Tuesday, May 31, 2011

Where's Tess? Season 12, Episode5

For three nights, I had not slept well. Between staying up late with friends, being out late with friends, and pulling a nearly-all-nighter packing up to go home to WV, I had not gotten more than a couple hours of sleep over three nights. I was willing to share in the driving, but I knew that I'd be playing "how long were my eyes closed?!" within 15 minutes. Ron had to drive first, while I tried to sleep.
Picking up on my stress, the kids wasted no time and began bickering within the hour. I got a black eye when Harris, pissed at his sister, angrily kicked kicked/ body slammed my seat. I'd had my pillow wedged into the seatbelt, and was (sort of) sleeping with my sunglasses on, and the hard frames went into the side of my nose. I'd had enough, and was ready to punch someone, anyone, everyone... so we pulled off at a rest area where I kicked the kids out to run off their mouths aggression outside the car.

Everyone went to the bathroom and hit the vending machines while I reclined and tried to get a nap. No one was allowed back into the van for 30 minutes. The rest area was quite crowded and noisy, but I managed to tune it out and fall asleep quickly.
Fifteen minutes into my nap, Ron came up to the van and said, "I'm having trouble finding Tess."
I sat up, suddenly realizing just how busy the place was.
Me: "How long since you've seen her?"
Ron: "When she got out of the van, with everyone else."
Me: "Is she in the bathroom?"
Ron: "No, Paige already checked. And she's not near the vending machines."
Me: "Oh shit..."
Ron: "It's ok. We'll find her. Go back to sleep."

Yeah... RIGHT!

In a panicked mom's heartbeat, I was out of the van, listing in my head what she'd been wearing, so I could tell the police, every made-for-tv kidnapping movie from the 70's and 80's flashing before my eyes.

I had just finished re-searching the bathrooms when they texted that they'd found her, sitting in a grassy area up at the edge of the woods (where the creepy serial killers live!). Everyone accounted for, they were climbing back into the van.

I took the keys, ready to drive.
"I thought you were sleepy?" Ron asked.
Adjusting the seat and mirrors, I chirped, "Nope. I'm good. Good for a long time. Let's go!"

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

Men Want to be Gross

I grew up learning that boys like to get dirty. If a boy came in covered in mud, his mother may shriek, but everyone else would chuckle and say, "Boys will be boys!"
I also knew that some girls, given the chance, also liked to get dirty. I was never one to shy away from a cow-flop battle, or damming up the creek, and squishing mud between my toes. I eagerly handled toads, frogs, slugs, snakes, mice, and dead owls. I hiked, camped, fished, and played with our dogs, cats, chickens and pigs. I was never 'afraid to get dirty', sweaty, or even smelly. It all cleaned up, at the end of the day.

But there is a difference between "dirty" and "gross". And what I've learned lately is that while most men don't walk around dirty, they all prefer to be gross.
Girls are willing to get dirty, sticky, smelly and unshaven.
Guys take it a step further with behaviors a mentally healthy woman will never do:

A man will smell his own armpit, announce that he stinks, and then cram his friend's (or girlfriend's... child's, or friend's child's) face into his sweaty stinky armpit.
A woman will never smell her own armpit and then shove your face into it.
Because that's gross.

A man will feel a fart coming on and look around to see who he can use it against. A man will fart in the face of his sleeping roommate. Men fart in bed and pull the sheets over the woman's head. Men sit on their friends (or children) and fart on them. Men light their farts on fire, at the point of putting themselves in the hospital. (I assure you, the only reason a woman ever died from a fart is from embarrassment.) Men will try to fart, to the point that it becomes a "shart", and then do it again the next day, while their boxers are still in the washer.
A woman will never feel a fart coming on and sit on you so she can fart up your nose.
Because that's gross.

A man will grow a beard if only to walk around in public with food in it. I'm not talking about the occasional cracker crumb. I'm talking about wing sauce. Ice cream. Beef stew. Cream cheese. Salsa. Nacho cheese. Toothpaste. Pancake syrup. Cream of mushroom soup. He will lean down and want a kiss. When you tactfully inform him that he's wearing his lunch on his face, he will laugh and try to rub it on your face.
A woman will never rub residual food slop from her face onto yours.
Because that's gross.

A man will use any and every stoplight as an opportunity to roll down the window, or open the car door, and spit onto the road. I don't know what is so exciting about expectorating, but I've never ridden with a man who didn't do this eventually, even while on a date.
A woman can go for miles, their whole lives even, without once spitting out a car door.
Because that's gross.

A man will reject your offer of a tissue and blow his nose by just plugging one nostril and forcefully blowing out the other one, out into the open air. Usually (hopefully!), this is done outside. The problem is that even if it goes into the grass, everyone around them is forced to watch, and see exactly what (and how much) came out of their nose, before realizing they should've turned away.
A woman will accept your offer of a tissue, and will ask for one, if there is time. She will never prefer to sling snot about at a picnic.
Because that's gross.

A man will brag about, and even photograph, his bowel movements. If he is lucky enough that it is too big to even flush down a toilet, he will talk about it for years. Men with advanced college degrees and untold achievements will start a conversation about "the huge dump" they took yesterday. They will explain how they wanted to weigh themselves afterward. They will boast as if excreting solid waste from the hole designed to do so is an actual accomplishment.
A woman will not even admit in mixed company that she has ever pooped, much less tell you the size, length, color, and degree of buoyancy of her bowel movement.
Because that's gross.

A man will take up the foulest addictions; in fact, the grosser it is, the more likely he is to cling to it. Consider habits such as chew and snuff. These are far and away grosser than smoking, and as such, only men do them. (Oh, sure we've all read about, or heard of someone's granny who used to do snuff, but she was a rarity.) Only men will take up a habit that requires the user to frequently spit on the ground, or in a beer bottle, a taco bell cup, or the soda can you were still drinking from. While women reach for their compact mirror after eating a poppyseed muffin, to ensure there are no poppyseeds stuck in their teeth, men take up a habit that ensures there will always be black shit in their teeth. Strangely, they often act upset if you point it out to them. It's as if we are all supposed to ignore the black grains of tobacco while they talk and laugh two feet from your face. If you are offended by watching men spit into cups, that's your problem. Men don't care if they gross out friends, family members, their boss, their girlfriend. They love to be gross, and are not going to stop on account of your gagging politely in the corner.
A woman will never leave a container of her saliva around for you to wash or throw away, or clean up if it gets knocked over.
Because that's gross.

Men revel in being disgusting. Any opportunity to walk around sweaty, stinky, belchy, ball-scratchy, wearing stained and torn-up clothing, underwear that is more holes than fabric... If none present themselves, men will design opportunities for themselves to be as disgusting as possible. They will plan a camping trip where they eat nothing but beanie-weenies, pickled eggs, and beer. They will not shower for days, and will sleep three and four to a tent in the hot, muggy wilderness. And they will announce loudly, "No women allowed!".
As if any woman would want to be in a tent with men who have not showered, but have eaten beanie-weenies and pickled eggs!
They will plan hunting trips where the first thing they do is slather themselves in animal urine (It's a mixture of premium doe estrus urine from at least three different female deer in heat!), and trek to "Deer Camp"- a secluded cabin with no running water... no hope of washing their hands after they use the bathroom (no bathroom!), no brushing their teeth (the minty-fresh scent may scare off prey!), and certainly no shower (it would dilute the lovely "Eau de doe in heat" cologne!).
A woman will grab her rifle and shoot a deer from the front porch, the way the good lord intended, no estrus doe golden showers required.
A woman will even gut the deer... but will not wear the deer's bladder as a hat.
Because that's gross.

Thursday, May 5, 2011

Days in the Life

In the middle of laundry, called away by dandelions

Spring Thunderstorm

Summer filled up fast!

I always had different ideas of what was pretty.

Clutch of Easter Eggs

When Scout meetings give you leftover apples...

Make Apple Pie!

Trees at dusk

Creepy Doll Head found in the High School parking lot

Fairy House, and Photo Bomb (haha!)

Fairy House , front door

Fairy's Eye View

Another Fairy House

Great Impostor- Lone yellow tulip in a field of dandelions.

Hostas and Azalea

Front bed

Painted Fern