Oil Change Conspiracy

I am pretty sure as soon as a woman brings a car to a dealership there is a little flashing light that goes off to notify the mechanics. *inexperienced car lady approaching, up-sell in full force"  And before you get all offended, this is directed at myself and other women who leave car stuff to their husbands, boyfriends, brothers, Dad's etc. So settle down. 

I know nothing about cars, hell I am the first to admit that I am a terrible driver, and I know 99% of people will agree with me. The other 1% are either too young to know better, or drunk. I never took drivers Ed. I failed my driving test about 7 times. I didn't even get my license till I was almost 21 and I think only because the instructors at the license bureau finally got tired of seeing me and finally passed me. With a 71. (70 is passing).  It always seemed a little fishy when I showed up for my driving test and the instructors were huddled together pulling out straws. 

I am pretty sure you will be shocked that I can't even drive a stick shift. Many people have tried, and failed, to teach me. I can't drive a car that requires me to use both feet and hands at the same time. I need one foot free to tap along to music and the other hand free to flip off people who honk at me because I am driving 50 in the fast lane. Plus, shifting gears makes really weird crunching noises which only results in having to buy new car parts. 

You would think with all the brothers I have I would have learned a little something about cars. Nope. Mostly, they just wanted me to stay far away so I didn't hurt myself. I am pretty sure if I had to, I could change a tire, but to save an expensive hospital bill, we pay for roadside assistance. 

So, I am getting an oil change in the Ford, and our Edge is one year old, excellent shape and we get oil changes regularly. Sure enough the guy tries to sell me on all sorts of things, most of which I am pretty sure are made up. And He keeps calling me Veronica, so I call him by a completely wrong name every time he comes out to tell me that my coffee filter is dirty. Which is ridiculous because I don't even drink coffee. 

And the only tv in the waiting room is on ESPN. As soon as I find the remote I am changing it to lifetime. If I have to sit here in misery then only a lifetime made for tv show starring a washed up 80's star will help. Not because I want to watch it, but the expressions of the men having to listen to it would be hilarious. 

When You're Sliding into Home....

And your pants are full of foam, diarrhea cha cha cha.

Remember this song? If not, you either didn't have brothers, or elementary school classmates who sang this, and the other 4 or so verses to this crappy tune.

I can not understand why kids (and some grown men) think the word or action of fart, poop, toot etc. is hysterical. Whenever one of the kids says one of these words they can't stop laughing and then it's a 20 minute discussion/more laughing session about it.  

Men are proud of their farts and poops. They congratulate each other on farts like they are nominees for an award. And what's with the amount of time they spend in the bathroom? Why do they get a half hour of privacy, but the second us ladies go in, they or the kids are knocking at the door wanting something. The kids could be playing down the street, or taking a nap, but sure as shit the second you lock that door, there they are.  And men, the smell. Omg. How do you sit in that?! And for the record, please do not spray that scented air fresher around after your ass explosion. The only thing that does is enhance the shit smell. Just turn on the fan, or open the window and shut the door until the all clear signal is given and it's safe to go in. 

But women are a whole different animal. 

I know we all do it. We all fart, too. but we will hold it in and sit through the worst gas pains and cramps not to fart in front of our friends. Even the lady in the public bathroom stall who is pretending to cough and/or blow your nose in the attempt to hide the fact you are popping. I know what you are doing, no one spends more time then they have to in a public stall.  But generally us girls don't talk about it (well most of us) like the men do. But we will talk about periods, tampons, cramps, yeast infections, etc. like its nothing, to anyone, even strangers.

I wish I could be on a regular poop schedule, at the same time every day. It would be great. Most men are like clockwork, and I envy that schedule. I would love if people would be like, hey where is Ronnie, and the response would be "oh it's her poop time". I want a set schedule of 20 uninterruppted time every day! Instead, I just have to wait until my body decides that itstimetogorightnow and hope that there is a bathroom nearby.  If it happens and I am at work, I wonder how long I have left of the day, because we might be able to hold it until I get home. And then as soon as I get in the bathroom, I get 5 constantly interrupted minutes to myself, unless I forget to lock the door, and then it's a poop party, and the kids are wandering around me like flies.

And I am so very thankful that the kids are finally old enough to wipe away their own poop. Yes, I still check to make sure, because I don't want them to have dingleberries, and cleaning poop stains are a pain in the, well, butt (haha). But the fact they get the brunt of it makes me happy that I don't have to do it anymore. I fully support early potty training. Poopy diapers on kids over 2 is gross. Especially if they don't tell you right away and they sit in it and spread it around. Bleh.

 

 

Thumbs Up, 7-Up

Does anyone remember playing this game in elementary school? Everyone had to put their heads down on their arms and stick their thumb up in the air. A couple people were appointed to push the thumbs down, and then the people with the thumbs pushed down had to guess who did it. Then it was their turn to be the thumb pushers. Now, mind you, this was a game we played in my time, (80's) before we had any kind of cool technology gadgets the kids have these days.  We shared a couple of TV's for all the grades, and I think the entire elementary school shared 6 computers, located in the library, and the only games we could play on them were "Oregon Trail, Pit Fall and Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego".

This led me to think of other days at school, that I loved, or hated. 

I remember my favorite days  in gym class were with the big parachute, and all of us secretly hoping that we could be on top of it and bounced up in the air. Sadly, our gym teacher never agreed.

My worst day at gym was when you walked into gym class and saw the ropes hanging down, and the gym teacher expected you to scale them to the top, and back down. I was a skinny, active kid, however, anything involving having to heave myself up 10 feet was probably going to end up in disaster. I could barley ride my banana seat bike up the street with out running into a parked car. 

I also remember in music class one of our activities was to learn "The Hustle". (It's a dance) I still remember bits and pieces of it to this day, but I can't break it out and be the hit of the party due to the fact NO ONE plays that song. I am still suspect that no one ever did back then either. I am 99% sure our music teacher was a hippie and smoked a lot of pot. Mostly because almost all of the songs we sang in choir were John Denver songs, Puff the Magic Dragon, and songs about sunshine bringing us happiness. Although, we used to sing "Rainbow Connection" and to this day, I still love that song and get nostalgic when I hear it.

We also got to go to Casa Bonita every year with the choir group, so pretty much everyone was in it, because you got to miss a day of school to hide in Black Bart's Cave, be chased by a gorilla, break a pinata full of hard candy, and eat 600 sopapillas.They don't have the pinata anymore, probably because some dumb kid hit another kid with the pinata stick, instead of the pinata. BUT they still do have the worst food I have ever eaten, so at least not too much has changed.

The class I hated most was Math. My brain just doesn't like math. And I would like to take this opportunity to tell Mrs. Maske, that yes I will ALWAYS have a calculator on my person, thanks to technology. She thought it was important for me to learn how to add and subtract, IN MY HEAD. Malarkey, I say. Who does that? Oh, well, I found out a lot of people do. Showoffs.

My report cards always said the same things "If Ronnie applied 5/3rds of her aptitude of reading toward math, she would improve". or "Ronnie is not working up to her full potential in math". blah blah blah. 

BUT, I have redemption. Reading. I am not lying when I say I was at a 6th grade reading level when I was in 1st grade, and every year moved up to higher levels. I started reading when I was 4. I can read and comprehend a 300 page book in less than 2 hours. In my mind, I have superhero reading powers. Although, when crimes are happening, I don't think that is going to come in handy. "Stop thief, I have a Kindle, and I am not afraid to use it"! I guess in the 80's when I had then entire set of Encyclopedia Britannica's (remember that annoying kid?), I could have at least used them to hurl at criminals. Except, I would miss the criminal entirely and probably hit innocent old ladies. 


I remember once we had a reading contest at school, and if you read the most books, you won an award and a special lunch trip to Little Caesars. Pizza Pizza, say what?! What fool wouldn't want to participate in the goal of all you can eat crazy bread?!

Well, I was truly a book nerd, and read all the time, so this was a really easy contest, and finally something I was good at. (That field day scam is a bunch of bullshit, but that's another story). I was wayyyy ahead of everyone else in the contest. A particular parent, and one of the teachers above my grade thought I was lying about how many books I had read. My friends in class, and my brothers and parents had to defend me.. It got so bad, I had to go to the principal's office, and one of the teachers and parents who didn't believe me made me give a oral synopsis of all the books I read, or they said I had to forfeit the contest. We got through about 20 before she realized I wasn't lying.

I wish at the time I would have been way ahead of my age, because I would have thrown my hands in the air and said "take that motherfuckers", dropped my (imaginary)mic and walked out.
Instead, I stood there trembling and about to cry because I was so mad they thought I was lying, and I was taught to respect teachers and parents, so I didn't know how to defend myself better.
Long story short, I won the entire contest.

My last thing to talk about, is how awesome recess was. We had a wooden structure, that was about 8 feet high, and I am pretty sure rotted through in many places from years of rain and snow. We were forever getting splinters, or scraping ourselves climbing it. We jumped off of the top of it into gravel. Nothing like the rubber, safe play equipment these softies have these days surrounded by sand or grass. Oh and we had two giant tires. Yes, tires.  One blue, one pink. If you tried to go in the blue tire, the playground aid would blow her whistle at you. If you tried to climb them you got in trouble. I remember they always smelled like pee. We also had these gymnastic type bars, and us girls figured out if you tied your sweatshirt together, and sat in it on the bar, you could flip around over and over.
The principal put the kabosh on that after some dumb kid fell off one of the bars, and cracked her elbow. And for that, I am sorry.
But you know what, we always had fun. We didn't have the cool playground equipment kids have now, but we didn't care. We played games, or tag, and lava monster, or kickball, and had a blast.

And of course, on rainy days, we go to play "Head's Up, 7-Up". :)

Pen OCD

I have pen OCD. I can only write with certain pens, and if I have the wrong pen, I have to search around and/or steal another person's writing utensil until I find one that I can use, or I feel like my writing is off. I have learned to carry my favorite types of pens with me in my purse, car, laptop bag, suitcase, etc. just in case.


I am not that way about anything else, (well, I might be, but I am not admitting to it), but to this day, if someone at work in a meeting takes my pen, or borrows it from my desk, I will follow them around the office like a mosquito at a blood bank until I get it back.

Once, when I was younger and worked in a small office (about 20 people) people were forever taking pens off my desk. I hid my favorite pen in my drawer and put crappy pens on my desk. But one day I left my favorite pen out, and someone took it. I sent an email to everyone at work, asking who took my pen, to which my boss replied that my email was "an inappropriate use of company email".  My response to that was to yell across the office "who took my pen?!"Apparently, that was inappropriate as well. I tried to explain that it was my favorite pen, and he said "it's just a pen"! That was the first time in my life that I wished I was magic and my pen was a wand so I could do something cool with it and then say "JUST a pen, huh"!?  Instead, I rolled my non-magic eyes at him, and walked away. (Side note -  we got along great, and I worked there for a long time)

Since then, I have calmed down a little bit about people taking my pens, (not even a little) and can afford to buy whole boxes at a time now to always have on hand, but the smart ass in me is still there. Recently, someone in a meeting asked if they could borrow my pen, so I licked it, and handed it over. My co-worker looked at me like I was crazy. I am hoping that I get a reputation of "pen licker" or something of that sort, so people finally leave my pens alone.

I carried a Watermelon

If you know that quote, then you clearly have excellent taste in movies, and know it is from one of the GREATEST movies of all times, Dirty Dancing.

(The original, not that two bit piece of shit part 2 they tried to fake us into believing would be good. I saw about 10 minutes of it before realizing stabbing a fork in my leg would be more entertaining to watch)

I pretty much feel like Baby did in that scene, in most of my life. I am always a dollar short, day late, and trying to figure out the joke everyone else is laughing at, that I pretend to get, only to wonder what the hell is so funny. I usually get it about 2 days later in the most inappropriate places like work meetings, or in a waiting room at a Dr. office, and I laugh out loud, and then realize that everyone is staring at me, and try to cover it up with a cough, but it's too late, they now think I am nuts.

This is why lame jokes make me laugh and laugh. Most of my friends and family are aware of my love for stupid jokes, and humor me when I tell them "I have a joke for you". BUT I have found a niche in the 6-12 age sector. They think my jokes are hilarious, and by default, it makes me cool. I am worried about when the kids get older and realize that my jokes have not gotten any better, they will suddenly avoid me like the plague. I may have to learn sub-lingual messaging so when they are asleep I can convince them I am still funny and cool.

Because I know you are all now on pins and needles waiting to hear some of my award winning jokes, I will tell you a couple.

Q: What do you call a fake noodle?
A: An Impasta 

Q: What do you call an alligator in a vest? 

A: An Investigator 

Q: What do you call two spiders that just got married?
A: Newly-webbed

and finally

Two T.V.'s got married, the wedding wasn't much, but the reception was great. 

See? Told you they were terrible. I do know some terrible, filthy jokes, that my brothers tell me, but I won't repeat any, because I don't want to offend anyone.

I am NOT Falling for You....

Once upon a time, in my early twenties, I went on a blind date with this guy. You know how you can tell it is going to be a disaster from the get go? That's how this date went.
The first thing he said to me when I answered the door was, "wow, your hair is too long, you should cut it, but you have a cute face and body so that is okay". Um, okay.....I chalked it up to him being nervous, and we walked to his car. Inside his car, he had a garter hung from the review mirror. That was only cool, well, never. His car was also a complete mess. I had to clear off the seat myself, as he said "just throw that stuff on the floor". I was barley seated before he took off at full speed down the side street, and driving like a maniac. At this point, I thought about just opening the car door, and flinging myself out taking my chances with road rash and broken bones. I thought that might be less painful than sitting in this filthy car with this guy who was now blasting some heavy metal crap at full volume, while attempting to talk yell at me. He also kept rolling down all of the windows, including mine, to which I would promptly roll back up, not because I really cared at this point what my hair looked like, but my "too long" hair kept whipping me in my face.

We finally got to the restaurant and it was one of those places where they have a huge outdoor patio, and to get to the main doors, you have to walk up a long walkway, in front of all the people on the patio. As we were walking up, I was not paying attention, because my mind was focused on how the hell I was going to make it through dinner, and all of the sudden, BAM. I tripped and totally fell over a step, onto the concrete, skinning my hands, and knees. For half a second, I contemplated pretending I was unconscious so an ambulance would have to come and rescue me away from this date. Instead, I looked up to the sound of everyone on the patio applauding. It was the first time in my many years of klutziness that anyone had appreciated it, so I stood up and bowed, and people laughed. I figured it would make for a good conversation for them later on. My date however, was mortified. He looked at me like I was crazy and said "aren't you totally embarrassed? I am so embarrassed for you". I just gave him a scathing look, and we continued on into the restaurant. I wiped some of my blood from my hand on the back of his shirt so that made me feel better. I have no idea why at this point I didn't just ask him to take me home, maybe I really had hit my head and was losing it.

We were sat at a table, and ordered drinks. I ordered a beer, to which he promptly made fun of me for ordering. I have no idea why. Boy wonder ordered a Manhattan. I asked him if he got a senior discount with that drink, and he clearly did not think that was funny, because he said "I don't get it".

He then starts yapping about his house he shared with 3 other guys, (and probably cockroaches and other various bugs), talking about this "awesome hot tub" they had. He suggested after dinner, we go back to his house and sit in the hot tub, and then he followed that up with this gem: "No suits allowed", and winked. It was at this point that I knew I needed to escape. I told him I had to go to the bathroom, and I walked out the door to the patio, out to the parking lot, and hid behind another building until my friend came and picked me up.
Thus ending my first, and last, blind date.

Best Hair Day... EVER

This is me in Elementary school. I think maybe 3rd or 4th grade? I am holding a book that I bought (aka - my parents bought) for the library. Inside the book it says my name and has a copy of this picture. I like to think that I am giving anyone who checks this book out a good laugh when they see this, if it is even still in there. I am actually more surprised this photo has not ended up on "Awkward Family Photos" or some other game/show where they make fun of old pictures. It wouldn't offend me in the least, because this photo is hilarious, and I don't judge my younger self. How can I? Look at the outfit I am wearing.

Take a minute to let that hair-don't sink it. It was the 80's and I had convinced my parents that I wanted a perm. My Dad actually gave me the perm. When he was younger and in the air-force, he got his Barber license which included learning how to do perms. (Disco hair anyone)? AND he was actually very good at them. He had a regular little side business for a few years in the 80's with me, my friends and the mothers of some of my friends. This was not his job, just something he did on the side to ensure that our family didn't go at least a week with out the stench of Oglive Home Perm penetrating our noses for 3 days at a time. My Dad is a great guy like that.