All Rileyed Up

On today’s date in 1977, I was a wee little baby. I was probably whiling the day away in my playpen (with possible undiagnosed developmental delays) when the news came out that Elvis Aaron Presley – the man, the myth, the PB&J lover – had moved on to another galaxy (if you’re inclined to believe the words of Douglas Adams, which I am).

So go listen to some Suspicious Minds and do a little hip-swinging in remembrance of the King.

And remember, Elvis is only truly gone when there are no more Elvis sightings:

Elvis is in my chocolate:

Elvis is in my bath:

Elvis is on the wall of the Italian restaurant:

Extra large display of James Dean’s head? Check.

Small, empty parking lot in the middle of nowhere? Check.

Unnecessary sign about the parking lot? You got it.

Taken at Blackwell’s Corner, James Dean’s reputed last stop, which explains the face, but still no explanation about the parking lot sign.

More pix here: wordless wednesday
Wordless Wednesday

Mugs Away is a great dive — I knew it the moment we parked the car across from the train tracks. Any bar located across from train tracks in a warehouse type plaza is not an uppity place. As we walked over to a crowd largely populated by aging hippies and the kind of men who might don T-shirts that say Mustache Rides for Free, my suspicions were confirmed.

We went to Mugs Away because Husband’s co-worker invited us to see a few bands play that night. Turns out the show was a benefit for someone who had a brain aneurysm, so they were also raffling off random prizes. And when I say random, I do mean random – a circa 1980s Rolling Stones poster, a handmade skirt and matching shirt, lots of wine in various sizes and quantity, a guitar, beaded jewelry, CDs, etc. Raffle tickets were $5/each, so I bought six and spread the tickets out (two for the Rolling Stones poster, even though I would never have paid $10 for such a thing, I would have loved to have won it. It would go with my cardboard Elvis).

Disappointingly, all the raffle prizes were laid out on the pool table, which means I didn’t get to play pool, which means I didn’t get a chance to obey the pool rules:

You know what I like about writing out the rules on a piece of wide ruled schoolkid paper? No pretense. Yes, this is a bar with no pretense. The handle doesn’t work in the bathroom. From the ceiling hangs the clutter of a hundred grandma’s garages — a rusty unicycle. A golf club. A streetlight. The Budweiser Clydesdales. Baseball paraphernalia, and the especially catching road sign that says “Asshole Alley.”

The next day, I mentioned to some friends that I went to Mugs Away, and learned that their big claim to fame is that every year on the day after Fourth of July, they have a big party and whenever a commuter train passes by, they moon it. Of course, my response to this was “Well I know what I’m doing next July Fifth.”
–“Really? You want to… do that?”
–“Buy a train ticket? Hell yeah.”

On the bright side, my $30 worth of raffle tickets was well spent. I won 8 bottles of red wine, and you simply MUST KNOW what the accompanying paper description said:
“THIS AIN’T NO DAGO RED!!! These red & delicious wines provide more pleasure per ounce than the finest herb, or a Brazilian hooker.”

Needless to say, I’m quite excited to drink this wine and not at all surprised that frequenters of this bar moon commuter trains.

And – I also won the handmade skirt! I’m modeling it here if you’d like to see it. (The shirt was a bit on the small side, but the kids seem happy about it nonetheless.)

Posts I started and didn’t complete this week–

The “Mild” Day
My daughter is not “mildly” deaf, but came close to it. My daughter is not “mildly” autistic, but came close to it. Everyone wants to “keep an eye on her.” My husband is “mildly” stressed because his work had a not-so-“mild” layoff. Just imagine getting all that information in one day.

An Upcoming Playdate
I now have a surfing friend, and we’re going out next Friday morning. Hopefully, the waves will be mild (you keep on using that word, I do not think it means what you think it means), because she used to be a professional surfer and I can’t bear to make a fool of myself in front of her.

A Message From My Bare Hands
I took home a cheese plate from Bunco Night because they were going to throw it all away and I can’t stand wastefulness, especially when concerning matters of cheese. So I put the Brie and Gouda in the same plastic bag and the next day I was trying to pull the Brie out and ripped the baggie apart. Not at the seam along the bottom, not at the top where it opens and closes, but straight through the middle. I have no idea how I did this. I transferred said cheeses to a plastic container and when I put the lid on, I put too much pressure on it and cracked the entire lid in half. So, either I don’t know my own strength, or the cheese is trying to tell me that it should be eaten immediately and not stored. Or, I buy shoddy food storage supplies.

Breakfast of Champions
For The Boy: papaya with cashew nut butter dip (which is cashew nut butter and applesauce blended together)
For Little No Limit: vegan pancake with real maple syrup
For Me: Fritos and Coke (in secret, of course)

I Really Am A Geek
A while back, I lamented an attempt at romance on my date with Husband. A few nights ago, the kids went to bed early, so he and I went outside, drank some wine, had some nice conversation, and when we came back inside, it was clear he thought the amorous evening would continue, but I had different plans: “I’m kind of in the mood to watch Return of the Jedi.” Oh yes.

A Time For Backflips!
Voltron is in the works to be a movie. Read here (thanks to Toddled Dredge for notifying me)

A Time For Backflips, Part Deux
Okay, the first post was exciting enough in and of itself. The second post would have been to determine who will be cast in the movie, the storyline, etc. Message to the director: Can I PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE be Princess Allura?

I could be blond. Honestly.

Memes
Got tagged by a few people. The Weirdgirl tagged me for 8 things, hence this post, and Riley Central and Whee! All The Way Home both tagged me for that advice on blogging meme that’s been going around. You can check out their blogs for all the wonderful advice, and while you’re at it, read some of their stuff.

Time for more Fritos and Coke. Peace out.

From the high school Student Government Association to the neighborhood Home Owners Association, it’s all about being a busybody.

1. Car Problems –
The SGA: “The juniors are parking in the senior lot. Oh, the horror!”

The HOA: “My neighbor is parking in their driveway instead of their garage! Oh, the horror!”

2. Rumors –
The SGA: “Did you hear that Amy Sue hooked up with Daniel at Jay’s party?”

The HOA: “Did you hear Daniel left Amy Sue for a woman at his office?”

3. Helping Hand –
The SGA: “It’s time for the annual food drive to help those poor people. I don’t know who they are.”

The HOA: “It’s time for the annual food drive to help those poor people. I don’t know where they are. Certainly not here.”

4. Appearances –
The SGA: “What’s with Laura’s clothes? Does she not know how to match colors?”

The HOA: “What’s with Laura’s yard? Does she not know how to match flowers? It *clearly* states in Guideline 351, Part 18, Section zz: NO PEONIES NEXT TO LILIES!!!!!!!!!”

5. Problem Solving –
The SGA: “Okay, let’s just ignore Janet from now on when she says that she’s a famous model in Japan. She just wants attention, and we’re not going to give it to her.”

The HOA: “Okay, let’s picket the homebuilder. If it gets enough attention, they’ll give us what we want.”

6. The Pool –
The SGA: “Our rival high school snuck into our pool and peed in it. How dare they!!!! How do we exact revenge?” (Plan ensues to go to that school and spray paint the tennis court)

The HOA: “There are people who don’t live in our community USING THE POOL!!!! How dare they!!!! How are we going to stop them?” (Plan ensues to hire a guard at the pool gate to check IDs)

7. The Newsletter Headline
The SGA: “Basketball Team Wins National Championship. Gooooooo Bobcats!”
The HOA: “A Bobcat Has Been Spotted on the Basketball Court.”

8. The Article that Follows the Headline
The SGA: “The Bobcats won the National Title. Johnny scored 31 points. Art school 29. After the game, there was a huge party where Art and Johnny had a beer bong drink off. Art won. The doctors say he’ll be fully recovered and back to school next week. Goooooooo Bobcats!”

The HOA: “A bobcat was spotted on the basketball court. Speaking of the basketball court, please remember that teenagers are not allowed to rollerblade, rollerskate, skateboard, or do anything else involving wheels that might lead us to believe they are on drugs (because the two are obviously correlated) on the basketball court. They might harm the bobcat.

9. Money
The SGA: $15/year. If you don’t pay, the Treasurer might call you to remind you.

The HOA: Your Life Savings/Every Month. If you don’t pay… nevermind, you don’t want to know. Just pay it.

10. Where Does the Money Go?
The SGA: Prom, of course, like all the other money the SGA makes in their fundraisers (except for when feeding those poor people)

The HOA: Paper, of course, because it’s got to cost something to print up that 4-inch thick binder of rules and guidelines (like Guideline 239, Part II, Section b: Everyone MUST keep their garage door closed except when pulling their car in and out of the garage.) and mail out all those warnings when your yard looks like it needs some fertilizer, or you haven’t yet submitted your landscaping plans after living in the house a whopping 42.5 days.

10. The Issued Warning
The SGA: “It has come to our attention that you don’t act like everyone else. Please appear before the student court to defend yourself. Please do not wear your weird, emo clothing.”

The HOA: “It has come to our attention that your house doesn’t look like everyone else’s. Please do something about it in the allotted time detailed below (one month) or we will fine you. A lot. And if you don’t pay the fine… nevermind, you don’t want to know.”

11. Meeting New People
The SGA: There’s a new student. I heard from Miss Gossip Queen that he was expelled from his last school for driving his car on the school lawn.

The HOA: There’s a new homeowner. I heard from Nosy Neighbor that they used to live in The ‘Other’ Gated Community. Hope they don’t think we’re as lax as they were. They don’t even have a security guard at their pool!

12. Election Time
The SGA: Hi, I’m Sue Ann, your friend. Remember when I said hi to you last year when I was running for junior class secretary? Now, I’m ready to serve you as Student Government Association president. Please vote for me.

The HOA: Hi, I’m Sue Ann, your neighbor. Did you know that the homebuilders chose who represented our community on the HOA board??? That means you didn’t even get to vote!!!! We need to take them down once and for all, those ROTTEN, THIEVING HOMEBUILDERS!!!!! Please vote for me. I’m also a loving mother to three, active in the community, and know exactly what to do about our bobcat problem.

13. Sordid Secrets
The SGA – The President of SGA, deep down, is a scared person afraid that if people met the ‘real’ her, they wouldn’t like her.

The HOA – The President of the HOA, at home, is the parent of the skateboarding, drug using fiend making up stories about bobcats (and as for that skateboarding thug – his hero is now Jake Brown).

(This list part of Thursday Thirteen, which you can also learn about here)

I guess the signmakers are the same people who run the Dead Bird Hotline.

More pix here: wordless wednesday
Wordless Wednesday

Little No Limit recently underwent a hearing exam to rule out any hearing problems with her speech delay.

The nurse stood about five feet behind her and made sounds with various noisemakers. Little No Limit kept turning around to look but on the last one, she stopped looking. Seemed reasonable enough to me – hey, three’s some person back there who keeps making noise, but isn’t doing anything about it when I turn around, so I’m going to stop looking. As such, the nurse said she had no choice but to fail Little No Limit for the hearing exam and told us to take her to the doctor.

I called the doctor’s office. I told them exactly what the nurse said – that Little No Limit had failed the school district’s hearing assessment and they requested a hearing exam to be performed through the doctor. They schedule me in.

In our exam room, the nurse says, “So why do you think she needs a hearing test?”

I repeat the same thing I said over the phone.

She says okay.

The doctor comes in. “So you think she needs a hearing test?”

I repeat everything AGAIN.

She says okay and leaves.

She returns with a post-it note upon which she has written the phone number to the people they refer their hearing exams to, and tells me to make an appointment with them.

For real?

Was any of this appointment necessary, short of wasting an hour of my day? Why did I have to go there just so they could give me the number to the other place, when I specifically told them over the phone exactly what I needed, and why. Were they hard up for money? Did they need that fifteen dollar co-pay of mine for the Starbucks break or something?

On the bright side, while sitting in the exam room, I came across these colorful brochures:

Don’t drink the water in Sherwood Forest. And all this time I thought his “merry men” referred to his band of thieves…

Avast, matey! Drink rum! Eat limes! Live well! Arghhhhh!

Warning: Reading Harry Potter gives you ADHD.

Optional title: Rain + Outdoor Wedding =
(picture taken by me of best friend on Jul 10 in Alaska)

More pix here: wordless wednesday
Wordless Wednesday