Halloween.

I'm thinking I might dress Charlie up as something uber cute for Halloween. I've never looked forward to Halloween, and have never been to a Halloween party or even dressed up for Halloween-- at least not as an adult. Even when I was a kid my Halloween costumes were really lame. When I was really little, we always went to the "fall festival" at church, and everyone had to dress up as a Bible character. That sucked. Everyone came wrapped in sheets and crap, and you couldn't tell who was supposed to be who-- except for the obvious ones, like Noah, who had some animals with him, or Mary, who carried a baby doll. When I got older, I didn't have to go to the lame ass fall festival anymore, but my mom wouldn't buy me a real costume (and I didn't really want one) so I had to improvise, usually at the last minute. One time I wore a karate gi, and went as Karate Kid. That was embarrassing. I think that was the last year I bothered.

But now I have a child, through whom I can live vicariously. And I can use him to get candy.

So what do y'all think? A little pumpkin? Nah, that's too easy. They have some good costumes for sale at Gymboree, but there are only 3 or 4 choices: a glow worm looking thing, a lion, a train conductor, and something else I can't remember. So I think there will be lots of glow worms and lions and train conductors. I'll be brainstorming, but I'm not very creative, so I need suggestions.

I have no idea where I will take him TO if I do dress him up. His first birthday is the next day, so I'll probably be more concerned with that than Halloween anyway. Maybe I'll just dress him up, take some pics of him, and call it a night.

Gah.

Yes, it's two consecutive Random Thought Whenevers. I can't be bothered to write paragraphs, or even related thoughts right now. I am in pain. Neck pain. Too bad I didn't get it from slipping and falling on a wet floor at the Wal Marks.

Greg Gumbel is hard to look at.

Tiger Woods looked especially black today when I saw him on tv. I'm gonna monitor the situation. It could be the first known case of Reverse Michael Jackson Syndrome.

These freaky dreams are starting to freak me out.

My neck really does hurt all the time now; I'm thinking about trying to get a massage this week.

Brett Favre is such a little bitch.

I'm sick of liberals.

Charlie and Tim had pictures made this morning, and they looked so stinkin' cute in their white shirts and jeans.

Baby clothes are expensive.

Did I mention I'm sick of liberals?

Random Thought Whenever

Charlie is crying. He's cutting a tooth. He's been cutting this same damn tooth for two weeks, and it's finally breaking through today. I don't know how much more whining and crying I can take.

I won the court case the other day. The guy didn't even show up, and the judgment went against him. He has 30 days to appeal, after which point I can have a lien placed against his shop, assuming it's in his name. I plan to do whatever I can to force the bastard to pay me. I'm tired of being ripped off by con men.

Speaking of con men, a little kid from the neighborhood came to my door a few nights ago to sell me something for the school. The form he had said the cost of the item (a coupon card for local restaurants) was $20, but he said it was a misprint and that I had to pay $40. Thinking it was fishy, I told him I had no cash and that he should come back tomorrow, and then I got in touch with every teacher friend I know, as well as a few parents who have children in the same school. The cards were only $20. So the next day when he came back, I asked him why his cards cost $40 when everyone else's are only $20. He said he got confused. I made him squirm a bit, gave him my best mean teacher look, then asked if he wanted to sell me one for the right price. He said yes, and I bought a card for $20. I'm trying to decide whether I should go knock on the door tonight and tell his mother what he was doing. Maybe I'll write a letter and stick it in their mailbox. I've never met them before, but I'd hate to think the kid might be ripping off some of the older people in this neighborhood who really can't afford the $20, much less the $40, but are too sweet to say no. I'd also hate to think that I had the chance to stop a budding con man, but didn't.

We're moving. At least we want to move, and are doing everything we can to get our house ready to sell. I'm working double time on the bathroom wall, and it's getting closer. After that, we've got to stain a door in the other bathroom, have some (potentially expensive) work done on the wood insets surrounding the front door, and remove the 1990's style wallpaper/border from the rest of the house and paint those walls. That's just what comes to mind right away; there's probably a lot more. I know the screen door to the patio has to be replaced, the clothes lines are rotted and need to be replaced, there's a pile of debris that's been in the back yard since before Tim bought the house that we've got to deal with, and there are some holes to China in the back yard that we need to fill in. In other words, we might be able to put the house up for sale before Charlie graduates from high school.

We want to go to the Jackson area; maybe to Brandon, or near there. Jackson would be perfect, in my opinion, as long as we're not IN Jackson. It'd be closer to my parents, who are only about 2 1/2 or 3 hours from there, and even though it would be about the same distance to Tim's family, they'd be more likely to come see us there. It's just a more central location. It's also almost completely out of reach from any major hurricanes, should another one decide to destroy the Mississippi Gulf Coast again. Oxford is another less likely possibility. Tim went to Ole Miss and has romantic ideas about Oxford. I don't think I'd like it much. It's a nice town, but there are no other sizable towns around it for at least 50 miles. Just cross your fingers for us that we don't run into any super expensive repairs for this house, and that once it goes on the market it doesn't set there for a year.

Charlie goes back to preschool Tuesday. I'm ready.

Sue zee queue

I have court tomorrow. No, I'm not a defendant. I'm suing someone, remember? I never thought I would actually sue someone, but this ass-hat has it coming. Remember the motorcycle paint job debacle? The debacle in which a shop quoted us $600 to paint my bike, then upped the price to $800 when we went to pick it up, told us to bring it back after a few weeks so it could be buffed, and sanded straight to the metal while buffing it out? Yeah, that debacle. The debacle that took my tank from THIS--



to THIS--




The guy called me when he got his court summons, which was about 4 weeks ago, and said he didn't want to go to court. He offered to give me $600 of my money back if I'd drop the suit. I agreed. Guess what never came in the mail?

I hope the judge rips him a new one. I'll be surprised if I don't win. I've got pics, a time line of when he did what work (and damage), a receipt signed by the defendant, and the defendant's fast talking bullshit routine isn't likely to work on someone who sizes up bullshitters all day.

I just hope we don't have to sit there all day while waiting for our case to be called.

Bumper Car Charlie

My kid is a fire ball. From the time he opens his eyes 'til the merciful moment he finally loses his grip on wakefulness again, he is balls to the wall gettin' some shit done! When we were on vacation, we used the walker a lot, and he figured out how to move around in it. He used to only be able to move backwards. Now he zips around like a kid in the bumper cars ride at the fair. If only I could find one of those little flags to mount on the back of his walker.

There's a little "hunny pot" on his Winnie the Pooh walker that plays music when you push the lid down. Farmer in the Dell, Three Blind Mice, Oh Suzanna, etc. He has to have music going constantly, so as soon as one song stops he bangs the hunny pot until another starts, then resumes bashing into things. The kitchen, dining room, and the room with no apparent purpose are all in a big L shape, and now that the pool table is gone there's really nothing in the way except the dining room table. So he clatters from the bay window, past the table, to the oven where he looks at his reflection in the glass, then turns around and rattles back to the bay window again to the tune of Old McDonald Had a Farm. Back and forth, back and forth. The only time he stops is when he decides to go around the back of the dining room table and gets hung up in a chair until I go free him, and sometimes he stops to pull things out of the garbage can, and I have to go stop him from eating egg shells covered in coffee grinds.

He can stand up now, too, as well as climb the two little steps in the living room. The sunken living room used to be a safe place to leave him while I went to the bathroom or whatever, but a few days ago Tim and I were both getting ready to go somewhere, and we came out of the bathroom to find Charlie in the entry way chewing on a cat toy and pulling books off the shelf.


That day we bought a baby gate. A huge one.



Pookie was banished to the outdoors for a few weeks after he pissed on the couch in the room with no purpose. He spent the entire time begging to be let back inside. I set up a litter box for him and let him back in. As soon as he realized how mobile Charlie had become, he started begging to be let out again. Charlie loves pulling Pookie's tail almost as much as he likes bashing into my ankles with his walker. Like the cat, sometimes I just want to find a high place to hide.

Upcoming stuff

Charlie goes back to preschool on September 1. I'm looking forward to it. I don't have any big plans. I just need a haircut. Badly.

In other news, I got a gig writing for a local health magazine. It should be interesting, considering that it's been a while since I wrote anything other than this blog. It's easy to slack off and stop thinking about the writing process when you're really just spitting out your thoughts onto a screen. This job will require me to sharpen up a lot. Hope I'm up to it.

Let's go walking, fat ass!

You know you are in bad physical shape when you injure yourself in the bed, and there is no freaky sex involved. I was getting into bed the other night when I felt a wad of something under my butt-- one of Tim's many pillows, perhaps. I raised my butt up to move it, and a pain shot through my right shoulder and up my neck, and I was suddenly in the worst pain in recent memory. Tim massaged my shoulder for a few minutes, and it felt better, but when I woke up the next morning I couldn't move. That's not an exaggeration, people. I couldn't move. The first second I was awake, I knew something was terribly wrong. I actually woke up gasping in pain. I couldn't move my head at all, and moving my right arm was nearly impossible. Any movement shot pain up through my right shoulder and neck. My head was tilted to the left and I didn't even consider trying to straighten it.

Tim got up and tended to Charlie, and I spent the next 20-30 minutes crying and inching my way out of the bed. I went to the employee health clinic at Tim's work-- the drive there with my head permanently stuck in one position was a lot of fun-- and even though I was convinced I had torn something in half, they said I just had a bad muscle spasm aka "crick in the neck." I got some muscle relaxers, anti inflammatories, and steroids, and spent the rest of the day taking Flexeril and sleeping. I literally slept the entire day. That stuff will knock you on your butt. I was dreading the following day because Tim would be gone back to work and I knew that picking up Charlie was going to KILL, but when I woke up yesterday morning, I could barely tell that my neck had been hurt at all. It felt 99% better. I attribute that to the steroids, I guess. Anyway, this morning I woke up in pain again, but nothing compared to what I felt Monday.

I've got to get in better shape. I can't believe I just spent two days in hell because I lifted my ass three inches off the bed.

DeadpanAnn: 0, Nature:1

There's a pelican that sits on top of a piling near where we fish, and when you catch a fish he comes right up to you in hopes that you'll throw it to him. He's pretty brave and a few times I thought he was going to snatch the fish before I could even get it off the hook. The pic below doesn't do his bravery justice. He's brave, but not dumb, and when there are several people standing around, he keeps his distance. So since Dad was standing nearby trying to get the picture, the bird kept a few feet of distance from me and made me throw the fish to him.



A few minutes after that photo was taken, Dad was back on the other end of the dock fishing, and the pelican was sitting literally about two feet from me at the edge of the dock. My hook was in the water. Tim came back from a bait run, and walked up behind me and the pelican, who got nervous and decided to fly off-- over the water, and directly into my fishing line. The line caught him right on the wing, and he got hooked. Well, of course he fell into the water and started flipping out, flailing around. I finally pulled him back to the dock and was able to reach a wing and pull him up onto the surface. He was snapping at me with his big ol' pelican bill. Dad was able to hold its neck while Tim held the hooked wing, and I dug the hook out. When we let him go, he hauled ass to a pier about 50 yards away, where he sat on top of a piling and pruned at his wing.

I took my next fish down to him, and even though he wouldn't come up close to me, he did land on the dock and take it when I threw it down. Two minutes later, he was sitting next to me on our dock again.

I didn't even feel it at the time, but he managed to pinch me on the leg when he was caught up.



His bill came pretty close to my face a couple of times. Close enough that he got my hair. Oh, and I almost forgot-- during the scuffle, he actually puked up the fish I had just fed him!

Leave it to us to nearly kill an endangered species with a piece of string and an inch-long hook.

DeadpanAnn catches crabs.

I caught crabs on the beach tonight. My dad caught one behind our house.

I also caught Moby Dick. Again.

Houdini Croaker Cinnamon Buns

We arrived on Dauphin Island around 3:30 yesterday afternoon, and spent the rest of the day getting settled in and resting. This morning, Tim drove back across the bridge to get some groceries and fishing tackle. We are on the north side of the island, so the water right outside of our back door is the Mississippi Sound. We have to walk to the south side to get to the real Gulf, and good beaches. The house we're in isn't the nicest place I've ever stayed, but it'll do. It is an older A-frame house with two levels and a spiral staircase that is more like a ladder than a staircase at all. My legs are already burning from climbing up and down them with 25 lbs of wiggling Charlie in my arms. The metal roof made it sound like the end of the world last night when it stormed. Tim woke me up to ask if I was scared. You know, in case I needed to be comforted.

Finding a suitable sleeping arrangement for Charlie was a challenge. I bought one of those bed rails that attaches to the side of a bed, thinking maybe I could push one of the twin beds in the kids' room up against the wall and use the rail. That was a stupid idea. Monk immediately made a mad dash for the end of the bed, where I had pushed a small dresser to block him from falling off, and climbed onto the top of the dresser. Or at least that's what he would've done if I hadn't grabbed him. Anyway, I brought his play yard, which is a hexagonal plastic gate that can be bent into different shapes. I put the 2 twin mattresses on the floor and set the play yard on top of them. Stuck him in there with his blankey and his glo-worm, and he went right to sleep....unnnntil he woke up and escaped...I had put him down for a nap. He was protesting pretty loudly for a while, then it got quiet. A minute later I heard thumping noises on the floor above. At first it didn't occur to me that I shouldn't be able to hear him kicking the floor if he was on the mattresses. I guess it was Momma instinct, but something just didn't feel right. Maybe it was the combination of him stopping crying and starting making bumping noises. Who knows. Anyway I went upstairs and quietly peeked my head through the bedroom door. I couldn't see him, so I pushed the door open further. The play yard was empty. No Charlie. My heart jumped up into my throat, and I pushed into the room, calling his name in a semi-panic. He had to be in the room, but I was scared he might've found some roach poison under a dresser, or sank his teeth into a power cord or something. The little booger was behind the door, playing in the floor. He had pushed the corner of the play yard over the edge of the mattress so there was a gap between the bottom of the gate and the floor, and slipped out. I think I fixed it so it won't be so easy for him to do that again, but it's still got me running up the stairs to peek in on him every few minutes during his naps. The what-ifs are many, but the biggest concern is that he will manage to get out of the room and take a tumble down the steep, steel staircase that isn't really a staircase at all, but a ladder, you see.

Anyway I caught two fish. I think they were croakers. They are small with some purple across their faces, and they make this croaking sound when you pull them out of the water. They also like to jump up out of the water and make a splash. We've seen some pretty big ones. The birds were feasting on the smaller fish this morning. There were about 20 birds circling above and diving down into the water after them.



My parents are coming down tomorrow to join us. Hopefully that is when I will get the chance to go to the beach to swim, or to have a bunch of creepy fish attempt to invade my...you know.. crevices, only to get stuck between my fat ass and my bathing suit, discovered later in the shower and then sent down the drain by a horrified, screaming mad woman. Not that that's ever happened. Ahem. Anyway.

There's an estuarium here as well as an old military fort. We visited the fort when I was about 13, on the way down during our first trip to Gulf Shores, but it's been a while and I'd like to see it again.

There's a bakery here on the island that ROCKS THE FRIKKIN HOUSE. I bought some giant, homemade cinnamon rolls there this morning. They're the kind of cinnamon rolls they have in Heaven. I can't wait for tomorrow morning so I can have another one...or maybe I'll sneak one now...mmmmmmm goopy sugary cinnamoney goodness. Om nom nom nom nom nom nom.

I knew it.

Our vacation starts Saturday and I can't wait to get my feet in the ocean. The lady who owns the house we're renting told me several weeks ago that she would not be mailing the key until August 3rd or 4th. Since we're due to arrive on the 8th, I thought that was cutting it close, but who am I to tell her how to manage it? Thinking of the confusion a lost key could cause, I reminded her not to use the P.O. box address printed on my check, but to send it to the street address I provided. Well, as of today, August 6, I still have no house key. I sent her an email today and asked when I should expect it. She called me back and said, "You should've received that key about two weeks ago!"

Make up your mind, woman! I talked to you two weeks ago and you said it would be August 4th!

I didn't say that. I didn't say anything. I just hate it when my attempts to be prudent are shrugged off, then the person who had it all figured out screws up and then tells me how it should've gone.

Anyway, the cleaning lady will leave us a key in a top secret location, so it's all taken care of-- as long as the cleaning lady remembers. I'm certain the owner forgot what I said and mailed the key to the P.O. box, which we haven't had in about six months, and the forwarding service is only good for 90 days.

People. They're stupid.

People. They're stupid.

I needed some sandals or flip flops for my upcoming beach trip, and decided to look around in a locally owned place here in Petal where I found a cute pair last year. I walked in and was immediately greeted by the girl behind the counter.

"Hello!"
"Hello."
"Can I help you find anything!?"
"No, I'm just looking, thanks."
"Have you seen our sales?"
"No."
"Well these are our sales!" [handing me a flyer] "Our shoes are buy one get one half price and so are the purses and handbags and..." [At this point her voice started sounding like a high-pitched, annoying, cheerleader version of Charlie Brown's teacher, and I went numb.]

It was crowded near the register, so instead of stopping at the first shoe display I saw, I decided to see if there was anything interesting in the back first. I was intercepted by another girl.

"How are you!"
"Fine, how are you?"
"Great! Can I help you find anything!?"
"No, I'm just looking, thanks."
"Are you looking for anything in particular?!?"
"No, just looking. Thanks."
"Are you looking for school uniforms!?"
"No, ma'am, I just want to look around."
"Oh. Ok."

I walked back up to the shoes near the door and zeroed in on a pair I liked. The original cheerleader came up to me again.

"Can I help you find anything!?"
"Um, no, I don't think so."
"Well if you need me to find a size for you, let me know!"
"Do you have this in a 10?"
"Ohhhh...nnnooooooo... See, everything we have is already out."
Then why the hell did you ask? (I thought that part in my head.)
"Oh. Well then."
"I'm sorry!"



I think some people just aren't comfortable unless their mouths are moving. Once such a person is identified, it's best if you don't even listen to what's coming out of their mouth, because it's completely meaningless.

Giggles