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!