Pageantry

So, yesterday I was watching a little bit of the Toddlers and Tiaras marathon on TLC don't ask, I feel terrible about it. But some very interesting thoughts came to mind while watching that train wreck of a show...

First, I wonder if DFCS watches this stuff in order to scope out who to bust for being the worst parents ever? It is pretty obvious that most of these poor kids have to go through this because their moms are fat heifers that don't have a snowball's chance to ever be pageant material. So they force their pipe dream on their unfortunate children.

Another thing I found amusing was that one of the commercials that kept playing in between episodes was for the "Your Baby can Read" program. Obviously, most of the fools who put their kids through this pageantry bullshit are far more concerned with their 3 year old's spray tan than if she can read or express any sign of intelligence.

So here I am bashing the pageant scene, when in fact I have been in one myself. How dare I right?!!! In my defense, I was 16 and not 4 - and my mom had nothing to do with forcing me into it. Our highschool's baseball team hosted a "Queen of Diamonds" pageant each spring, and all of the proceeds went towards the team (I think). So one of the guys talked me into it and yes, that is ALL that I did for the baseball team -thankyouverymuch-

I didn't know what was what from what in a pageant. The woman who handed me the package said some mess about formal wear and casual wear. I of course had a prom dress so that was one down one to go. Casual eh? I asked around. Some of the other girls gave me ideas or told me what they were doing (seriously, how many girls can possibly wear business attire in one evening?). Naturally I went outside of the box, like way the hell away from any box on my casual wear gig. I was told we can bring props too, oh goody me likey props.

So I show up for the pageant, with my little printed pageant number for the judges to see me - and judge me. Oh they had no idea.

We all went out and formed a line in our formal wear for the initial scope out from the judges. Then we go back, line up and do the individual dealy. And then it was time for casual wear... hehe

Guess where my prop was? In a cage.

I waltzed right out onto the stage when it was my time to show my casual wear with my good ol' buddy Oscar draped around my neck. Oscar my BALL PYTHON that is. The squeals and shrieks coming from the other girls backstage probably made my entrance that much more interesting.

I wish those damn stage lights weren't so ridiculously bright so I could have seen the reactions of the judges and audience. I could hear the pleasantly audible gasps  (and a few screams) which sufficed I guess. Apparently that was the first time anyone had brought a ball python as a prop, go figure.

Did I win anything? Well hell no I didn't. Rigged, not rigged, snake, no snake I probably didn't stand a chance - this sort of thing was totally not me anyways. If I can remember correctly(and I can't) one of the 20+ girls dressed in a pinstripe suit with a briefcase won for casual wear. Glad they encourage creativity during pageants right? At any rate, I took my little medal that every participant gets and packed Oscar up.


I apologize for the fuzziness of the photo of Oscar and I - but the formal wear pic is pretty clear.

Put it on my tab

Technically there are what, 10 days until Christmas festivities? I would say, for the next 10 days I will be worried about a few things. Things like, did I get everyone's gifts? Are they wrapped? What sort of awesomeness do I want to bake or cook for this party and that party. Most importantly is- are we sticking within our budget we have made for the holidays? We are normal humans, our wallets are feeling the strain these days.

To my surprise I get a phone call this morning. It's the hospital we are having the baby at. Cool, maybe they have some pre-registration questions for me or something so I have less paperwork later on. WRONG. What seems to start as an informative phone call about my insurance benefits ends with, "Your deductible is going to be (enter a concerning amount of money here) will you be paying that today with a check or by credit card?"

Me: "Uh, neither, call you back bye."

What the hell is going on here?! I look down, and yup there is still a person chilling out in my uterus. Quite contently might I add. Pretty sure she has no intentions of leaving her cozy abode for at least another 5 weeks. Which leads me to wonder, why would I pay a hospital for my entire stay and services - if I haven't even received them yet??? And why are you bugging me like the week before Christmas! Have you no souls?!

I call them back and explain that much to their dismay I won't be checking my couch cushions today for the thousands of dollars that they want... today. I ask when they need payment by. "Two weeks prior to delivery" Which is convenient for me because who knows when that could be. Because of the gestational diabetes my delivery date can change. Point is, what is the point?

At this juncture in conversation #2 they still have yet to mention payment options/billing options. I have to drag that out of them. Well duh they can set up a payment plan. I am now wondering why they are bullying me in the first place, I am offering to pay you. period. I could be an illegal and expect you bastards to deliver my baby for free.

Which brings up an interesting point - do you think that if I tell them my husband has a green card they will give me a discount? Hey, a girl can dream!

Maybe they should have just sent me a holiday greeting card with a picture of their ass saying "Merry F*cking Christmas, now pay up you schmucks." At least I could have had a few seconds of fun opening my mail thinking, Oh yay a christmas card.

Santa Mishap

Do any of you remember the Christmas that you realized the Santa gig was up? The fat man really wasn't sneaking into your home to leave all the goodies?

I honestly can't recall when I came to terms with that. My view of Santa was always a little skewed in comparison to what other kids believed. Why is that? Well, my mom worked for Santa. That's right. She worked for Santa.Whoa right?

For a few years mom worked at the mall around Christmas time, and yup she was an elf. You know, the cranky elf that throws your children on Santa's lap and clicks the picture and throws your kid down the runway to the left with some crappy candy cane or sticker in tow. Sidenote: she may have been a jolly elf I just can't imagine how.

The particular Santa she worked for was posted up at the mall one year, and then some following years could be found at various department stores, and mom worked as an elf at those stores as well with this guy. The guy is a family friend. So? He would come over for parties and such too. Santa had a day job, and so occasionally I got to see him in his work clothes without the elves. He taught me how to build some sweet paper airplanes.

Moving along... The setting for this story is in my kindergarten class. There was a morning that mom said she and Santa would be coming to pick me up early and have lunch. She let me dress up. I picked out the brightest, wildest, puffy sleeved dress I could find - I even had brand new pink tights to match. I was stylin' for sure.

I get to school and of course everyone wants to know why I am dressed like this. I of course inform them all that Santa is coming to take me to lunch so I have to be dressed nicely. duh.

Naturally they all say "Nuh uh! you are a liar!" and lots of "Santa isn't coming here today." and lots of variations of how dumb I am for thinking Santa would be showing up to take me to lunch. I just told them to keep snacking on their glue sticks and see!

So, I endure a few hours of taunting and teasing. We have a recess play break just before our lunch hour. There was a girl in our class...Janet...god what a crazy ass kid. I should cut her some slack though, she was medicated for adhd or some sort of thing like that (ritalin was the cure all back then wasn't it?). Anyways, the teacher would pick someone different each day to escort Janet to the nurses office to dispense her drugs. That particular day was my day! Yippee. I was actually glad to catch a break from the teasing and being called a liar because in a 5 year olds mind a lot of time had passed since morning and Santa wasn't here yet.

So off we trek to the office for meds. Now, I can't remember how the next conversation went, but I certainly recall the events that went down. Janet and I are strolling along, not even off the playing lot yet, and I am sure I must have mentioned ... My lunch date with Santa ... again. Then Boom. Guess what happened?

The unmedicated Janet snapped, and kicked my ass.

That's right, drug me around on the sidewalk like a rag doll. My new pink tights? torn to shreds and bloodied up around the knees. So, instead of going to the office with Ms. Crazy Schizo pants I got to go to the bathroom with the teacher to clean up my damage. All I could think about was how my new outfit was ruined, and Santa wasn't even there yet!!!

A short time passes, and we are all settled back into our desks getting ready to line up for lunch. And guess who walks through the damn door? SANTA CLAUS bitches! And my mom of course. Naturally he does his little bit for the kiddos, and then I take their hands and walk out of there.

Eat that you dumb little snots! I am pretty sure that my pride outweighed my bloody knees and damaged reputation at that point. Janet may have kicked my ass, but Santa came to take me away, and now he knows what all of you have done...bwahahaha. I honestly don't remember what happened to Janet, this town is small, and I actually went to school with some kids from preschool through high school. But? I hope that Christmas she got a big bag full of nothing! Tramp...

Merry Xmas to you.

If the title offends you because I typed Xmas, then I would like to encourage you to close this window from your browser... you may not enjoy this post. And well that is the point of my blog, to entertain more so than anything else. Maybe inform on occasion.

If you really don't mind that I have typed Xmas then please do continue.

I must admit I am feeling a little scrooge-y these days. I like decorating and cooking around the holidays, but all the other crap can go away. You know, the over loaded holiday schedules - excessive gift shopping/wrapping/preparing etc. Families pulling you in every direction. Who gets your undivided christmas spirit which day and which time slot is becoming increasingly overrated for me.

Xmas, Christmas, Yule, Season's Greetings blah blah are one of those times of years (like a select few other times...ahem Easter...) that transform into opportune times for ultra religious peeps to get excessively defensive. They get pissed off that xmas is so commercialized, yet they still hit up the mall for gift shopping sprees, sit on a fat santa, and decorate a tree like the best of them. They get cranky about the Easter bunny, all the chocolates, all the eggs etc. at Easter time, yet they demolish those chocolates, and give their children lavish baskets full of eggs and bunnies anyways.

Over the years I have found that many of the modern day Christian (and increasingly commercialized) holidays are suspiciously similar to the pagan traditional holidays. There isn't enough room to show the this vs. that side to each set of traditions (but this guy did a pretty damn good job of it so you can read his article if it strikes your fancy). Anywho, the similarities are there, right there in front of our noses.

But really, what is the point in shaking a stick at another person's beliefs? So as I said before, if you are already offended - before you plan a mob to come and stone me to death (hey, speaking of which, I haven't been stoned since like, high school.)

Anyways, I wanted to share a lovely little song that I found through a very good friend.

Here ya go. Santa Claus is Pagan Too.

Fowl Play

I am not really sure why I am feeling so nostalgic lately, but the old childhood stories just keep on popping up on here.

As per usual, let me give just a smidge of a background. Sometimes, well, a lot of times my dad does some pretty silly stuff. Particularly if alcohol is involved. How does the saying go...Ah yes, " God invented whiskey to keep the Irish from ruling the world" -Ed McMahon

Anyways, I guess in my case God created whiskey to keep my father from getting me normal gifts. And losing silly bets.

I have always had a love for animals in all shapes and sizes, I have had dozens (yes way more than 12) pets ranging from pups to exotic reptiles and who knows what in between. I had mentioned sometime ago that I had wanted a goat, particularly a fainting goat. Never heard of it? oh you must see one! At any rate, dad said hell no. Because they eat the back seats of cars he said! How would dad know that goats eat car's back seats? That's easy, he and his cousin lost a game of poker and were awarded the prize of a goat. (or did they win?) They of course thought it would be a grand idea to head on to the next bar with goat in tow. When they returned from bar #2 the goat had busied itself with dining on the interior of the car while waiting. Back seat? Demolished. So no goats for Stef.

Ok---Fast forward like, 15+ years - I am now 5 years old.

Dad comes home and says, "Stefanie! I have a surprise for you! Come on, go into the kitchen, sit in the floor and no peeking until I come back in with the gift!" Naturally I am super stoked and set up in the kitchen ready for my "Big Surprise!" I hear the front door open, and dad stomp in, stop, set something down, and then a little pitter patter noise coming towards me...

Dad: "Ok pumpkin, open your eyes!"

Me: "OH WOW DAD! WHAT IS IT?!?!?!? I LOVE IT" mind you, when I looked down I couldn't have even guessed what creature was staring back at me. It was so....ugly. But maybe not too ugly. I wasn't sure what to make of it.

Dad: "It's a turkey Stef."

Me: "A TURKEY?! YAY"

And as soon as I said that, what did the little turkey do? Peed. My excitement must have startled her, none the less that led to her namesake. Peeper. And as you can see below, is Ms.Peeper and myself (and yet another one of my pets, Sandy the dog)

Now, in case any of you are wondering why in the hell my dad would buy a 5 year old a turkey I will tell you. He didn't. Yup, he lost another bet while he was drinkin' (or as I said earlier, did he win?) Either way, he was awarded with yet another ridiculous animal.

What ever happened to Peeper? Well, she didn't go to live on a farm, or to live with Jesus or whatever they happened to tell me when she disappeared. Unfortunately we have a large snake population around the house, so that is a likely cause of disappearance.

So there you have it people, God created whiskey to keep dad from making wise pet choices. But we love him anyways.

Racist Toddler

Saying that I was a racist toddler may be stretching things a bit far. Or maybe not. I will let you be the judge of that.

I think the best way to start this story is to give a little geography lesson. I was born and raised here - not glamorous, and quaint enough that well, I never left. But that is neither here nor there. As you can see from visiting that link...lets scroll a little to the Demographics section, ah yes here we are:

"The racial makeup of the city was 72.97% White, 5.56% African American, 0.91% Native American, 0.61% Asian, 0.12% Pacific Islander, 12.87% fromother races, 1.93% from two or more races. Hispanic or Latino of any race comprised 24.50% of the population."

Now, take this back 20+ years and the demographic "makeup" would be a little more on the white side, so add oh 10-15% to the above white percentage, and take away accordingly from all the others.

Now, Geo lesson is over. On with the story! My dad has had this floor company forever (trust me, there are fossils and shit lying around here). We have lots of guys who install floors for us, and when things get slow at the office dad just sends them over to the house to work on random stuff just so they can still feed their families. Dad is really cool like that. One of dad's guys was a very old black man (where dad found him I do not know, as the stats we saw earlier would show that it would be difficult to find a black man in Canton in the 1980's) But, he was/ and still is a great worker, and hilarious old guy.

When I was about 2 and a half years old mom and dad were building a new house (the one they are still in today, and is right down the street from us!). The start to finish construction on this house was done solely by dad, some relatives, some drinkin buddies, and some of the workers from here. *side note 1: how is this house still standing? must. ask. parents.

This particular day I was at the house while the guys were working on it. *side note 2: why I was chilling out in a construction zone at 2 years old is a question I have never really asked, but maybe should have! must. ask. parents.

None the less, I was wandering around and playing some unusual game I am sure.

As I turned the new hallway corner to go into what would soon be our kitchen I saw dad in there. He was hanging wall paper (hey, it was the 80's leave him alone). And then! Oh my! I saw a man standing with dad who looked so strange. He seemed jolly enough, but his skin...what in the...who the... my tiny mind wondered. "Surely this can't be!" I thought to myself.

I marched right up to the man, I grabbed his hand with both of my hands, and I began to rub the top of his hand furiously! I would swipe, and then look up with my head cocked sideways like a confused puppy. Swipe, and look. Swipe, and look. No matter how hard I swiped at his skin, the dark just wouldn't disappear! In terms of toddler time, I stood there rubbing the back of his hand for eternity. Soon I heard laughing, and more laughing, and then the man took my hands and said, "hunny it don't come off" followed by even more chuckling. I just stared up at him as blankly as a toddler possibly can.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how I tried to rub the black off of an old man. It is hard to believe that I made it my first few years of life without ever seeing a black person...in person.

Luckily he thought that the ordeal was totally hilarious, and? He still works for us on occasion, and no one has ever - or will ever let me forget about this story. Good times.

**this really isn't related to this post, but is funny anyways. This blog is all about stuff that white people like. There are even books on this complex subject matter. Enjoy.

Hug an Orphan day.

The title may be a little misleading - It should say "Happy 40th Birthday Mechelle!" For my big sister.

Alas, when I was younger (try like 3, 4, 5 years old) I had a grand time telling everyone that Mechelle was an orphan. Who knows if I even knew what the hell an orphan was, but I am sure someone put me up to saying it once (surely I wouldn't have come up with it on my own!) And I just kept on. For a while I made sure that everyone I knew, knew that Mechelle was an orphan.

Mechelle and I are 16 years apart, so we didn't have the usual fights that most siblings have while growing up. And? other than her possibly (more than likely) holding me down and farting on my head - we didn't have much to quarrel about.

So raise your glasses and send some well wishes to my sister on her 40th year of life on this planet. Cheers!

Luke...I am your, Pelvis???

Exhibit A

So, what happens when you take Mr. Jones to the childbirth prep class? If we look at Exhibit A we will see - He apparently thinks that the model baby, when positioned in the pelvis correctly, looks like Darth Vader. (Obviously a little more Space Balls-y with the size of that pelvis hat!). But yes, he can find fun in anything apparently. Which is great of course. Sitting in a classroom from 9am to 5pm to learn how to push a person out of your vagina can take it's toll on anyone.

I am glad we took the class, but it was a little ridiculous. They covered all bases, every type of delivery, drug, process etc whether you were choosing that route or not. I think they should have sub-classes to select from the childbirth prep class roster. This would save time and money for those of us who are expecting, and already have an idea of how they want things to go. I have listed a few of the sub-classes below:

1) Childbirth prep 1A : Natural Drug Free Childbirth

Class description: For those who feel like being over achievers or "heroes" by boasting they have delivered their baby naturally and drug free. Class will include all of the excruciating videos your feeble mind can handle. Bring bucket for vomiting, tissues for crying, and possibly medication for migraines. Group exercises will include forming a circle and repeatedly kicking eachother in the pelvis and punching each other in the face to get some pain management practices in before it is too late. There will also be a post-birth meet up opportunity to brag in general about how you almost died from pain. Several times.

2) Childbirth prep 2A : Epidural Please! Childbirth

Class description: For mothers who understand that it is no longer the year 1835, and that there are pain management options readily available for the taking. Class may include a video of a woman attempting drug free childbirth, screaming and crying for 10+ hours, and inevitably requesting the epidural resulting in the ability to relax and deliver her baby. Bring pillows and snacks. This class will only last 3 hours. You are welcome.

This type of class roster would have been much more effective for me, considering I have absolutely no intentions of delivering this baby, or any baby, without an epidural. Ever.

---this post in no way is saying that Mr. Jones and I think that delivering the baby is a joke, if it isn't obvious at this stage in my blog - comedy is a mechanism I use to stomp out fear. Getting Adeline here is slightly terrifying.---

side note: they will be inducing me a few weeks early because of the gestational diabetes, in which an epidural is strongly recommended anyways-so there. If you are an expecting mother right now and are offended because you want to do this the hard way, then I apologize. I think.

Morning scene

It was Friday morning, and I was standing in the kitchen sort of blankly staring. I opened the fridge, and the blank stare washed over my face, and again as I opened the pantry. I finally turned my back to Brett and tears welled up in my eyes.

I wasn't really crying, it was more of a -I am frustrated, confused, and just plain sad kind of tearing up - Brett understood, and just gave me a hug.

Was I mad because someone ate my cheerios? No, I was mad because just a day earlier I got a call from my doctor's office. Apparently I have developed Gestational Diabetes. And try as I may, I couldn't get the blood test results to show in my favor this week. They went on to say that they were referring me to the hospital to meet with a specialist to get my diet "under control".

Under control? In case anyone hasn't noticed from a previous post - There is one thing that can be said about our household. WE DON'T EAT JUNK. There is no way that my husband would have lost 70+ lbs with little debbies and pints of ice cream hanging all willy nilly around the house. He wanted to lose weight, I wanted to grow a healthy baby. So we were doing that. Successfully.

I guess the frustration lies here: with the 1,000,000,000 pregnant people I am acquainted with I can understand how some may develop G.D. (love the acronym by the way) They don't care what they eat. They use pregnancy as an excuse to eat whatever the hell they want. Trays of baked goodies, ice creams galore, restaurants and take out every other meal. Weight gain that is staggering. But is G.D. the case with any of them? Nope, they get to pig out worry free. And in all honesty I won't lie to myself, I have gained - at 30 weeks in this pregnancy I am up, up 17 lbs.

In passing conversation with people over the weekend I have noticed something though. I even mention that I have G.D. and they look at me like I am already the worst mother in the world. I can' t really put my finger on how that makes me feel, aside from terrible. And when I think about the diet plan that awaits me with this weeks trip to the hospital, I cringe. Diet plan? I am sure there are a few snacks that I need to swap out or who knows what, but I just don't get it.

I guess I will just do even better than I already was and show this G.D. who the bitch in charge is. Right?

a sample...blech!

Yea so I won't get totally graphic - but I always have the silliest time with the whole "we need you to leave a sample please" while at the doctor's office for all this baby stuff. There is always the cup selection, the marker selection (sometimes there are colors to choose from!), what all do I want to write on the cup, what all do they want me to write on the cup, what if I do this all wrong, etc.

Do I sign my name all pretty on the cup? It generally looks like I am autographing a piece of freakin' artwork. Then there is that damn two way metal door shelf thing you put the pee cup in. I always feel like it is a game, and that if I don't have the cup autographed, filled and ready in time then I will open that tiny metal door to see someone waiting on the other side! Uh creepy...

I always wonder what some of the funniest (or most embarrassing) pee cup stories are out there. Do you have one? hmmmmmm?

Email Forwarding

I am sure that there are many of you out there on the interwebs that know of someone who is afraid of the "magic machine" aka the computer. They haven't, and don't plan to, catch up with the times. Ever.

For me? Well, I have several of those in my life, but my poor dad is the basis for this blog post. He is not like a lot of other magic machine phobes out there - he is totally cool with buying stuff online with his credit card, and entering in somewhat personal information when necessary...He just makes me do it.

I would say that 10 of my hours a week are spent "using that thing" to look stuff up - old cars - tools - car parts - his account balance - the weather report (10 day weather reports are his favorite). I have set up emails and accounts for him and just use passwords I am familiar with because I am the only one who checks them.

To lessen my burden I bought my parents a desktop a year and a half ago for their anniversary. Normally wouldn't have splurged to get them a machine that was nicer than the one I had - hell we didn't even have a home pc at the time, but I thought it was well worth them trying to hack running their own "online errands" as I like to call them now. The family elected my 18yr old niece to school them on the interwebs in her free time. I assume a lot of the lessons fell to the wayside and the only thing either of my parents retained from those lessons was this: www.Facebook.com -> log in -> semi navigate ->?the end?

*insert a mental image of me hitting my head against the wall here*

Now that my dad is becoming more active in communicating with his old war buddies my job has gotten increasingly more difficult. The influx of howdy do emails is astounding. When I set his email account up way back when I had it forwarded to my personal email account. Because? In the beginning he may have gotten an email a month, nothing that warranted a daily log in on my part. I would print it off and he could read it and toss it in the trash or whatever. He gets tons now, and I religiously print the long winded things unless they are old dirty man joke fwds...those typically get trashed. creepers.

Dad has seen me log into his gmail account, he knows what the format looks like. He knows (I think) that my gmail account looks shockingly similar.

For some ungodly reason dad does not understand how email forwarding works. He constantly comes into my office and looks over my shoulder and asks "Do I have any emails?" I usually reply "Nope not today dad" and yet he still stares at the screen, and I can only assume he wants to watch me log out of my email and immediately into his to show him that no he does not have a new email. Alas - thanks to gmail and email forwarding those are timely and unnecessary steps so I don't do them. I just go about my work. Then as he continues to stand there he usually will start to read all of my available subject lines (maybe he doesn't hear me? trust me? who knows).

Sometimes I can hear him read off my subject lines. And now that I am 6 months pregnant boy does he get a mouth full sometimes! As he reads off my whattoexpect.com weekly emails

"Breastfeeding vs. Bottlefeeding... Oh..." - yea dad, you wanna read that? I could use your advice! hahahahah Silly dad.

Some other good subject lines I know he has read: You and Your Hormones . Swelling and Edema. Hemorrhoid Relief (personal fave) lol.

He really should just trust me shouldn't he?

Proud of my Baby's Daddy

Ya ya so the title suggests I am on the ghetto side. But really I am super freakin' impressed and proud of Mr. Jones. He always said that he would quit being foolish with his weight and health when we got pregnant. He wanted to be the healthiest dad possible for a few reasons, but mainly to set a good example for our kiddo, and to have the energy to keep up with the little dear.

We found out in May that we did in fact have a bun in the oven, and boom the race was on. I didn't know how serious he was, or what his goal weight would be. But he was damn determined to lose what he could.

He went from 285 to 216. UhMAZing. Those size 44 waist pants? Try a 34 now. He feels great, he looks great, and couldn't be happier.

I was going to make something short and sweet about this to post on my facebook page. Like a "my husband rocks because..." type post. I got to reading around the junked up mess that is my news feed and saw that something like that would not do him justice. I think that the people who constantly post how awesome their husbands/ boyfriends/ etc are... is slightly comical. Do you need the constant affirmation that your man is awesome because he put the toilet seat lid down? He brought you a cookie/ fed you dinner/ did your dishes/ gave up his man card and went shopping with you? I guess I should be happy -er for how "blessed" everyone is (I see that word about 10,000 times a day on the news feed , oh and this one "I love my life" over and over and over. Don't get me wrong, I am pretty happy with my circle of peeps, but good god I don't have to inform 500+ people all damn day about how much better my life is than theirs. Maybe a facebook hiatus is in my near future. Or a spree to hide people. Hmmm...

Got side tracked sorry - aside from all that I am blessed this and that bullshit. All I have to say is this - Dude, my man lost like a whole person in weight just so he could be the best daddy he could be to help me and the little one out (and she isn't even here yet). And yours brought you a pumpkin to carve? ha. ha. ha. If Brett has already put in this much effort I can't imagine what an awesome dad he is going to be.

Trying to be Diplomatic - But it hurts!!!

As you can tell from an earlier post. I am now the director of PGI. So far so good I believe. We are all still enjoying ourselves, and getting a few investigations down for the books. I want my main objective as director to be to motivate and facilitate a lot of the ideas we have all been pushing for for years. We are a close knit crew, and we all want the same things so it is a breeze working with everyone.

But- there is something else I get to do. I am the contact for the southeast that fans from all over the country who watch Ghost Lab can find via the Everyday Paranormal website. Which is fine and cool. I appreciate the support for their show - and it is neat that they want to reach out to me.

BUT. Of course there is a but right? I can't for the life of me figure out why 99.9% of the emails that come in arrive in my inbox in such sad shape. Sad shape? Yes, sad shape.

Maybe it is just because I am used to emailing people for work related things, but even with new acquaintances I always ALWAYS proofread my emails before clicking the send button. It is polite and courteous to send a nicely constructed note to someone - especially if you have never met them before.

Alas, some of the emails that come into my inbox are so jumbled up and incoherent that I don't even know what they are asking of me half the time. The spelling and grammatical errors could make Agadore Spartacus cringe (who is my 8 lb Maltese if anyone didn't know). And if they are accompanied by an attachment, I know without a doubt that when my server finally finishes downloading the 2,000,000,000 KB size image that I could use for a roadside billboard that it will almost always be of dust orbs. Almost always. I then get to explain (as scientifically as possible) that they have snapped a shot of dust, water droplets, or some other airborne particle. And then I get to explain that it might not be a dead woman in a white dress after all.

But then what? Then I am the bitch that told them their ghost photo wasn't real. And that part sucks, but I guess it is in the job description. I hate to be that bad guy and I really don't want to complain - if anything emails like these motivate me to educate others about our field. Unfortunately it looks like we might have our hands full.

Fun facts for Adeline

The other day Mr. Jones and I were riding around in his old Ford truck listening to Alan Jackson's Home which reminded me of our first place. We had turned one of dad's barn/garages into our first home. Call that weird, call that white trash (don't worry my MIL did too), but it was awesome - and we made it work. Now we have a REAL house for the baby. But I think she will get a kick out of the fact that her mommy and daddy's first house was a barn.

So I was trying to think of a list of other weird, wacky, and funny things she might like to know at some point.

-Maybe when she get's older and asks how we met, or how the first dates went I can tell her that after I met daddy - and attempted for 2 months to be asked out on a date I was about to give up because it was becoming obvious that he was in fact...gay. He dressed nicely, he talked oddly, he worked in a tanning salon. And that is all I have to say about that!

-We moved into "the barn" together after dating for only 2 months. Because daddy got kicked out and mommy didn't want to see him go back to Canada.

-We got engaged the night that we went to see Horton Hears a Who - and then went to Ihop for whocakes and other Seuss inspired goodies. Thus the reason her first room is Dr. Seuss themed.

-We thought grandpa Jones was going to have a heart attack in the restaurant when we told him we were having a baby. We got to tell great grandma that we were having her first great grandbaby on her 90th birthday.

-For the first few months of pregnancy, we (along with most of the family) swore that we were having a boy. Boy were we wrong.

Of course there are tons of other tid bits she will learn about us but for now that list will do.

Shame on me

For not posting in like weeks. What the crap right?

I have been busy being unnecessarily busy(or U.B. from here on because typing unnecessarily is well, unnecessary and ridiculously long).

And if you are over the age of 18, and have any inkling of a responsible adult life you can relate. Being U.B. happens to the best of us. Especially when you have family nearby (or mooch-y friends). They plan parties and all sorts of well wish/bring me your money or gifts type events. And they generally try to corral you in for assistance in planning or setting up their lovely shindigs.

When they aren't screwing up your weekends you can find them calling for petty requests like what was the number for the guy who fixed your ac unit last year, or what the name of that recipe was with those ingredients that you have no idea what they are talking about. And it is typically when you are so damn busy doing other things (like legitimately working at your place of employment) that you just want to tell them that they can find that guys number, and that famous recipe by taking the telephone and shoving it up their ass.

The remedy for U.B.? Clearly I have none to suggest because it is taking over my life right now. I am attempting to supplement my own plans and aspirations into my short lived weekends. But so far no good on thwarting my relatives and acquaintances. I guess that is what I get for wanting to be selfish! At least once the kid gets here I have a better excuse for not wanting to plan and set up their shower-birthday bash-brunch-coming in party-going out party-what have you... Yay for the tiny little person growing inside of my uterus!

What is your remedy for U.B.?

Go Count Yourself!

While being our usual ridiculous selves in the hotel room this weekend at Dragon Con , my sister, niece, and a friend were having a good ol time making each other laugh. You know after a long trip or weekend with friends there are bound to be numerous inside jokes made, theme songs designated, and the like... Well this ladies and gentlemen, would be our song:

watered down Dragon Con 2010

Why do I say this Dcon was "watered down" ? Because this was my first Dragon Con completely sober. I barely made it out alive! I know that it is tougher to hike around in combat boots when you are lugging a person around in your uterus, but good god that was one hell of a weekend!

I did get to see a lot of stuff that I don't always get to see though. I got to talk to a lot of artists and see a lot of panels that blew my mind. I bought some kick ass artwork from said artists. I had met one of the talented artists at the paranormal conference we went to a few months back - Paulina Cassidy. One day I will be a proud owner of one of her sweet tarot decks! But for now I have this:It is called ' A Kiss for Each Tiny Dragon' How perfect! I have 3 dragons( the pups) and Adeline can be my 4th little dragon.

Speaking of which, I even picked up some gear for Ms.Adeline (like a spectacular monster onesie from this guy. Along with some borderline creepy children's books, and a wonder woman onesie).

All in all it was a great weekend, and I got to crash in my sister's hotel room - which wasn't a bad deal at all! I don't think the amount of awesome costumes and general crazy pageantry will last me for the next 365 days, but that's alright - there is always next time! And next time will may be accompanied by a little drinky drinky ;)

My early days as a cryptozoologist.

While getting my hair done at my aunt's salon yesterday I learned a few things about myself. Mainly? I was a ridiculously funny child. My aunt was telling me story after story of the shenanigans I got myself (and those around me) into.

As you can learn from a previous post - I spent a lot of weekends camping in Alabama. I didn't really have anyone my age to play with as I grew up. My sister is 16 years older than I am, and all the cousins were closer to her age. So I either had to entertain myself, or con the closest adult into partaking in my antics.

One of my favorite pastimes at our lake front property was simple...I liked to slay all of the dragons that were lurking in the trees. All dainty little girls do that right? right?? I would round up the nearest adult and tell them they were to help me capture and slay all of the nearby dragons.

Catching the dragons was the easy part-or so I told everyone. You leave food out for them, duh!

What do dragons eat? To my 4 year old mind that was easy too - they eat artichokes.. aka pine cones.. they look the same to those stupid stupid dragons. Who knows how I actually "killed" the imaginary buggers, but stories like this show me how crazy our kid could possibly be.

One night after a long day of slaying these beasts I was sitting on the dock with my aunt. The only light was a tiny sliver of moonlight. Soon we spotted something out in the water. It was really long, slow moving, and had a seemingly curvy/slick body.

My aunt: "Uhhhh what the heck is that?!"

4 yr old me: "IT'S A DRAGON!!!!!"

My aunt: : "No really, that thing is huge, we should get back to the camper."

4 yr old me: "DRAGON -DRAGON - DRAGON!!! I told you they were real!"

---just before my aunt scoops me up to haul me away from this weird thing in the water...

Creature: "Quack! Quack! Quack!"

Yup, a line up of large ducks fooled us for sure that night.

I still catch myself watching shows like Monsterquest and Destination Truth and going, wow that is cool-What if???

Adeline Lily

Well, after a long and strenuous ultrasound session we discovered our little devil is a girl.

Little lady had her legs crossed pretty much the whole time (which is great if she continues to do that until she is, oh, 30 years old). But we shook her up enough to discover she is in fact a little lady, and she proceeded to do some funny stuff.

First she kinda gave a good fist pump. Then we got a shot of her sucking her thumb. I guess all of the commotion startled her into a hiccup session next. All in all it was pretty freakin awesome - with pictures and a dvd to boot (had no idea they did the dvd stuff).

It is becoming more and more of a reality. Kind of scary, but the thought of what a hilarious and amazing mess this kid will be overrides the scary crap. She will have no choice but to be awesome like us. Right?

Hero in a Half Shell, Turtle Power!

This, ladies and gentlemen, is my dad.

I like to call him the resident ninja. With the GA heat going on it's 5th steady month you can catch him in this awesome gear daily. As you can see from the red arrows I have highlighted the ninja headband, and a shirt pocket which houses items like: ninja throwing stars, mini samurai swords, and other warrior weaponry (I'm sure).

I always tell everyone that he actually makes these headbands out of old towels and cloth, which makes him much more legit as a ninja warrior.

Close friends and relatives have seen him in the gear so often that they have joked that they will find (or create) baby ninja headbands for our little one. This way Baby Jones and Grandpa can fight crime, or cut the grass, whatever...together.

If you wish to be half as awesome as my old man you can attempt to create your own head band by going here. Even if you have no crimes to fight, you can wear this versatile ensemble like dad does - while washing the cars, mowing the lawn, grilling out...you know, "the tough jobs that somebody has to do."

If he found out I posted this photo on the internet he might just scissor kick my head off. I still don't know if he realizes I even took the photo with my phone. Love you dad!

Don't drink the water.

I noticed this morning (well, I counted this morning) and there are 22 other ladies that I graduated with that are pregnant. Whoa. Some of them on their 2nd, and 3rd child (at the age of 23 and 24?! are you on crack?!)

-That doesn't include the handful of relatives of mine that are about to have/just had a bundle of joy too. Not their first either-like 2nd child, 4th child, hell even 5th child. Granted, I am the last of the grandchildren to be having a baby of my own - but I came into the family really freakin late!

My social circle, and family circle, will soon be full of little runts. I hope that mine can stand out from the crowd!

I guess the good thing about this is during practices, school functions, etc... I will know plenty of the moms! Bad side? I didn't really hang out with them in high school, so now instead of a commonality being "I dated your boyfriend/we wore the same prom dress" it will now be "I once dated your husband, oh, and we both pushed a person out of our uterus." Still not really grounds for best buddy status. I am just sooo glad that Mr. Jones was no where near my high school at any point, so some of the above statements won't be my case.

I am also hoping that the baby will grow to be huge like it's daddy, so that when the children of the asshats from high school give my kiddo trouble they can just mow them over and go about their day.

I will admit that I am actually friends with a few preggo ladies right now, A FEW.

You want to do what?

I think one thing that I will never fully understand is why people plan their "dream wedding" in the summer (and outside)? Now, if anyone ever reads this please understand - I reside in GA, and it is currently reading 101 degrees on my car thermometer. We have had some 50 odd days of 90 degrees and over...in a row. No rest for the weary here.

The dream wedding. Are people sick enough to have fantasy dreams about miserable guests sitting under an unforgiving sun while they strain to hear your I do's? Meanwhile the wedding party is attempting at all costs not to pass out from heat exhaustion and ruin your bouquets? And the fellas...in tuxedos! Black tuxedos layer upon layer of clothes. That is probably where the phrase "Sweating your balls off" came from - some poor schmuck who was in a summer wedding.

A wedding is a wedding is a wedding - so of course it is a beautiful thing. It just baffles me that people still do that here in the deep south during the summer.

*I will be in a wedding this weekend, which is why I am even thinking about all of this right now. Of course I may be a bit bitter because I am 4 months pregnant and the thought of trying to zip that bridesmaids dress up has me a bit antsy.*

To new beginnings

I am happy to announce that as of yesterday afternoon- I get to start a brand new adventure within our paranormal crew. I am now the director of EPGA.

Now, I am not a title hungry kind of gal, but I knew that nominating myself to be the director would allow me to really use my creative noggin to get things going for us. I knew that with the death of COL I would be able to use that energy for the paranormal group. The projects and ideas are endless.

But, at the end of the day I know that I really genuinely love what we have been doing for years. Talking to people about the field really is an great feeling because a lot of people don't understand how or why we do what we do-and getting to explain the awesomeness is well, Awesome.

The best part? My new partner in crime/Assistant Director is an amazing lady too. May we have a very successful year!

Prefers to travel with her own baggage.

So, a few months ago we traveled to the Emerald Isle for the coolest vacation I have ever been on. When we got off the plane we realized we had misplaced all of our directions, reservations, plans etc... We laughed it off and went on to have the best trip ever. All the details and bullshit? We didn't need any of it anyways.

Now we are gearing up for our big trip to Canada. It is the hubby's grandma's 90th birthday. I have yet to meet a lot of the relatives who live in Canada. I am going to get to see where his childhood years were spent. Initially I was skeptical that a big trip with his family would work (we had a bit of a tiff with his mom months prior to planning). We weren't speaking, so I didn't see how this would pan out.

Because-we are days away from boarding the plane and I am in total freak out mode. I (along with the 4 others travelling with me) have received an easy 10 pages worth of instructions regarding the trip. Everything from what to pack, to how to call a shuttle. Interesting enough I am the youngest one travelling at 24 years old. I can't wrap my head around why/how a fun "vacation" with mature adults has now turned into the biggest cluster fuck disaster so fast.

I think there is a reason we lost all of our plans back in Ireland. The universe was trying to tell me that not every minute of my life has to be on paper and happen as you think it should. I loved that change, and have implemented it back at home. Exploring the island my husband called home should have been the same way. An adventure every day. But now? It is plagued with a minute by minute itinerary chock full of rules and instructions. I am now nervous to pack my own fucking suitcase, for fear I will have skipped one of the many things on one of the many lists. Of course, the ones I am travelling with are used to this and advise time and time again to ignore her and delete whatever emails come through. But as a former over organizer who loves to comply with everyone it is damn near impossible for me to not hang the book of instructions around my neck with a highlighter marking things off as I go. (Hoping someone will think I am a lost child in the airport terminal and help me on my way-take me home with you!!!). Maybe on the front sheet I can put : If found, please send back to Georgia.

(the husband may kill me for airing some of this dirty laundry, but I seriously had to get some of it off my chest or he will never take me on a trip again-which is fine esp if it is a family vacation! oi)

Wanna hear a real vampire story?

The doc took 5 entire vials of blood from me today. Which would have been all good, except for one thing. I had never in my life had to give up blood until today. So when the lady walked in and both hands were full of clear little containers I got a bit antsy.

But I was a total trooper. I didn't get a sticker, but my man friend took me to cracker barrel after to celebrate.

Besides, he was ecstatic because he got to see our little monkey baby today too. We have quite a dancer on our hands already (and it's only 9.5 weeks old) Great. I won't be posting ultrasound pictures at any point during my pregnancy...not here...not anywhere.

I think it is 100% totally ridiculous that women post that crap on social networking sites. I don't need 500+ people checking that out. Just the idea of how that picture was taken = not cool for some people you never ever talk to (or don't know at all). No thanks. People don't post colonoscopy photos, and it is basically the same concept. So if anyone bugs me about not posting-I will tell them to shove a camera up their ass, post the pics, and see how they feel. A little violated? Alright then..

Diversity in the restaurant industry.

While the husband and I were driving to work this morning (yea, we work together too) We noticed that a new restaurant was opening soon, and the banner just said "Hibachi Buffet-Coming Soon!"

We talked for a minute about how we love hibachi, and i'm eating for two so the buffet idea was intriguing. All I can eat fried rice hibachi style? hell yes. Then we were taking stabs at what the name of the place might be. He guessed they may just leave it at Hibachi Buffet. Then I reminded him that Asian entrepreneurs know better than that. They will add a combination of Super, Jumbo, or Mega in front of that title. Or all three, Super Jumbo Mega Hibachi Buffet. For some reason they like to find every synonym possible for fucking huge, and throw that in to entice us fat Americans.

Then all of this reminded me of hispanic joints. Not the mexican restaurants that open for other mexicans (which actually have legitimate spanish names) But the mexican restaurants that open for the dumb Americans. You know, like El Burrito. The burrito? Really guys? Do you see us opening restaurants that serve american dishes and call it The Hamburger?or The Boring Grilled Cheese Sandwich? Of course not.

I guess that is all I have to say about that.

Mr. Jones is a regular Will Ferrell

I think that I hear that my husband is like Will Ferrell at least once a week. I'm not sure if that is because he is big, and has goofy curly hair that reminds people of Will. Or maybe it's the fact that he is totally ridiculous, and uncensored 24-7. This past halloween he dressed like the rough and weathered Ron Burgundy, complete with a milk carton full of booze. He played it well. As a tribute to Will I am linking to one of my favorite Will Ferrell skits.

Oh, and the picture? That's just my hunny, licking a tree in Ireland. Classic.

Friends in weird places

Recently at casa Jones we discussed what would be a good way for me to stay healthy for the duration of me hauling baby Jones around. We decided memberships to the YMCA would be best because they have easy peasy classes like beginners water aerobics and yoga classes every day of the week.

And off I went, in my saucey one piece bathing suit(pffft), to my very first water aerobics class. I honestly had no expectations in my mind (which is unusual for me). I can usually envision myself doing something, what sort of people will be there, what the place will look like and so on.

I told the instructor it was my first class, and I was preggo so for her to let me know if there is something I shouldn't be doing. Then I snuck into the pool seemingly unnoticed. Then they caught me. A gaggle of older ladies - they must have over heard I was pregnant and they all started talking to me. I got 10 new names to go with 10 new faces in like .5 seconds. That was the fastest I have ever made friends. ever.

I glanced around the pool, and I realized something. Everyone in the pool was over the age of 70. The old guys were on one end of the pool, and the old ladies on the opposite end. Like a 5th grade dance. Cute.

My new friends helped me out that class, they told me which water weights were the easiest to use, and different tricks to make the exercises work for me. It was neat. I liked the fun energy surrounding the whole class.

If the tables were turned, and it were a bunch of 24 year olds girls in that pool and one old lady, I doubt any of the young bloods would have even cared to help the old lady out. And that is a sad reflection of my generation. But seriously, it would have been a pool full of snobby bitches trying to out do each other. I have taken a handful of classes since then, and I hope to learn some lessons from my new swimming buddies.

Ice Cream in Alabama

I think some of my best childhood memories involve camping in Alabama. My parents had some property off of Lake Weiss and for years and years we would always spend our summer holidays and many weekends out there.

That is where I learned how to fish at the age of 3, and from then on I out fished dad, his buds, and every relative that would come out there with us. I was a little lucky charm out on that lake.

I learned that making homemade ice cream took way longer than my young mind could comprehend, but it was better than any ice cream I have ever had. Ever. I would now wait a lifetime to be able to go back and eat that ice cream.

Out on our dock is where I learned that fireworks don't always do what they are supposed to after you catch them on fire...You can pick up quite a pace when a flaming rooster booster is chasing you down the dock-even if you are 6 years old!

I learned that dad's friends were maybe a little more than drinking buddies. They played cowboys and aliens with me (not sure why I didn't stick to the traditional indians)...They caught baby ducks to the dismay and severe beating they received from mama duck- just so I could get a little ducky cuddle in before returning it to it's family. They also helped dad fight off a raccoon with rabies that was heading for me. Thinking back I really wish I could remember all of the crazy stuff that happened throughout those years on the lake.

When I was a teenager I guess things got tough (or too busy), and dad sold the property. It broke my heart. It still breaks my heart. The worst part? An uncle bought the land, and instead of being invited to visit the old stomping ground I get to see facebook updates about how they are all enjoying the lake that I loved so much. I should be glad my cousins, and their children are getting to have their own memories made there, but I am a little too bitter still.

I am sure there will be a spot, or several spots that I will take my kid(s) to in our camper and they will have some unforgettable memories to keep with them like I have.

closing a chapter

So today I pulled the plug on the art club I had formed 3 years ago. It was a really tough decision, but in the end a lot of it was about my ego and pride. Creative Out Loud was something that I had made with big wild ideas in mind. When the group slowly wasn't showing signs of the progress we had hoped it would- I still held on.

After 3 years of a select few helping and supporting the group it had become apparent that I was just: A- winging it B-Coming up with random projects for us to try to focus on & C-having terrible issues with solid membership (and so on.)

Since COL was "my baby" I couldn't stand to let it go down the tubes. I would try fundraisers, workshops, field trips, and for the most part they were quite fruitless. I can recall my sister and I spending hours upon hours making things and organizing group functions. In the back of my mind I would ask myself - Is it worth it? Things aren't picking up, why don't we quit? But I knew that quitting meant that I did a terrible job leading a group. I now know that this isn't completely true, and that previous members that I always thought were total lazy bums, well maybe they were just busy. Who knows, but I do know that I am ready to let it go.

So hopefully I will find a new creative outlet, and repair the little hole I just ripped out of my heart.

Lyrical Monday

There were a lot of things that I wanted to write about in this post. A lot of the options had to do with a conference that I went to this weekend. But I haven't completely wrapped my head around all of the ideas, much less had the opportunity to formulate the best way to talk about what I want to talk about.

Thus, I am posting some lyrics to Regina Spektor's Laughing With. Enjoy!

No one laughs at God in a hospital
No one laughs at God in a war
No one’s laughing at God
When they’re starving or freezing or so very poor

No one laughs at God
When the doctor calls after some routine tests
No one’s laughing at God
When it’s gotten real late
And their kid’s not back from the party yet

No one laughs at God
When their airplane start to uncontrollably shake
No one’s laughing at God
When they see the one they love, hand in hand with someone else
And they hope that they’re mistaken

No one laughs at God
When the cops knock on their door
And they say we got some bad news, sir
No one’s laughing at God
When there’s a famine or fire or flood

But God can be funny
At a cocktail party when listening to a good God-themed joke, or
Or when the crazies say He hates us
And they get so red in the head you think they’re ‘bout to choke
God can be funny,
When told he’ll give you money if you just pray the right way
And when presented like a genie who does magic like Houdini
Or grants wishes like Jiminy Cricket and Santa Claus
God can be so hilarious
Ha ha
Ha ha

I enjoy spilling beans.

A few weeks ago we found out that we are, in fact, having a baby.

I had an excited nervousness in my stomach when I told my parents, and then more people here and there. And so far it has been fun watching the Mr. and I take turns telling friends and family the lovely news.

I have however, received some concerning responses. Here are just a few:

"Oh wow! When did you guys do that?!" --- you mean like, you want to know when I had sex with my husband??? And if he happens to be around when we get this one he has no qualms whatsoever with trying to answer...in detail! Yipes!

"What is it?!" --- mind you I am only 7 weeks along so to my knowledge not showing in the least bit, much less at a point of knowing the sex. The best response to this idiotic question?I am having A CANADIAN. Duh. Which may spur the next question.

"Brett isn't a citizen yet, will that mean anything for the baby?" --- Why yes, that means the kid will beat him to US citizenship. Joke's on daddy, high fives all around. The best response so far is to exclaim that they may deport my husband and my newborn baby!

"How sick are you already?" --- sick of? sick of you? sick of my husband? I know they mean- morning sickness, but do they really want to know if I am vomiting frequently? I doubt it...By the way I am not a bit queasy YET.

I can't wait to hear the questions we get from total strangers after I start showing. I bet there will be some doozies!

Rock Lobster

I had almost forgotten about this little commissioned piece I did as a gift for a woman's husband. His name is Joey (as you can see on the side of the boat). She asked for some sort of boat and lighthouse scene and I of course said sure I can do that.

Then I mulled it over and thought, holy shit, I have never painted a boat/water/or lighthouse before... This could get interesting.

Later that night I had dinner at Red Lobster, and I looked down at my menu and saw this scene. Perfect boat/water/lighthouse combo. So that bad boy went home with me and helped me put this together for that woman.

I wonder if Joey saw this and thought, "This seems strangely familiar?"

(This reminds me that I do quite well with oils, but I just hate waiting for the pieces to dry!)

1st Anniversary of Mom's 59th Birthday!

Today is my Mom's 60th Birthday.

She and I were walking around my new neighborhood last night, and I realized that she is more of a best friend than I thought she was.

She is the kind of best friend that you talk about your other "best friends" to. She knows my many peeves about every little thing, and I know all of hers.

She also knows that I hate doing things alone, so she is always there to keep me company. Even if its just to walk a few laps around the block, or a quick lunch somewhere.

So Happy Birthday to you Mom!

ps-she looks pretty damn good to be 60 huh?!

(yet another reason why I use Mary Kay religiously...it's good stuff!)

Of Mice and Canadians

Sometimes my relationship with Mr. Jones reminds me of Lennie from Of Mice and Men - in a accidentally squishing or hurting when he doesn't mean to sort of way.

I'm not saying Brett is going to crush me dead like a rabbit...but a few stories come to mind from our past that are perfect examples of me vs. him vs. gravity or some other universal law:

Like the time he hugged me and squished me until I puked. Or the times he gently "nudges" me and I go flying into a nearby wall. I think he forgets how damn big he is half the time!

However, I use his height as a crutch, and if I even think for a second that I can't finagle something from a top shelf in the house I go crying to him to help me get it. This particular evening I was trying to retrieve a pitcher from the top area of our cabinets.. way higher than I could reach even with a chair...

Me (in my whine-y voice): Hey hun, ummmm can you get this pitcher down for me?!

Brett: Sure, get on my shoulders and you can get it.

Me: I don't think that's a very good idea.

Brett: Of course it is! Hop on!

He crouches down so I can sit on his shoulders

And up we go! I hand him the pitcher and he sits it on the counter...

Me: Ok! Put me down please!!! It's scary up here! (his height+ my upper half means I am over 9ft tall at that moment)

Brett: Aw come on, you are fine, this is fun!

I notice we are headed for the kitchen light fixture so I duck, Brett mistakes my "ducking" for "slipping" and proceeds to throw me up and into said light fixture.

Me: *screams*

Then he kinda half ass drops me and I hold my head and some ice for the rest of the evening.

In conclusion, my birthday is coming up - so if anyone wants to invest in a human-sized gerbil ball for me that would be spectacular. I can't get squished or injured if I am in a bubble all the time.

Subscription Prescription

I think that you can tell a lot about a person by the magazine subscriptions they have.

Take Mr.Jones for example, he has one - Game Informer. And that tells us what? The he is simple, and he likes to keep things simple. He loves his xbox. The end.

My reads? National Geographic for starters. I remember as a little girl my parents always took me shopping at antique stores. We would plan elaborate road trips all over the country to go to antique shops and auctions. If I found an old edition of a Nat Geo magazine? It was better than taking me to a trip to the candy shop. I was certain I had found a little treasure! I still have some of the old editions from those long forgotten trips. It had been a while since my last subscription to the magazine, so on my birthday last year that is what I told Mr.Jones to get me. No jewelry, or gift cards or things that will get hidden in my closet...When I get my monthly magazine from them it is like my birthday all over. I geekishly hover over every page, and proceed to pass the newest edition over to my family members telling them they have to read this or that and hold up the pictures on the pages as if I took them myself.

My other subscription "prescription"? Rolling Stone. A little left field in comparison to my Nat Geo, but I love a good ol drug/sex/rock story. As the Nat Geo brings out my inner nerd, the Rolling Stone brings out my inner bad ass. This month's 8 page spread on Robert Downey Jr. wasn't so bad either. Not so bad at all. I guess my Rolling Stone gives me practical advice...you know, if i'm ever stuck in a room snorting coke with Jack Nicholson - or need some artistic inspiration, world travel tips, etc...

When I open the mailbox and see one of those treasures laying there ready to be read I feel like I am about to step into another little world of fun. Therapy Schmerapy. My nerdy world and my bad ass world are all that I need.

Cougar country

This is Cougar Country, so watch your back!

Let me start with this simple truth:
My husband is a complete and total ham.

One of his jobs is at the local Starbucks being a Barista. At this Starbucks he usually has the drive through window under control.

He is a cheeseball with the ladies (young and old), makes funnies with the guys etc... Which generates very generous tips for that location.

It also generates a crazy pack of cougars who now want Mr. Jones, and his red beard.

They give him their numbers, they invite him to ride bikes with them, they give him their "card". They look for him while he is on vacation. They bring their daughters in to meet him. They refuse to believe that he is married.

No matter what he says about his wife, or being married, they just keep on. A lot of people ask me if that worries me. I laugh of course, as you can see illustrated by green arrow left. Sometimes I will stop by to bring him dinner on his break, and every once in a while there will be a cougar in there, possibly on the prowl...Brett will introduce me, and oh the funny looks I get. Brett is fairly oblivious and crazy, illustrated by green arrow right.

So I can just see it now - on the 5 o'clock news: Girl gets mauled by a pack of Cougars in the Starbucks parking lot.

Thanks Mr. Jones, thanks a lot.

(as you can see from the illustration - these cougars typically have crazy hair, crazy bad tans, and drive really expensive cars- they are terrifying. I hear that if you make really loud noises, or pretend that you are already dead they will leave you alone)

possibly the coolest hobby ever

After a pretty spectacular investigation this weekend, I felt the urge to post about ghost hunting. I can't disclose info about what the team saw this weekend, so I figured I would post something that I wrote for our team's little blog (that hasn't quite taken off yet!)

so enjoy!

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Things That go Bump in the Morning?

Why do investigations take place at night?

Why am I only seeing stuff at night?

Why do I hear strange things after I go to bed?

Why does blood drip from the wall after midnight?

Ok, so I made that last question up...but the others are legitimate questions we have heard throughout the years. They are good questions because there does seem to be an interesting correlation between paranormal activity and evening hours.

One theory we are kicking around is so simple we must share it first. People don't experience activity in there homes during the daylight hours because they aren't home. I hope that simplicity didn't offend, but it is true- if you are busy getting the kiddos to school and then do your 9-5 thing how do you expect to experience activity somewhere that you are not?

And oh how I would love to talk science to you all for the next theory - But I would rather let these guys explain the next idea. The following information is the reason why we, like many other groups, document solar and geomagnetic activity occurring in our little universe before every investigation.

http://www.liparanormalinvestigators.com/solar.shtml

So there you have it, ghosts aren't picky about what time of day it is - you just have to be at home to see or hear the usual activity in the home. The same things that go bump at night could go bump in the morning. And that just sounds weird, so I am closing on that note!

-Stefanie Jones, charter member

Have something you would like to see discussed? Email Stefanie@everydayparanormalga.com

Thanks Long Island Paranormal Investigators for the wealth of information!