Monster Bait

This one comes from the vault of stories that make up the meatlover, flibirdijibit and dead beat I am today. It's a classic tale told in the EntireRooster family and I am sure it will be passed down and treasured from generation to generation as it shows real humanity and depth of character in times when you just don't wanna eat what your mom gives you for lunch....

I don't remember how old I was when this incident took place, probably old enough to know better. Definitely old enough to know NEVER to do it again!

One morning I was playing in my room and my Momba (being the good caregiver she was) called me down for lunch. I did not go down for lunch so she brought my lunch up to me in my room. The lunch from what I can remember consisted of one blackened, BBQed wiener. I took the wiener from my Momba had one bite, hated the blackened, charcoal-ness of it and discarded it into my drawer where I stored my unmentionables. I did this, I think, because I didn't want my Momba to know I wasn't eating it. I whined a little when she gave it to me and she told me to 'just eat it anyway' because that was 'what's for lunch', sounds like just the kind of dead beat thing I would say now! So I hid it, there, in my underwear drawer and just as though my drawer really were an incinerator, I forgot about it......for a very long time.

One day, I went to get pyjama's on to get ready for bed and to my complete horror I found little wormies and grubblies on my fuzzy fleecies! At the time, and to date, this occurrence caused great fright in me and a weak little shriek escaped from my lungs followed by blood curdling whelps of emotional anguish for someone to please come and rescue ME, my PYJAMA'S and my 'tighty whiteys' from the tiny monsters that had invaded my dresser!

Help came, Help found the source of attraction to my dresser drawers, Help removed all monsters and Help removed the monster bait: The Wiener.

Got Milk?

The other day G-Za and I were at our second home, the paddling pool, and I saw, greeted and chatted with a girl who graduated from the same school as me. She doesn’t live here in town anymore but every summer I see her around and she has an adorable little boy.

Nice huh?

So she asks which children are mine and how old they are and how long we’ve lived here and chit-chat-chitty-chat-chit!

Nice huh?

Then my 5 month old started fussing and it was time for a feeding and I did my (or what I thought was a) good mother thing and went over to feed my baby her bottle.

Nice huh?

Then she comes over and grabs a toy out of the box and nonchalantly says “Where’s the breast milk?”

Uh….NOT NICE!!!!!! No - rude! NO - bad!

There are a few things off the top of my head that are wrong with this comment actually there are about 1000 but here are my initial thoughts.

1) You just asked me, a person you had to ask the first name of, at the paddling pool a VERY personal question about secretions that come from a certain personal part of my body.
2) You have just criticized my parenting style and decisions while in the same breath assuming that what I have in the bottle is not the “precious liquid” being inquired on. And also how does she know my baby is not adopted or unable to nurse for some other sad medical reason?
3) You have just intimated to me that you would really just like to see me whip it out right then and there with a detailed anatomy lesson on where the breast milk really is! “Oh it’s right here! I’ll show you! Sure!”

People PEOPLE! There are rules of public conduct that must be followed in this world. I don’t ask for much but please PULLEASE do not:
- ask people where their breast milk is
- reach out and grab at pregnant bellies with out their clear permission and/or invitation also DO NOT ask when the baby is due unless you KNOW beyond a shadow of a doubt that there is a baby due. This hurts feelings for more reasons than I can count especially if there is no baby and for one reason or another it looks like there is. It's deserving of a whole other rant that is not blogger friendly, at least not my blog. Actually Tamado has a really good post about pregnant woman eitquettte - check it out!http://tamnado.blogspot.com/2006/07/belly-in-public-domain.html

Further More......
- Do not ask people for money they owe in the street or while they are shopping at your store. If you must ask them for the money please be discreet about it.
- And finally there’s this. And this is for all health care professionals out there. Let’s say, for instance, you had a rather large mole on your body and it wasn’t in a place that was really visible for everyone to see…..yah….and you go to the hospital to have it removed and you are in the waiting room with another girl whom you know from Smalltown and the nurse calls you BOTH to come at the same time and interviews you TOGETHER about your non-visible moles that will be removed that day. No. Don’t be that nurse.

That is all.

Twinkle Toes Attempts Murder …. (what’s she doin’ with that gun?)

Well here is my second attempt at this story and this time I have taken the advice from that Tamado across the street and am composing in Word. Now that I have already typed out this whole story in it’s entirety it seems silly to write it exactly as I did previously with the whole feigning ignorance about how to start the story and then typing words to mimick the thought process and then having a light bulb moment right here on my blog in front of all readers and THEN get into the story. Now….NOW I feel like just writing out the facts in point form in a lack luster fashion void of humour and intellect. But what then would be the point of this second attempt anyway? You’re right there would be no point……but now I think I’ve got the juices flowing again and I am ready to make nice with blogger and try, TRY again. Here goes:

The story begins once upon a horrible, awful, no good day in the life of 15 year old Flibirdijibit. Why was Flibirdijibit having such a horrible, awful, no good day? To put it plainly but not quite in point form as discussed earlier it was Flibirdijibit’s StupidBoyfriend of the time. This is really not the story - so not to put too much importance on it we’ll just say she was crabby because StupidBoyfriend treated her like poo on shoe and didn’t talk to or look at poor Flibirdijibit ALL day at school or phone her! Now for those of you who have been a 15 year old girl in the past or even just dabbled in it – this was a big deal and worth getting on a serious grump about for at least the span of 24-36 hours. Not as bad as realizing Christmas wasn’t as much fun anymore but enough to make a teen girl more emotional and easily shattered than usual. So the point is: Flibirdijibit was crabby!

Being 15, Flibirdijibit was also trying very hard to become a better driver so she could one day get her license and be all the nearer to freedom. This also would require a whole other post as most of you know – Flibirdijibit learning to drive was a very trying and stressful time for all in the Entirerooster family. She liked to practice though and decided that it was (for some reason) a good day to practice backing up. This also is not really the meat of the story so hopefully it will suffice to say that she did just a BANG UP job of ramming that little truck right into the corner of the garage! As you can imagine this did nothing to improve her already spiraling downwards, tears - welling - up mood so she decided to pull herself together and try an activity that always brought relaxation and joy every year and that was to let Twinkle Toes, her grey mangled footed kitty beast lead her to the new kittens. It was an annual event every year since she was 11- when Twinkle Toes started having kittens. The 3 years prior to that Flibirdijibit thought Twinkle Toes might prefer her own kind, but apparently she was just a late bloomer because once she got started there was no stopping her! For more info on this check out Wilma’s blog. I am sure she is pictured there with all the other pervs.

So normally the mutual agreement between cat and girl was that girl calls cat and asks cat where the kitties are and starts out towards the usual hiding spot of the fuzzy treasures. Cat obliges and leads on happily checking back every 10-15 feet that girl is still there.

NOT THIS DAY! On this day something was obviously off. Possibly a change in the understanding that could not have possibly been communicated by either party? Possibly Twinkle Toes had a sense of Flibirdijibit’s frazzled and unstable vibe? Either way, this day was different in that they started out on the path towards the kittens but about half way across the yard Twinkle Toes turned around, glared at Flibirdijibit then ran full throttle towards her leaping onto her body all the while thrashing, scratching and hissing in a matter that could only be interpreted as “Today you shall die by CAT!”. Quite startled, Flibirdijibit managed a weak shriek and frantic kick to rid herself of the nefarious (new word I picked up this week) feline and fled to the safety of her house where ~ dun dun DUN! ~ they kept the GUNS!!!!

Meanwhile, Flibirdijibit’s mother and brother were sipping coffee and enjoying the calm spring afternoon on the deck. Not phased in the least by her fit of despair running and screaming as they were quite accustomed to this behavior emitting from Flibirdijibit as she was 1. The baby in the family,2. female 3. a teen female and 4. dreadfully phobic of !BEES! Which has nothing to with Twinkle Toes BUT more often than not if Flibirdijibit was seen running and screaming to and fro it was because the threat and terror of the villainous !BEES! had thrown her into such a state. So they let her bee as it were and paid little to no attention to her episode of sheer discomposure.

However, as we established, it was not the wicked !BEES! that made Flibirdijibit flee it was the homicidal cat and sadly, on this day Flibirdijibit thought it a fair trade for Twinkle Toes to exchange her very life for the blatant attempt on ending her own, futile as it was. For it was not her legs and body being slightly injured that pushed her over the edge of reason but rather the utter devastation of her Fragile Pride by her once beloved pet which was only amplified by the aforemnetioned StupidBoyfriend that caused her to act and think so irrationally. So into the gun cabinet she went and out came the biggest shotgun she could find. Luckily for Twinkle Toes and also for Flibirdijibit's wellbeing she did not have the wherewithal to wield such a weapon without some assistance so her mother and brother then heard “get the hell in here and help me with this gun!” to which Flibirdijibit heard “what’s she doin’ with that gun?” and “what? She’s gonna shoot the bees?” followed by “GIMMEE that!” and a swift push of her body away from the firearm and the cabinet where it resided happily away from the unskilled hands of emotionally overwrought 15 year old girls with StupidBoyfriends. At this Flibirdijibit was finally released from all expectations of fortitude or the ill attempted forgery of it and was sent off to the sanctuary of her room where she indulged in a much needed blubber session for slightly longer than appropriate given the events of the day. Really, it’s what she SHOULD have done in the first place without hesitation after being delivered home from school.

The End.

Disclaimer: no animals or humans were mortally wounded or even really injured in the making of this story unless of course you count someones overly taxed feelings?

Mr. Fuzzy Shorts - with a side of creepy pinocchio.

At the ripe old age of 10 (for real this time not just an 11 year old saying she's 10) my family and my best friend's family took a vacation to Disneyland. It was a Christmas/Graduation combo present for our families since our oldest brothers would be graduating from highshcool that year and it seemed the last opportunity to take such a big trip as a family. Seriuosly, Disneyland is for 10 year olds though, right?

So anyway.....the hotel we were staying at in Anaheim was directly across the street from Disneyland. It had a pool and hot tub situated outside with a fence all around (I guess to keep 'outsiders' from coming in and using the facility?). My friend 'Georgela' and I were very much enjoying the pool with our brothers and dad's but after a while they were tired of swimming and so (and don't ask me why) they left us - alone- outside- across the street from Disneyland- at the ripe old ages of 10 and 11.

~In their defense, they were and are farmers from small town Saskabush in the late 80's. So it really doesn't surprise me that they would think nothing of leaving us alone to our own devices. I mean they left us alone to fend for ourselves back home all the time, why would it be different there?~

But I digress....

It's dark, we have moved into the hot tub because we are cold and we are not thinking about the fact that we are alone, outside in the big city at all. We are simply chattering on and on the way we always did and enjoying every moment of our Californian vacation together. While we were sitting in there an older man - whom I can only assume is an accomplice of Mr. Fuzzy Shorts in retrospect - comes by and asks us how we're doing and if everything is okay and how is the temperature 'blah,blah, blah'....then he went over to some dial on the wall near our changeroom/sauna and fiddled with it and left.

A few more minutes pass and a second man comes along wearing a towel, a T-shirt, a beard and glasses. At the tme I would have guessed him around 30. Georgela says to him as he passes by our hot tub 'Hey Dude!' he replies 'Hey' back and continues into the changeroom/ sauna where our clothes and towels are. Not realizing there was both a men's and a ladies changeroom we thought nothing of him going into our changeroom. Not sure why but we didn't.

A few minutes passed and we had all but forgotten about the guy when he made a reappearance just outside the changeroom. Georgela was facing me and didn't notice him come out and I wouldn't have paid him much attention either except there was something peculiar about his swimming trunks.......he was backed by a light and his shorts looked rather, um, fuzzy..... wait a minute! Those are not shorts at all! In fact there ARE no trunks ON this man! This all occurs to me in about a millisecond of gauking. So without moving my mouth at all I say between clenched teeth to Georgela in the style of Cameron Fry from Ferris Buellers Day Off (a favorite of ours at the time) "look over there!" She looks, I look, he is looking at us..... posing rather and, if I might add, looking 'quite excited' and 'happy' in the unshorted area. After a beat he goes back to this 'dial' on the wall and does some 'dialing' and then retreats back into the changeroom.

Well Georgela and I were out of that hot tub and up the stairs before you could say 'Mr.Fuzzy Shorts' and we ran into our dad's coming to check on us on our way! By the time they got down to kick some butt he was already gone. Never to be seen again......

Creepy Pinocchio....

This story may or may not be related to Mr.Fuzzy Shorts and I am unsure of the timeline, if this happened before or after the pool incident. Georgela? Mayhaps you remember?

I liked to have my hair 'done up' when I was a child and my mom obliged and bought me all kinds of cute barretts and such to wear in my overly done, overly hairsprayed hair. Yes I was 10 and had REALLY high bangs.

One of the days we were spending at Disneyland I was of course sporting some very stiff bangs and a very tight ponytail and some neat ladybug barretts. Well Pinocchio took QUITE an interest in my do by stopping me, and fondling patting and fiddling with my hair for several minutes. Of course it made Georgela and I laugh hysterically we even caught the whole thing on tape! But now....looking back.... is it possilbe that Mr. Fuzzy Shorts was donning a Pinocchio suit during the day?????? HMMMMM?????!!!!!!

Creep.

Now you must vote for you next selection from the crypt of flibirdijibits past:

a) Flib flies at table mountain
b) Flib flies at Cousin Vinces
c) Twinkle Toes and her Kittens...(what's she doing with that gun?)

Why I'm Not Cute

- the first of many stories that have shaped the dead beat I am today.

I decided that I have just too many good funny stories about me growing up and being a grown up that if I don't record them somewhere they may be lost all together. The topic of this, my first recant-a-rant (that's a new word I just made up), is the story of how I learned that I am indeed NOT CUTE! No. Not.

It was grade 6, I was 10 and we were working on gluing hundreds of popsicle sticks together to make a lamp see?


This is what we aspired for our lamps to appear like after all the messy gluing was through.....Apparently I never even completed this art project, too busy talking!

Yeah....like I say, I was talking in Art class if you can believe it and I guess I was the only one too because I am the only one that got sent out to the hall. A first for young flibirdijibit.

Yes, there is young flibirdijibit, sitting out in the hall wondering what would become of her next? What happens in the hall? What does the teacher do? What will the teacher say? Will my mother be phoned?

After quite a while, in my 10 year old mind 5 minutes would be a very very long time (in my 27 year old mind 5 minutes would be a very very long time) my teacher who we shall call........ hmmmm..... Mr. Ztruk? yes! Mr. Ztruk emerges from the classroom looking very displeased indeed and here is what he proceeds to explain in the hopes of chastising my 10 year old self for talking while gluing popsicle sticks together during art class:

'you're not cute, nobody thinks your cute (as though they had held a meeting to discuss how disgustingly un-cute I am) so stop trying to be cute because you're NOT!'

then he left me alone in the hallway again to mull over what we had discussed; me and my not cuteness. Needless to say, at the time it crushed me a little bit and I wasn't quick enough to make any smart remarks like....

'so, what you're saying is....you think I'm cute?'

No, I am sure I just sat there with my mouth hanging open (mouth breather for a long time, which also is not cute) wondering what I did to invoke such anti-flibirdijibitism.

And that my friends, is why I am not cute. No. Not.

Dead Beat Strikes Again!

So serioulsy, is there a notice out there somewhere sent to all the stores and businesses of our town about me and my 'dead beatedness' as it were? Really this is getting ridiculous. Today it was only funny because of what had happened last week and because Wilma was there to witness the whole thing and laugh with/at me. So this is what happened:

I went to register yesterday for 'something' that is happening in our town this weekend, there was a small fee to register and wouldn't ya know it, I couldn't pay it yesterday! I had no cheques with me and I couldn't pay with debit so I said I would come back. Well today while I was out running various and sundry errands....NOT AT THE GROCERY STORE EITHER.....I ran into Wilma, I hugged her as it seemed the appropriate thing to so as someone just had commented to her how she's being hugged and congratulated all the time now since she became Mrs. Puffy Unkle Kracker Daddy Jack Cap'n Kirk Man. Then both Wilma and I ran into a mutual aquaintance/friend and wouldn't ya know it she's in charge of collecting on my registration fee so there I am in the street this time being asked for my $x.xx again! It was TOO TOO funny I tell you!

Think I'll put up posters of myself around town warning all of my failure to pay and to not let me in unless I show my cash on hand first!

I tell ya with me being a Dead Beat and my husband having a whole phrase coined about his 'one sided' sharing tactics with certain beverages of the bubbly, bitter, "beerish" variety - we are really living up to our potential as citizens of our community and role models for our chillun!

What the.....?!!!!!

So you know how you can have your 'pooter run a little slideshow on it's screen while you are neglecting it?

Well, you can imagine my horrified surprise when I look over at my (demon possessed) 'pooter and see this image just lackadaisically floating by as if there's nothing wrong with this picture and that it somehow belongs on my screen.....which it does not as I am absolutely freaked out by old creepy dolls! I know there are others of you out there who share this very real fear and also know that my past is speckled with the hauntings of these mean little plastic creations.

I need a moment.....

okay, I think I am ready to perform the exorcism ritual to rid this image from my hard drive.

Where did it come from?!!!!!