i'll admit it: i think farts are funny

Okay, so I'm a firm believer that flatulence is funny. Gross, yes...but hilarious nonetheless.

This past summer, Max was drawing with his side walk chalk and came up with about five different versions of the little guy in the picture up there.

Me: What are you drawing?

Max: It's a fart.

Me: A wha? A fart?!

Max: Yes.

Me: Why is he wearing a hat?

Max: All farts wear hats. But different farts wear different hats.

Me: Oh really? Explain.

Max: Well, mean farts wear top hats, because they're bald. Mean farts also have fangs...just two fangs. No other teeth. Nice farts also wear top hats, but they have hair. And they don't have two fangs...just two regular square teeth. And silly farts, they wear beanies. They don't have hair or teeth, but they don't mind...because they're silly.

Me: A-ha. What else? Is that fart riding a unicycle?!

Max: Yes. Silly farts ride unicycles. (Note: Silly fart depicted above.)

Me: Just silly farts?

Max: Yes, other farts walk, or jump. But they all carry canes.

Me: All farts carry a cane?

Max: Yes. And a briefcase.

Me: Where...what...uh...well, what's in their briefcases?

Max: Duh. A banana.

Me: *silence* Bursting into a fit of laughter.

Max: Now he's laughing, too.

So, to sum it all up:

• All farts wear hats; types of hats are determined by the type of fart. (Unfortunately, I can't help but picture the type of fart associated with a swimcap...ew.)
  

• All farts carry canes and briefcases with a banana inside. (Purpose of banana remains undetermined...but one can only imagine. I'm just glad Max didn't choose to stick corn in there...)
  

• Farts are rather active; some walk, some jump, some walk AND jump, and some ride unicycles. (I wouldn't be surprised if a fart appeared on and episode of So You Think You Can Dance...and won.)
  

• Farts have varying styles and degrees of teeth, based on the farts' varying degrees of temperament. (So, some farts have higher dental costs than others. Although, I'm assuming all have halitosis.)

• My son has a wild imagination and an awesome sense of humor. And his penchant for creating sidewalk chalk masterpieces astounds me. (But what can I say? That's 50% of my DNA in there...*insert my best Don-Knotts-as-a-proud-Barney-Fife impersonation here.)
  

$25 for 3 shrimp and 1 tbsp. of (mediocre) crab dip

So, my 10-year high school reunion was this past Saturday. I didn't post a picture because, well I didn't actually take any.

That's right. No pictures of my 10-year reunion. Why?

Well, although the effort was there, and I did have a nice conversation with one girl in my class, in all, the gig was lame. L-A-M-E.

Put it this way: Instead of wanting to find out how we all spent this past decade, the cliques of high-school past returned, successfully clustering together and not talking to anyone else.

It was brilliant. But I didn't feel bad. Quite the contrary, really. I was willing and eager to talk to everyone. I mean, 10 years is a long time, and it would have been nice to see what everyone's been up to. I said hello to everyone, tried to engage in small talk. Smiled. Laughed. Etc.

And when the responses weren't returned, I just sat back and watched the room. I didn't feel like I was the bigger person, or that I had matured more. What I did realize was that I have reached a point in my life where I know that I can't control the behavior of others, and that I can't hold it against them either. They are who they are. I am who I am. (That's very Popeye-esque, am I right?)

I left at a little after 10PM and headed elsewhere.

And, by the way, can I just say? The gas station attendant at the BP where I stopped to get a Red Bull was taken aback by the fact that I was attending my 10-year reunion.

"You're kidding me, he said. "Let me see your I.D."

I obliged.

"Wow. You look too young to be 10 years out of high school," he said.

"That's awesome of you to say that," I replied.

"It's awesome of you to look so young," he said.

(Okay, so I realize that last response was more awkward than flattering...but I digress.)

Regardless of the perviness factor in the attendant's amazement, it was nice to think that after 10 years I'm not showing my age.

Not so nice to think that I might have left the guy with a boner.

Hey, I'm just sayin'...

nostalgia

I took this picture 3 years ago in Green Bay, Wisconsin on a road trip with Angela. I could go into all the gory details, but I won't. In short, it was quite the "break out of the mold and find yourself" summer.

I was 24, single for the first time in a long time, and I was pretty darned fearless actually.

I was also really skinny...but I digress.

I guess I'm just feeling a little nostalgic as of late. I think it's because I'm still adjusting to things in my life. I'm also coming up on 28, which still seems weird to me.

Sometimes I feel much older. Sometimes I feel much younger. But usually, I feel like I don't know what I'm supposed to feel like at 28. Does that even make sense? I guess it's a matter of coming to grips with the way you imagined your life, and the way it's actually turned out.

And actually? I wouldn't change a thing.

cooked carrots

I'm probably gonna get some slack for writing this. I mean, I know the past is the past...yadda yadda yadda. Whatever.

But look, I feel like I should note this realization about myself...because it's important...at least to me anyways.

I hate cooked carrots.

Seems like a non sequitur, I know. But really, that fact sparked the basis of my realization yesterday. I will keep this short.

I dated this guy for 2 years. Without going into details, it was bad news and he was completely wrong for me. Completely wrong.

He once cooked me dinner, and as a side dish he made...you guessed it: cooked freaking carrots.

To make matters worse, he cooked them in *gag* orange freaking juice.

My hatred of cooked carrots can be blamed on the odd sweetness the possess once they've been heated, combined with their semi-mushiness. Crap. I'm making myself ill just writing about it.

Add orange juice and you've successfully tripled the effect. So, in essence, you are now eating semi-sweet, orange flavored pieces of, well, if I may be blunt, poop.

It was disgusting. But what's more disgusting...

...I lied and told him they were fabulous. I even suffered through 2 helpings. Why?

Because I didn't want to admit to him, or worse, to myself, that this guy wasn't right for me. I was so concerned about making something impossible actually work, that I completely disregarded my own needs and feelings.

And I did it for two full years after that moment.

I heated up a Lean Cuisine meal yesterday. It contained cooked carrots. I did not know this and took a hefty bite...filling my mouth with those putrid buggers. The rest of my lunch, I managed to eat around them...but as I pushed them out of the way I thought about those carrots cooked in orange juice and I realized how far I'd come.

And I just wanted to put this out there:

A.B., your stupid orange juice carrots sucked...horribly. They were not yummy. I would not eat them in a box. I would not eat them with a fox.

whiting, indiana is like living in a gas chamber

I've been a lifelong resident of Whiting, IN. With all the factories within and near the city, it's hard to escape the stinky air. Sometimes it smells like sulfur, sometimes it smells like soap, sometimes is smells like burning corn, and in the past, it smelled like roofing asphalt (a scent I've now come to associate with fond memories of my childhood).

And sometimes? Sometimes it smelled like a combination of all of the above.

Fact is, there is a lot of pollution in Whiting. Now, I know we've all been assured that any release of chemicals into the air meets the standards of the EPA (at least that's what we're told), but after last night, I'm not convinced.

It used to be a running joke that the brother of an old high school friend of mine was the only one in his troop able to make it through a tear gas test during his basic training. Well, after the foulness I experienced sitting at home, windows open, enjoying a breezy late summer night, I think I might be able to pass that test as well.

It was about 7:30pm, my family and I were watching a movie on the television, when all of a sudden the air just felt thick. It smelled a little like gasoline, chlorine, and that roofing asphalt that I mentioned earlier. Except it wasn't just a smell. About 20 minutes after it started, my nose was stinging and my eyes were burning.

My family started complaining about the pollutant as well, talking about the same symptoms.

About an hour or so later, it was so bad that I could actually TASTE the noxious fumes. My mouth became slightly pasty, and my eyes seemed to have trouble focusing. And still, my nose and eyes were burning.

I felt like I couldn't breathe. It took over four hours for the fumes to dissipate, but unfortunately, whatever they were had already done their damage.

I went to bed with a foul taste in my mouth, sensitive eyes, having trouble breathing.

I woke up the next day (today) lightheaded, queasy, and having a plethora of stomach issues. It is now 3:35pm and I am still feeling very off-kilter.

What I want to know is, what the heck have they been releasing into the air in Whiting, and how can something that has physically made me and my family ill, be acceptable to pump out into the air?

I've dealt with the Whiting pollution for years now, and never have I experienced anything close to this. Never.

I honestly believe that someone should be looking into this. This cannot be healthy. Anything that causes the eyes and nose to burn and then causes illness the next day cannot be a good thing to breathe in, and just shouldn't be allowed to be released that way.

friday, the mustache fairy...sunday, the tooth fairy.

First and foremost, I'd like to acknowledge my friend Evan who so kindly linked this blog to his blog. Just so you all know, I highly recommend his site/blog at Evan Jacover (dot com!). So check it out.

On a completely different note, Max lost his second tooth in less than 2 weeks. He had saved it to put under his pillow at my house, and unfortunately actually lost the lost tooth somewhere between our garage and the kitchen.

Worried that the Tooth Fairy might not come if the tooth wasn't under his pillow last night, I plotted in true parent fashion.

About 20 minutes after tucking him in, I waltzed into Max's room, cell phone in hand:

Me: So...I couldn't find your tooth.

Max: Are you sure? Where did it go?

Me: I don't know...but...I made a few calls, and I got the Tooth Fairy's voicemail. Left her a message, ya know, letting her know the whole story. I mean, this stuff happens.

Max: Yeah, I'm sure kids lose their lost teeth all the time.

Me: Exactly. So, like I said, I left her a message. She didn't answer...probably out collecting teeth already.

Max: *laughing* You're silly, mom.

Me: It's true. Anyhow, check your pillow in the morning just in case she gets the message tonight. If not, I'm sure she'll get it by tomorrow.

Max: Okay.


We said our second round of goodnights and I love yous, and I tucked him in to bed. (Of course, 20 minutes later he was downstairs prancing around in his Spiderman underwear, asking for another glass of water...)

I waited a few hours before traipsing to my mom's scrapbooking room where I proceeded to cut out a tooth made of light blue paper. And then I wrote this note (disguising my handwriting):

Dear Max,

I got the message your mom left about your lost lost tooth! Don't worry, these things happen. If you find it, just give it to your mom and I will pick it up. Here's two dollars just for you!

Love,
The Tooth Fairy.

I tied a blue ribbon and then taped the $2.00 onto the tooth, and slipped it under his pillow.

When he woke up this morning, I reminded him to check...just in case. I waited for him in the bathroom, about 5 minutes later he came walking into the room with a giddy little, "I have something to show you!" face.

Me: Did the Tooth Fairy come last night?

Max: Yeeeeeessssss.

Me: Oh good then! She got the message! Hey, what's that?


Max handed me the note. And of course, I went into making a huge deal out of it. Max stood there slightly embarrassed, I think. But a little proud too.

And as I watched him, I wondered if, at 8 years old, I had still managed to fool him...or, if he knew that it was actually me trying to hold on to his childhood a little longer, and I was the one with the wool pulled over my eyes.

And even if that is the case? Well, God bless him for being so sweet.

moustache day

Today was Mustache Day at work.

This was what I brought to the table.

Of course, this was before my work logo, a set of keys, and Jimmy Hoffa found their way inside the 'stache.