Pour Some Rare Cooked Steak on Me

My wonderful friend, whom we shall call Elaine (not her name), and I had a wonderful conversation the other evening. After weeks of a sick stomach, I discovered something important.

Sugar makes me sick.

Cake

Icecream

Donuts

Little Debbies (-whine-)

Yummy, ooey-gooey pastries

Sick. Sick. Sick.

Elaine: So what does taste good?

Me: Meat. Rare, bloody meat. I had a steak from Texas Roadhouse, rare, and devoured it in the tattoo parlor while the Husband got his tattoo worked on. I ate a steak with plastic utensils and I hadn’t felt so good afterwards in a long time.

Elaine: Dear God.

Me: What?

Elaine: You’re giving birth to Norman.

Yes, I know this guy’s name is not Norman. But he’s how I imagine Norman looks, okay. Just enjoy the eye candy. Enjoy it.

Now if you don’t know who Norman is to me, you’re missing out. You really are. Check out my other blog, this post specifically, for a sneak peek inside my head where Norman, my muse, happily resides.

http://lauraashleylord.wordpress.com/2013/10/01/cavemen-and-feather-boas/

Goodnight Baby

So, yesterday was a trip to the doctor and then the decision that it was okay to open our mouths. And we did:

No, Jason Momoa did not get me pregnant…but my husband, Momoa’s look-a-like, did.

Early morning, and I’m going to my friend’s house to drop some toy off my son pick-pocketed last time we were there, and her little four year old daughter greets me at the door with a gigantic hug. She really is the cutest little thing. So, while her mom is running around getting ready, I whisper to this tiny little person, “I’ve got a secret…I’m going to have a baby.”

-Sudden gasp and bright smile.- “You gonna have a baby? Oh yay!”

She got so excited, she immediately had me sit down so she could touch on my belly.

I think, Good. She grasps the concept. My kids are older. They should be even more excited.

Me:   Guys, Mama is going to have a baby.

Monsters:   -Blanks stares.-

Me:   Do you understand? In the Spring, you guys will have a new baby sister or brother.

Girl Monster:   Well, I think it will be a boy or a girl.

Boy Monster:   -Starts wrestling with the Husband.-

Me:   Hello?! Baby?!

Girl Monster:   Can I have a snack?

Boy Monster:   Yeah! Snack!

Here are the children who thought I was going to come home from my honeymoon with a baby in my arms, simply because we told them we weren’t having any babies until after we were married. No excitement. Nothing. They did throw on super happy faces for the potato chips I let them have.

I go to tuck them in bed, later that evening, and my son kisses me. He then grabs my shirt, pulls it up, and says,

“Goodnight, baby.”

We’re going to be just fine.

Life Changes and Concentrated Evil

A friend of mine called me to tell me her daughter (only a year and a half older than my daughter) had started her period.

-Cue intense panic attacks with hyperventilating, mini-seizures, and curse words.-

They’re too young for this.

How do you explain changes in life to a child who is eight years old?

So, I asked the husband. How would you tell our daughter about her period?

The husband is now banned from any kind of talks with the children.

I have spoken.

Dementia Dialogue

Things my Uncle has said to me this week:

Someone stole my dogs.  No one stole his dogs.

I called the police.  No, he didn’t.

I was talking to those guys. -Points to the daughter’s poster of One Direction-   And he was. Intense conversation about what instruments they played.

I think Dude disappeared.   He did. He was at school…

My wife gave me this. Here, you can have it.   It was one of her necklaces, but she passed years ago. It was a very nice necklace though.

And the best conversation:

Uncle:   -From his bedroom.- Stick it in your ass!

Me:  -Running back there.- Who are you talking to?

Uncle:  -Pointing angrily to a picture.- Mrs. _________! She wont’ answer me.

(Understand…he was speaking to a photograph. One of probably the nicest old ladies in the world that goes to his church.)

Me:  -Hands on hips and pointing a finger at him.-  You cannot speak to Mrs. __________ like that! Maybe she’s just tired and doesn’t want to talk.

Uncle:  I didn’t think about that.

Me:   Apologize to her. Now.

Uncle:   I’m sorry, Mrs. ___________. I didn’t mean to get upset. You go ahead and rest. -He closed the album.-

Me:   Okay. Let’s just let her rest and maybe she’ll have more to say later.

Age-Play

When leaving the grocery store I was stopped by one of the teenage boys who works there, you know, vacuuming the floors and gathering the carts up from outside.

Boy: You are really pretty. What school do you go to? I never see you at  ____________ High.

So I did what any woman would do:

Me: -Barely controlled laughter- Thank you…I’m homeschooled.

I was NOT telling him I’m getting ready to go to my ten year reunion…

From the same high school he mentioned.

Not doing it.

Nope.

NOT happening.

Unfinished Business and Other Ghoulish Problems

If I died today, and the whole ghosts-have-unfinished-business-which-is-why-they-stick-around thing is true, I’d spend longer here on earth as a ghost than I have thus far as a living, breathing person.

Just saying.

Let’s do an inventory, shall we?

Twenty-one…21…unfinished manuscripts. TWENTY-ONE!

Two boxes, five stacks, and one purse full of paperwork that needs to be sorted into the filing cabinet.

Four wall-length shelves, two under-the-bed bins, and six totes in the attic full of books I have not yet read and want to.

Five years worth of photo albums to work on for my son.

Another five years for my daughter (I did at least start on her’s).

My wedding album, as of yet, still incomplete.

My brother’s Star Wars painting.

Seven other unfinished canvases.

48 recipes on my onetsp.com recipe holder that I have not yet tried and want to.

Oh, and I’m still not pregnant.

 

Can ghosts get pregnant? -Shrugs- Either way, I’m going to be one seriously busy ghost. I mean, I’ve got stuff to do. Things to finish…someday. I’ve always been a starter. It’s the finishing part that screws me up every time.

Needless to say, I can’t become a ghost yet. I’d have absolutely no time to haunt anyone, and really, what is the fun of being a ghost with no time for the fun stuff, like scaring the crap out of people that annoyed you when you were living?

WHAT ABOUT YOU? If you checked out today and got to be a ghosty, what would your unfinished business be?

 

*I’m not normally this morbid. I swear. Well, sometimes.