pay for them, their children, their well being. Why can't we claim Maria, Jose, and others on our taxes? It seems only fair that we prosper like the agricultural businesses do from paying them pittance. It seems only logical that the people that pay for the care of these people are allowed an exemption for their trouble.

There is no doubt that Mexico has little to offer its citizens when you compare it to the USA. Who amongst us would not try our damndest to escape a life of poverty? Like so many people, I have sympathy for these people and their children. But like my mother always said, I didn't take the whole neighborhood to raise. Sometimes enough is enough.

The Speeding Ticket Pre-Trial

Apart from the serial killer episodes, I've learned quite a bit about representing myself from Dick Wolf. It's too bad that the Mr. Bald Short Policeman couldn't have been Chris Noth, though. I would have volunteered for a pat-down and possible strip search (just kidding...kind of.)

Phrases like "I object" "Just answer yes or no, please" and "May I approach the witness, your Honor?" will find their way into my defense. My dear friend Hoss suggested that I play soft, which might work for most normal people, but I come from a long line of George Costanza-like raving lunatics that enter a courtroom with a 1958 suitcase filled with papers while wearing squeaky shoes. It's in my blood to point, accuse, and if nothing else works, effectively cry. Crying won't work in this courtroom, I've heard, as it is a female judge with no patience for playing the sob card.

It's in my best interest to wear not the spit cup scrubs (the stain did come out with five washings), but maybe my khakis and not too tight aqua shirt. Color without emphasis on possible body parts that the judge could or could not have been born with, if you get my meaning. No loud lipsticks, no spiky hair, just boring Tish. OR I could wear my black power suit that just screams DON'T DENY ME! Of course, along with that suit comes the channeling of Joan Crawford and her attitude, so that may work against me in the long run.

Did I mention that the fine is 196 bucks? That's more than I spend on myself in six months, not counting Dr. Peppers of course. The fine won't increase if I lose my case, so what do I have to lose by going to trial? Hmm, maybe dignity? The likelihood of me making a complete ass of myself is about as great as Terrell Owens being booed by his own fans.

Maybe I should just pay the fine.

But then I'd lose out on all of this great blog material, so for all of you, I will pursue this. It's for my fans, always about the fans.

Send bail money...

Monday at 5:43 pm.

It's not a good idea to pull Tish over when:

• Drama Diva and Casper directly defied a simple request FOUR TIMES.
• The Regional Funk Stank Patient Convention held their annual meeting at every patient's home that I visited today.
• A patient that uses Scotch Snuff accidently missed her spit cup...and now I need new scrub pants. (Yes, you read it right, it was a woman dipping snuff!)
• The PetSmart flunkie decides to make an example out of my check card not working when I know good and darn well there is more than $27.99 in the account. 100 pounds of dog food, people, every three weeks now. It's a zoo here.
• A teenager at the EZ Mart called me an old lady and not in a respectful way, either. I've got your old lady right here, buster, and it's called a Jackie Chan spin kick. Just let me stretch my hamstrings first and I'll show you.
• FOUR, let me say again FOUR cars are in front of me on a FOUR lane road, and I am the chosen one? The street that runs directly in front of my house is 35 MPH but is known as the Audobon to most drivers but do you see Mr. Bald Short Policeman radaring that road? Of course not. We must stick close to the mall and its interchanges to catch SUV driving mothers.

Mondays. Hate 'em with a passion.

Reason # 45 I am not Martha Stewart

Karin told me I couldn't use my lefthandedness as an excuse to poorly paint. I beg to differ.
It's not the paint's fault, or the brushes, or even the pan. Sherwin-Williams provided me with two gorgeous colors, Sandtrap and Nice White, but try as I may, I seem to drip countless droplets onto the carpet. Good thing we are replacing it soon with laminate flooring.
It's a sad day in the home improvement world when a grown woman has to call her father for paint removal advice- namely how to remove oil based paint from one's body. I was tempted to pull a Farrah Fawcett and just fling my paint covered naked body onto the walls, but who wants to see broad hips all over the room?
In a previous post, I have lamented how I was born without the decorating gene. This still holds true but at certain times I have been bitten by the HGTV bug. Those thirty minute shows detailing the changes within a normal home have caught my eye, and so I've embarked on this home improvement journey. What they don't tell you on those shows is that it actually took weeks, not minutes, to complete the transformations. I couldn't finish one wall between commercial breaks. Talk about false advertising!
On a personal note, the haloscan issue has been resolved but....oh, I'll keep that little secret to myself for now....but let's just say changes are a'coming to The World Of Tish.

Haloscan hell and the Winner is...

Day four and I am still Haloscan-less at home. The computer at work has no problem, so now I'm at a loss. My knights in shining armor, Steel Cowboy and Exscientia, are helping me with this malfunction. And just so you know, Haloscan still emails me every comment, I just cannot access them from my blog or its site. SO NO TALKING ABOUT ME (unless it's good and then chat away, please!)



Now for the winner update! Ginahad the 25,000 logged Sitemeter visit. When Paul captured the Sitemeter, it looked like he was the winner. In all fairness, I should reward both of them.
Gina has kindly provided her address, and hopefully Paul will do the same.

The kids are coming home a day early, something about being homesick. You know I'm loving that!!! Saturday morning I shall paint the living room, or attempt to do so even being left handed and decor-challenged. There's a blog in that, I'll just bet.

Someone slipped me a bad vitamin, me thinks

Today is Wednesday, right?

Either I'm losing touch with reality OR I am unable to access my Haloscan comments. I can't even see the button for Haloscan on my site or anyone else's for that matter.

Do you think it's the new hair color? I had a new 'do done yesterday by the fabulous Kathy Patrick but maybe the dye has affected my brain or something? There will be pics in the near future so no worries there.

No, I've got it. It's a conspiracy against me brought on by my political rants and astute observations. Osama is out to get me for my solution to his reign of terror. Come to think of it, I did see an Iraqi like man staring at me while I was purchasing my first Dr. Pepper for the day. Hmm.

Could it be that they are trying to shut me down just as I hit my 25,000 visitor?

I will not go down without a fight! I have watched all of the Lara Croft movies AND the entire Matrix trilogy so don't mess with me, Internet terrorists. I just need an hour or so to stretch my hamstrings, so give me a little heads up before the rumble, okay?

If anyone has ANY advice, I would appreciate them greatly.

The world may depend on it.

Who will it be?

The World According to Tish is approaching the 25,000 visitor.
Who will it be? A regular reader? A first time passerby?
Or, God Forbid, ME?

So here's the deal: Whomever is lucky enough to be the 25,000th actual visitor, PLEASE capture it and email it to me. If you include your physical address, there could be a

PRIZE INVOLVED!

I should mention that comments are still appreciated, so no drive by clicks, please.

Ready, set, GO!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Hollywood: Our best bet for fighting terror

Thanks to Live Aid 8, there will be more food, money, and supplies for Africans in need. While this is and has been a noble effort by our media elite, it's time to utilize them in the most important mission: saving our civilization.

It's no secret that Islamofascists hate all that we stand for, but at the root of their hatred for us is the freedom women enjoy, and for that matter, homosexuals as well. In their minds, women should be not only submissive, but treated in such a way that is beyond degrading, humiliating, and humane. As for homosexuals, the terrorists see them as target practice, plain and simple. What is so frightening is that these animals believe with all of their hearts that their acts of terrorism are justified, that they will go to Heaven and be greeted by countless virgins for their sacrifice.

This is where Hollywood comes into play. Terrorists cannot become martyrs if unclean, unless a cleric changes the rules for them. Terrorists abhor our women in power, in entertainment, and the acceptance of homosexuality in mainstream population. If each entertainer, Madonna, Lil Kim, Elton John, and the like, were to donate a vial of blood, we could use it to our advantage.

Imagine a detained radical Islamic terrorist sitting in an interrogation room. He refuses to divulge where the next sleeper cell is or who has a suicide bomb strapped to their body. He scoffs at our politically correct interrogation procedures, because in his world, beheading and torture are the norm. Awaiting him are 72 virgins, unlimited joy, and paradise for his sacrifice if he stays pure to his cause and faith.

Enter the officer with a vial of blood and a syringe.

"It's simple, Omar. You either tell us what we want to know or," Madonna's photo emerges from the officer's pocket, "you can enjoy Madonna's DNA pulsating throughout your entire body. Forever."

Talk about unclean! Can't you just picture the sweat beads forming on his brow, his heart rate doubling, and his soul frozen in fear? All that he has worked for would be extinguished with a simple injection of a Top Forty singer's body fluid.

I've read somewhere that dogs are also filthy creatures to this faction of hate. Maybe we should all donate our canine's fluids to this cause. Forget water torture, temperature changes, and sodium penthol. This tactic could produce results far greater than bamboo shoots and electrical currents to the genitials.

For any celebrity or singer willing to fight the war on terror, I will gladly purchase all of your movies/CDs as will every American grateful for your contribution. Think about it, will you?

10,080 precious minutes and counting

At this moment eight years ago, I was screaming at two nurses while in labor. Let me rephrase that, cussing at two nurses during what felt like a revival of "Alien". Before anyone calls me a nurse basher, they were discussing lunch menus while I was waiting for my pain meds, unable to eat or drink. I'd say they earned that cussing.

Eight years later, I find myself free of both children for a week, and surprisingly, in another situation where my anger rises at someone's incompetency. Here's the Tish Tip of the Week: When in Best Buy for an exchange, always seek the youngest person to do the exchange. No offense to anyone over 50, but these kids that have played with a computer mouse before taking their first step will always have the edge over the generation that remembers when Texas Instruments calculators were all the rage.

I find myself listening for the muffled footsteps upstairs, Drama Diva's laughter, and Casper's whining "Momma, tie my shoes." Funny, but I miss them already but I need this time. Twice a year I am blessed with a week off from mothering. You'd think that I'd relax, but my paranoia skyrockets when the kids are out of pocket. Thoughts of not getting to them fast enough, or them needing me...it chews at me. Ten deep breaths. One long prayer. A calendar with a star on July 31st. That's how I'll get through this week without using all of my cell phone minutes.

As for this child-free week, Hubby and I have no real plans other than unbridled sex, sleeping late, and adult conversations.

The question now is: What will I do for the other six days?

You want fortune cookie with that?

Never let it be said that I can't call myself a dumbass.
Today was Drama Diva's birthday party. That in and of itself should produce nods of sympathy from all parents of eight year old girls, but here's the icing on the cake.

We invited 25...35 showed up. Why is that? The sibling factor. I'm just as guilty as the next BPC (Birthday Party Circuit) Mom. Casper tags along with Drama Diva, and vice versa. Following an unwritten BPC code, I always offer to pay for my tagalong child to help defray the costs of what should be considered a tax deduction.
Apparently I am one of the few in our BPC that abides by this rule. Last year, I spent an additional 72 bucks just on siblings for Drama Diva's horse party. This year, I vowed to nip this in the bud, so on the invitation in bright red letters, I added the sentence:
Additional siblings 8.00
Three parents asked me what that meant. WHAT DO YOU THINK IT MEANS? Unless I missed something, I didn't win the lottery and don't have a money tree growing in my backyard. There really is no argument, either, when paying for each child at a party. Ten extra children X 8.00 should equal 80.00 but somehow I ended up with 48.00 at the end of the party. I would have pursued the rest of the money but seeing how Drama Diva's party coincided with the hottest day in recorded history of the world (or it felt like it) and I was running around the pool like a chicken with its head cut off (Sorry, PETA), I was exhausted. AND apparently eat up with dumbass.

Most normal people eat breakfast, then lunch, then enjoy wine before or during dinner, right? Not me. I had one donut at 9:00 am, a half-bite of cake at 1:30 pm, and a full tumbler of wine at 5:00 pm before going to the Chinese buffet with the family.

Know how you feel right before the rollercoaster launches downward towards the loop-de-loop? Well, that was me at Panda's Buffet. I think there is a conspiracy with these restaurants. They keep the dining rooms ice cold but the restrooms are like Hell's kitchen. Five long minutes in there and I was sweaty, nauseous, and on the verge of passing out.

Asian waitress sees me exiting the restroom, my face the color of spaghetti, and asks me,
"YOU WANT FORTUNE COOKIE NOW?"
The entire family is eating while I lean against the wall and cover my mouth. Mind you, I probably know half of the patrons but at that moment, I wouldn't have cared if President Bush walked in and asked for a sit down with me.
"Honey, get my purse and take me home." I managed to holler before lurching towards the door.
"Do you want sit down?" Another Asian waitress offers while holding a large vat of hot and sour soup.
"OH GOD!" I run for the door, hubby on my heels.
Bottom line, I probably suffered from slight heat exhaustion, poor food choices, and an oblivious Asian waitress. Thank GOD for phenegran and crackers, that's all I can say.

My advice to you is never eat Chinese after swimming. Or drinking wine on an empty stomach. Or after being in 200 degree sun for three hours.

Geez, I'm hungry now.

Don't forget the side pockets

As I stood in the supposed 'ten items or less' line at Albertson's, I couldn't help but overhear a conversation between a yuppie couple.
"I'm not happy with this. Searching my purse? I don't even look like a terrorist." Manicured nails tapped her purchase.
"You could probably build a bomb with all the crap you have in there." His teeth gleamed blue-white, probably from overbleaching.
"Shut up! Don't you see what is happening? The government is slowly but surely diluting our civil liberties down to nothing, Dan. It's George Orwell coming true."
At this point, I pursed my lips. 'Don't say anything, Tish,' my conscience screamed, which was silenced by my internal stubborn fairy dressed in army fatigues.
"Personally, I don't mind them searching my purse. I have nothing to hide." I smiled at the flawless faced couple. "I bet there are people in London wishing they'd have searched everyone three weeks ago."
"Yes, but we don't live in a monarchy. Last time I looked, we were a democratic nation with certain inalieable rights." Her stony stare and clenched grip on her gourmet pesto sauce told me I was wasting my time.
"Tell that to the New Yorkers." Flo, the cashier, added.
Ken and Barbie exited without further comment, which was probably a good thing. Flo didn't look like someone who took a lot of guff from anyone.

Civil rights - something that Martin Luther King, Jr. fought for, something that our founding fathers guaranteed for all Americans. The key word being American. What is so hard about seeking out those intent on harming us before they succeed.
No one I know wants to be a martyr for the sake of protecting a terrorist's rights.
No one I know wants to ensure their ability to live amongst us all the while planning our destruction.
No one I know would protect an Islamic radical's right to free speech, especially when his/her speech has one purpose: Kill us. If it's against the law to holler fire in a crowded theatre, why is it less illegal to spew hatred against innocent Americans?

And make no mistake about it, there are actual innocent Americans: children playing in a park, an elderly couple holding hands, a new mother cradling her firstborn with the new father crying at the sight of family. THESE are innocent Americans. And these are who and what our soldiers protect everyday in Iraq, Afghanistan, and anywhere radical Islamic monsters dwell.

So when I am approached by a police officer for the express purpose to search my purse for any reason, I will comply without hesitation. Other than four old peppermints, sixty five receipts that mean nothing, and four notes from Drama Diva and Casper, I have nothing to hide. It's time to realize that freedom comes with a price, and that price is sometimes an unplanned purse cleaning.

White Trash University and a MIL update

At first glance, these people appear harmless. So what if five children are shirtless in the kitchen? It is the summer.
And so what if their one eyed bassett hound lolligags on the only relatively clean recliner? Some people treat their dogs like people, that's all.

I have to draw conclusions, however, when I am confronted with the following situations:

• Three broken sets of dentures floating in a mason jar on the kitchen table.
• Wads of toilet paper decorating the floor while the waste basket remains empty.
• Said bassett hound dry humps a physical therapist's leg to the delight of all five children AND patient's spouse.
• A dismantled CB radio sits near the rabbit ear antenna for the 1981 52 inch projection TV.
• Wedding pictures adorning the wall have the same background AND baby blue tuxedo for each groom. Each bride's vacant stare at the camera distracts you from the same keg of beer to the right of the matron of honor.
• On the walnut-veneer mantle, a can of Billy Beer is showcased next to three photos of dead deer being gutted by one of the shirtless children, beginning at ages 2 and up.

Now I realize there isn't a White Trash certification, but if there were, this ONE home would qualify for the highest degree - A PhD in reneck.

The shirtless children surrounded me as I tested Momma's leg strength and for a moment, I thought I heard the song from Deliverance coming from one of the three bedrooms. The youngest child, a barrel chested four year old, took a shine to my goniometer (a plastic device used to measure a patient's range of motion). When I say a shine, of course I mean taste it for five minutes. Uh, you can keep that son, I won't need that back.
Momma, mother of ten children and grandmother to about twenty or so ("I don't count 'em no more") swatted at the shirtless children with an decorated flyswatter. She confided in me that her youngest son, Dwendil or something like that (without teeth, it was hard to decipher), was looking for a good woman. She eyed my wedding ring and licked her gums for a moment.

"You know, a woman like you could do right with my Dwendil. He's got a full head of hair AND is real manly." The photo of Dwendil doesn't do him justice. Think Harry and the Hendersons and Alfred E. Neuman and you might capture the essence of Dwendil. I am confident when he is released from Rehab, I will have more stories of him and why he has eleven fingers.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thanks to all of you for your support and encouragement with my MIL's hospitalization. She has spoken to the nursing coordinator as well as filed a grievance regarding the nurse. We still have no answers as to why her potassium is low after a week of IV potassium, or where she is bleeding internally but for the moment, it is under control. My MIL is one tough cookie, that lady. She thanks all of you for your thoughts and prayers. And so do I. The blog world is not an empty space filled with words and jokes, but a circle of friends, laughter, tears, and love. Thanks to all of you.

Coulda, Woulda, Shoulda

In planning for today's post, many ideas floated in and out of my mind during the daily drive.

I could write about the flea infested home where I spent thirty scratchy minutes surrounded by of all things, CHIHUAHUAS. We all know by now how I feel about that breed of dog: great jerky if you can find it.

I would write my latest political essay on Ameri-qu'ran, but I need more time to outline my thoughts. It will involve burkas, a retooled Constitution, and boys only public education.

In light of my mother-in-law's hospitalization, I should write about the most recent crisis. It seems that despite all the medical advances in the 21st century, a certain floor in a certain Little Rock hospital cannot identify not only the cause of her problem, but also treat her with a modicum of respect. A night nurse, who I will hereto refer to as TEP SUB (Total Elite Premo Super Ultra Bitch), accused my mother in law of hiding drugs in her room. Not only did she accuse her, but she searched her room, her overnight bag, and her purse. When I say searched, I mean she made her empty her purse, copied down everything including credit card numbers, and after all of that, had the nerve to call her a LIAR to her face. Uh, I thought she was in the hospital, not an intervention! If that wasn't enough, TEP SUB commented to my MIL (with a central line in her neck and oxygen in her nose) that some people just like to be sick...maybe she just wants attention.

ATTENTION? How many people do you know want an endoscope, proctoscope, multiple IVs and blood draws around the clock? Unless I'm missing something and my MIL is a complete nutjob, she's not in this for the attention. I'm sure she faked her way into TWO HEART VALVE REPLACEMENTS, TOO, YOU IGNORANT TEP SUB!

One of the reasons I fell in love with my husband was his mother. She was vibrant, outgoing, and full of life. Ten years later, she has grown weaker physically but her spirit is still intact. Intact enough to tell TEP SUB to 'get your ass out of my room and don't ever come back'. Good thing I wasn't there or it wouldn't have been the Hulk appearance, but more like this:

Do they make pleather for flat butts? The glasses, cool as they are, might get in the way of the death Tish glare. Spinkicking and wallwalking would come in handy but hospital rooms don't have the room required for such a dramatic statement. I will settle for pointing my crooked finger (damaged by a snapping turtle as a child, long story) and a widened stance.

TEP SUB, get ready.

Gritting my teeth, needing a Valiumed Dr. Pepper

Asking questions in normal situations is rarely difficult. Directions, movie reviews, even dinner choices BUT try asking common sense questions to any health care professional in a hospital setting, and you might as well be asking when Paris Hilton will gain weight.

As a health care professional myself, I try to explain not just what we are doing, but why as well. Granted, there are new HIPPA laws protecting personal and private information, but answering one simple question isn't going to break confidentiality.

WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO TREAT THE PROBLEM?

Our trip to Little Rock was, how do I say it?- less than forthcoming about my MIL's status. While I have the utmost respect for most nurses and physicians, there are some in the health care field that must have missed their daily dosage of compassion.
Last time I looked in the mirror, my forehead wasn't sloped nor have I suffered a head injury rendering me ignorant. My clothes matched, I had no foul odor eminating from my person, and believe it or not, I had a decent hair day.
So when I ask a simple question, body language appropriate for a TEN YEAR OLD incites me. Using one syllable words as if I couldn't understand anything over six letters infuriates me. If this wasn't enough, sighing at my follow-up question was pouring gas on a lit fire.
As luck would have it, my children accompanied us on this trip, and because of their presence, evil Tish growled under the surface. Think "Hulk" in the mirror, lurking behind a civil demeanor. I merely gritted my teeth, repeated my first question, follow-up question, and stood in the way. Nurses have the hardest job, I know that. There is no person in the hospital that knows a patient better than the LVN and RN for that floor. The physician sees the patient less than four minutes so the nurse is the best resource for specific information and answers.
In the end, I was told that more tests are needed to identify her problem. Easy answer, I know, but probably the truest thing she could say. There are few things harder than witnessing your children cry at bedside of their beloved grandmother. I try to be so strong for them and for my husband, but it comes out as aggressive bitchery. It's easier to be a bitch when things are tense than it is to lose control.
And control is what we all seek, right?
Thanks for the prayers and thoughts. I hope and pray that this time next week I'll be able to inform you of her recovery. Please continue to visit An American Housewife as she needs all the prayers she can get.

Two favors and another Virgin Stripper story

Tomorrow, we are to Little Rock to visit my ailing mother-in-law. Not to sound the alarm, but I am very worried about her so my first favor is prayers/good thoughts for her. Long story short, internal bleeding plus two artificial heart valves, and respiratory issues. Yep, I'm worried.

My second favor is also in the good thought arena. One of my newer and favorite blog finds, An American Housewife,lost her husband unexpectedly last week. Again, thoughts and prayers would be appreciated along with any comments you can send her way.

Alas, this will be the final installment of the Virgin Stripper escapades. The last visit was, dare I say, more than most people could stand even on a heavy narcotic. Of course, the possessed Pekinese greeted me at the door, freshly shaven. This accentuated the cataracts and frightened me once again.
Fifty cigarettes filled her trucker ashtray. The big screen TV was blocked by the bedside commode, an unusual adornment not found in many homes, but what do I know? Maybe this is a new fad on HGTV.
After a long one-sided conversation about pain, pain pills, acquiring more pain pills, and the possibility of "The LOCKJAW" being the impetus of all of her bad luck, the Virgin Stripper asked me a question not heard since college.
"Will you look at the crack of my butt?"
Apparently she didn't hear my repeated refusals over the demonic dog's constant yapping. The black satin spandex hot pants were yanked down, revealing skin not seen outside of the home in at least four years. Just when I thought I was safe, hubby walks in and decides to comment about how/where/when he rubs that area. What felt like an hour lasted only ten minutes of partial nudity.
WHY can't I keep my mouth shut? I wonder this myself, but if I did, I wouldn't have such great stories to tell like this. While listening to another incredible story of anguish mixed with mobile homes, I mentioned to the Virgin Stripper she should write a book. She stopped for a moment, finished her cigarette, and then replied:

"I could call that Moore fella. You know, the one with the beard that did all those documenderies."
"Are you talking about Michael Moore?" Of course I was joking.
"That's him. I'll just give him a call and tell him my story. You know, if you put things down on paper, people just steal your ideas and then whatcha got? Squat, that's what."
When she mentioned Oprah, I took my leave. As I waved goodbye, I almost teared up. What will I do for blog material now?

Have a great Sunday.

Fantastic Flop

In a word, blah. Just when you think they've scraped the backside of the barrel's bottom, we are given Fantastic Four. I'm not knocking the original comic or the idea of superheroes in general but there are two hours of my life that cannot be refunded or exchanged for a much needed nap.

What Hollywood needs to film are real superheroes. Not muscle bound men or tight butted women, but the everyday unsung heroes found in fire stations, police cars, classrooms, hospitals, and nursing homes. The kind of heroes that dry tears of a broken heart or clap at the mere accomplishments of reading a word or walking across the room for the first time. Spin kicks and automatic weapons make for great drama, but cannot hold a candle to the extra time a teacher takes with a struggling student.

Don't get me wrong, I love a great movie. I love the moment the lights dim and the screen fills with colors and lives unknown to me. Every preview is savored along with the overpriced popcorn and imitation Dr. Pepper (Mr.Pibb). Tonight's previews ended up better than the movie. Who wants to pay for that? Apparently me.

Humph! I showed you...kinda sorta.

I might look like other mindless consumers but don't assume your sales ad brought me in your store. It wasn't your teenie bopper television spots, either. I'd say next to the Burger King commercial with that enormous headed King, your ads sit in the top three for Most Annoying on any given day.

If you must know, I was lulled into a look-see excursion by the proximity and endorphin release of a great meal. There must be a correlation between restaurants and Old Navy stores, the thought that a full stomach will relax the pocketbook.

As we strolled through the brightly lit store, multiple neon sales signs did nothing more than give me a dull headache. Thirty percent? PUH-LEASE. I yawn at thirty percent off.
Fifty percent off? I see you play hardball, Old Navy. You will, of course, notice my poker face countenance as I examine each article of clothing. Not that I don't trust you, but I have watched Seinfeld and am aware of the 'red dot' discounts.

Your token older mom associate and your 'too cool for school boy' associate managed to compliment Drama Diva at every turn. To your credit, this tactic should be taught to every sales person across the globe but is highly deceptive and could cause your demise if performed on the wrong parent.

So now that you know that I know what you are doing, and I know that you know that I know, we can cut the crap and get down to brass tacks.

And just so you know, I meant to spend 145.00.

Shot through the Heart Thighs

When I was young, I feared nurses. For some reason, my pediatrician always hired Nurse Ratchett clones. You know the kind: the sick little smile that appears when a shot is ordered, her firm grip onto a needle made for horse injections, and then at the last moment, her gleeful sigh as she literally punches said needle through your skin within a millimeter of your femoral shaft.
Casper has heard from Drama Diva the peril of shots. To hear her tell it, she suffered more than normal children. Her needle, longer than her first grade ruler, almost punctured her stomach (even though it was injected on the thigh). She then regaled how the nurse, an evil woman with 'yuck teeth' (brown and dagger like) twisted the needle until actual bone flopped out onto the table. And just when she thought it was over, the evil monster nurse almost pinched her leg off while applying the bandaid.

Creativity has its place, and I'm all for encouraging my childrens' special abilities until it creates panic and fear. Casper literally trembled at the thought of his five year old shots, until I dispelled Drama Diva's lore with my own innocent, relatively pain free experience. Of course this was a lie, but my children are slated for years of psychotherapy with me as their mother, so what's one more session topic?

They don't do this anymore, fill the syringe in front of the patient. I guess Dr. Spock or whomever exercised their infinite wisdom with the medical community. Now they walk in holding a tray, a tray showcasing not one, not two, but three separate injections just waiting to pierce the skin of my innocent child. What happens next is just short of Gitmo torture: Parents are told to hold their child's hands as they lie down on the exam table. The nurse swabs the thigh with alcohol, and the trusting eyes of your child stare at you, then fill with painful terror as she performs said brutality in a rapid succession.

There are moments in a mother's life when you wish you could change places with your child: the first fight, the first heartache, and yes, immunization shots. My tears dripped onto his shirt as we waited for the end to arrive. When it did, he was rewarded with a sticker and a sucker. For me, the bill and a pat on the shoulder by Nurse Ratchett. Just when I thought I got the short end of the stick, Casper turned to her and said, "Can my momma have a sucker? She was brave, too."
A heart filled with pride and a face dripping with tears, that's a good Tuesday.

The Human Pinball Game

Today's contestant pinball is Tish, a thirty something wife and mother of two with a penchant for foot in mouth disease and bad luck. Her challenge, to obtain all items on her list while shopping WITHOUT being distracted or disturbed.




The playing field, ripe with obstacles and forces beyond her control. What will happen to our heroine? Let's watch.



Tish rounds the toothpaste corner pushing her children in the standard blue double dutch shopping cart and runs smack dab into panty-less patient, ironically, in the douche area. Ten minutes of listening to how bad the patient's back hurt, how their dog had a spastic bladder, and answering questions about feminine hygiene products, Tish bounces her cart and giggling children to the laundry soap aisle, where she is confronted by yet another ex-patient, Mr. Potty Mouth. Not potty in the sense of cursing, but potty in the sense of breath from HELL. Mr. Potty Mouth engages Tish with a conversation laden with words starting with "B", "P", and the ever popular "THR" - always a sure fire winner for spittle production.
Three aisles later, Tish and her children think they are safe. Only five more items on the list and they are homefree....or are they? Hiding behind the Roma Tomato display, she had no warning of the impending doom sending her into EXTENDED PLAY MODE.

VIRGIN STRIPPER taps Tish on the shoulder, cigarette ash falling in Tish's hair.
"OOH! I told Earl John it'twere you! EARL, lookie who's come a-shopping at WallyWorld today!" Her eyes dance at the sight of the children. "You must be Trish's precious little ones?"
Knowing her son's blunt condemnation of smokers, Tish gives him the evil eye while trying to bounce away from this obstacle. Drama Diva, fascinated with the 65 year old's sequined cat shirt and matching hot pants, asks where she acquired such an outfit.
"Oh, baby sugar pie,My Earl got this for me at some truckstop in Phoenix, right honey?" She points her cigarette at Earl, barely missing Tish's eye in the process. Finding an opening, Tish bids goodbye and quickly finds the shortest line from which to exit...or is it?
Lena, the checker, provides the final obstacle as she details her current love life, past love life, and three near arrests to Tish and the children. Casper listens with rapt attention while Drama Diva's wheels begin turning when Lena mentions her strip search.
The game concludes with Tish loading her children and purchases into the SUV without tonight's dinner or three important personal items still left inside.
DING DING DING! We have TILT!