smile if you're lying

Moving most of my bizness to Facebook

2009-05-02T14:29:00.001-04:00

Hey, SHE'S ALIVE!!!!

Wow, been a while, huh? Well, shoot, go pop out a set of twins when you already got one kid and tell me you wouldn't be too busy blog? I know, no excuses, right.

SO yeah. After a lot of nagging from my sister I finally went on Facebook which wasn't easy for me to do. A little scary using your real name, home address, and social security number to sign in. I kid.

So if you wanna find me you can look me up under Debbie Lenson Turcio and be my sweet wonderful friend. It's a lot easier and quicker for me and pretty easy to upload pics and video and schtuff like that.

facebook me and book my face

Ba-Rock the Vote

2008-10-30T12:56:00.008-04:00

Growing up as one of three Jewish kids in a class of about one hundred kids, almost everyone white, except one black student, I was accustomed to hearing predjudiced remarks, seeing smirks, and giggles after an "off color" remark, and the such. I also seemed to be the only democrat.

In 1988, I stood up for Dukakis while my middle school classmates laughed at his bushy eyebrows. When they said things like, "George Bush was already the vice president..." I rebutted with, "So? What about the S and L scandal?! Huh???" But even though I wasn't totally sure what was so scandalous about it, my friends were confused and instead of understanding the I was speaking of the Savings and Loan corruption that Bush was apart of, they assumed I was referring to the SNL bits with Dana Carvey.

My parents heavily influenced the political views that I have today. My mother always made a point to bring me into the voting booth and let me pull that curtain lever...God, I miss those things.

I grew up believing that only the rich, the white, the anti-Semitic were of the Republican persuasion. Although older and not that much wiser, I now know that is not always the case, and by that I mean they could just be rich, or white, or anti-Semitic separately and not necessarily a combination of all the above.

My first time voting in a presidential election I voted for Ross Perot.

I missed voting for Gore in 2000 because I had moved and didn't realize that I wasn't registered in my new district until 7:15 pm election day. I cried on the way home.
I had pangs of guilt in the days following...I live in Ohio. It wasn't as bad as Florida, but not far from it. I couldn't bring myself to fully trust John Kerry's exit plan for the war and decided to vote for Bush....yes, I know, but my parents felt the same way. My husband John did not however and claimed that he canceled out my Bush vote with his Kerry vote, so there.

My parents haved listed to Rush Limbaugh for years, I could never understand why, he always pissed me off. They thought his show was entertaining, laughable, and filled the car with enough noise to drown out traffic. They always watched CNN then sometimes FOX News and lately, all Fox news. What's going on there?

Now my mother says, "Oh, I just don't like him..." when referring to Obama. My parents were sure he might be an anti-Semi. Then there's "that crazy outlandish Reverand Jeremiah Wright, he hates Jews, you know."

When McCain announced Sarah Palin was his running mate, I told Mom "that woman frightens me." And my mother's response? "Who, Sarah?" Was I in a paralell universe, or had my mother just referred to the ultra conservative, gun-toting, shoot-em and eat-em former beauty pageant mother of five by her first name? It was as if Mom knew her personally and she was just that misunderstood neighbor that she regularly borrowed a cup of sugar from without a thought. "What do you mean, Who? Sarah? Like she's your Sarah? Mom! Are you kidding me? You're comfortable who her taking the reigns if McCain died?! Are you serious?" "Oh, come on, she's harmless..." Harmless is not on the long list of words I would have picked to describe the govenor.

What happened to my parents? Where did we go wrong? As John pointed out, it was all that casual Rush Limbaugh listening, and the constant drone of a TV with Fox News on all day. They were slowly brainwashed. Don't let it happen to your family like it did mine. I know they already sent in their ballots weeks ago and there's nothing we can do now.

Yeah, it's free country. Yeah, you have the right to vote for who you see fit to run the place. But honestly, who's ever heard of Republican Jews?
Oh, besides Joe Leiberman, I mean.

So intriguing, a fragrance like this is....

2007-12-19T08:16:00.001-05:00

They say that “diamonds are a girl’s best friend”. They say “it’s the most wonderful time of the year.” About fifteen years ago, they tried to combine both with one of the longest running Christmas classics in advertising known to all of us as Elizabeth Taylor’s White Diamonds.

It’s a commercial that’s gotten worse with age, and by worse, I mean better in a deliciously cheesy, and completely outdated kind of way.
When is the last time we actually saw Elizabeth Taylor with black hair? Okay, maybe that’s the way most people picture because her black hair and violet eyes are just her signature look. Well, then try this, when is the last time anyone has landed an old Wright brothers’ plane within thirty yards of a gentlemen’s high stakes poker game in time for Elizabeth Taylor to glide out and save the day? She steps off the plane and is soon in the middle of the action. There’s a man who cannot raise his bet until she va-va-vooms up to the table dripping in diamonds and in husky voice says, “Not so fast, comrade...”. And then she tosses her five pound forty carat diamond earing on the table and delivers the famous line, “These have always brought me luck.”

Well, I can’t pinpoint exactly what it is that makes me love this commercial so much, but I do know that nothing says the holidays are coming like White Diamonds. How much longer will they run this ad? I just can’t say. But let’s all enjoy it while we still can, and if you’re so inclined, pick yourself up an ode to the toilet of the stuff at your corner drug store.

Acid Tripping Cat Food NOT Recalled.

2007-08-12T12:42:00.000-04:00

There's a new cat food commercial I see every once in a while I find a leetle inapropriate given the bad rap cat and dog food has gotten in the news lately. This cat runs up to it's food bowl to take bite in what appears to be a normal kitchen. But once the cat swallows, the room melts away into Willy Wonka land. The announcer cheerily talks about "delighting your cat's senses" with the new colors and textures and smells and tastes that this new "food" (acid) has to offer.

Dude, when have either of my cats complained that their food wasn't exciting enough? Their only requirement is that it's there. If anything, they should be complaining about having to eat next to the litter box. "Is it too much to ask for a little atmosphere, here? Sheesh, I'm starving and all I can smell is my own poo."

But if catfood laced with hallucinagenics is the way to go, maybe I should let Lucy and Molly give it a try. They might have a little fun jumping across animated rocks in a technicolor river all while chasing after a sparkling butterfly that smells like tuna fish, just like the kitty on tv.

The wrong kind of earholes

2007-07-24T11:26:00.001-04:00

Those new fangled iPods are all the rage and so are these things called "ear buds". Let me start off by saying these cheap flimsy new age headphones are no buds of mine.

I realized the postpartum weightloss by osmosis phase is sort of over now and I have to actually do the work to lose these last twelve pounds. So I strapped on my sneaks and borrowed John's iPod. When I got to the metroparks I struggled to get the thing turned on. When I got that figured out, I put the earbuds in. One stayed in and one fell out. I put the one that fell out back in and a few minutes later the other popped out.

Now they were both in but felt like they were both abou to fall out the whole time. Especially the left one. I kept holding it to my ear as if I was recieving late breaking news. I knew it was only a matter of time before the other one would start giving me a hard time and I wondered how stupid would it look to walk holding my hands to both ears with the iPod dragging behind me.

No matter how push, shove, and screw them into my ear, the ear buds won't stay in. The only other times I ever used it was sitting down and they would stay in a little better but now that I was walking the vibration from every step shook the bud loose.

Maybe I shouldn't clean out my ears so much. Maybe these people I see running with earbuds on have sticky, waxy ears. Maybe I got the wrong kind of earholes.

I've had a similar problem with my hands-free earphone. It comes with a clip to hang on top of your ear, but that doesn't make it any more secure on my deformed anatomy.

So I'll just have to make do with these ear peices. Everytime I insert these things I'll just do my best to not move my head too much and walk as stiffly as possible. Otherwise I can expect the earbuds to act like a couple of suicidal mental cases standing on the ledge of my ear threatning to jump unless I talk them back into my ear with the use of my finger.

If loving PingPing is wrong, I don't want to be right.

2007-07-16T12:35:00.000-04:00

So I laughed right out loud when I watched this on the Today show. But so Al Roker and Matt Lauer, though they cleared their throats quickly saying that "Gee whiz, nothing happens in Mongolia all year and now this breaking news occurs!" I can see through your lies like I can see that old lady's poorly disguised vericose vein through "nude" colored pantyhose. By the way, what color is nude, nipples?

But the real reason I laughed was not so much at the expense of the world's tallest or smallest man, it was the fact that all these people showed and documented this event. Wow, two humans shaking hands, never seen that before. Sure one was sitting in a chair and one was carried in on someone's shoulder and standing on a table, but what's so crazy bout that?

Just watch this first and you'll know what I'm talking about:

http://cosmos.bcst.yahoo.com/up/player/popup/index.php?cl=3340503

And how awkward was that?
The tallest man was like, "Um, hi, I'm the world's tallest man, or so I've been told. Sorry we had to meet like this."
And the smallest man was all, "Yeah, you think this blows,someone put me in this ill-fitting monkey suit before they brought me out here. Dude, I was wearing a badass silkscreen tee with jeans. What gives?"
Then the asshole that brought him out picks him up again withought so much as a warning and displays him like a little manbaby for the cameras. You could almost hear Smallest Man utter, "Put me down you showboating mofo, I'm not a fucking baby, okay? I'm a man. Don't believe me? Just undo my onesie and look in my diaper."

I just wanted to rescue these two poor souls. Two men, who probably wanted to just lead normal lives poked with cowprodders and forced into "meeting" one another. If they really wanted to meet each other, wouldn't it have taken place at a mutual friend's backyard bbq or the like? "Tallest Man! I'm so glad you could make it, and thanks for bringing that bag of ice. I've been wanting to introduce you to my good friend, Smallest Man, because you both have absolutely nothing in common and it makes for a great photo op."

A statue to poop on

2007-07-15T10:34:00.000-04:00

Say, oh hell what?

Having just watched a Spongebob video, it was in my head. Oh come on, you all know the one where Spongebob is trying fly and every other half-dressed fish in Bikini Bottom isn't going for it. First they start by shaking their fisty fins in the air (water) and yelling at him, next they start with the name calling and settle on "Birdman". Next, a youngster fish taunts him asking why he's doesn't go and "flap his wings, Birdman?" and his mother says, "Maybe he's looking for a statue to poop on! Tee hee hee he!"
So there you have it.

So a quick little update on my life goes like this:

I'm operating on very little sleep and trying to just get by on autopilot. But the twins are quite wonderful and super cute and Jack loves them to pieces. In fact, he may love them a little too much. Like, I-wanna-hold-em-and-pet-them-and-squeeze-em kind of love. A bit dangerous, methinks.

So I'm micro-managing and slowing losing my mind day by day. And this happens mostly through minute by minute and hour by hour interuptions. I guess any mom or dad can attest to this. Example, I have been interupted about seventeen times since I began this post, I'm not trying to exhagerate, I lost count. Jack wanted to start a computer game, Amelia wanted to be held and Charlie although he claimed he wanted it, he just kept on dropping his binky. Then it was back and forth to the babies' room, changing diapers, and then trying to get them to take a nap. Where was John in all this, you ask? Out for a run. And it all seems to settle down once he walks back in the door and it's amazing, really, and yet so incredibly annoying at the same time.

Nothing big to complain about, this is what we wanted and I'll taking missing a shower all day for it.

Maybe I'll catch a nap when I take Jack to the movies later...

Oh yeah, I had the babies, by the way.

2007-05-25T19:54:00.000-04:00

Meet the twins!

Charlie Francis 4lbs 15oz Amelia Marie 4lbs 6oz

Born at 3:45am May1st Born at 3:52am May 1st

Jack passed his Big Brother class and not a moment too soon.

On our way to the hospital for second time because of preterm labor at 33 1/2 weeks, I already knew we'd be coming home empty-handed and rolled my eyes right before Mom took the picture.

And yes, I'm HUGE.

Everybody now:

He's got the whole world in his hands.

And then finally, after laboring and being awake for over 24 hours and not having eaten for most of them, pushing for about and hour and fifteen minutes, the twins were born!

Has it been 9 months yet????

2007-03-21T11:58:00.000-04:00

No. No it has not, but my uterus says otherwise. I'm the size of (a house, a bloated house) 35 week pregnant woman even though I'm 30 weeks along as of yesterday. I've got to try and make it to 36 weeks, and for those who aren't in the prego loop or familiar with the lingo, a regular singleton (one baby) pregnancy is supposed to last 40 weeks. So it's all a bunch of lies when they say "9 months". Lies, I tell you. Do the math and 40 weeks divided by 4 weeks in a month comes out to 10 months.

Enough algebra for today.

Just got back from the doctor's and thought maybe I'd update my way out of date and neglected dusty ole blog. I bet the next time you'll hear from me is when all the kids have moved out if I haven't kicked them out first.

I'm gonna give it a shot and try to be a little more present here but don't hold your breath.
Let's just shoot for a once a weeker, mmkay?

December 26th, a poopy day for a birthday

2006-12-23T10:00:00.000-05:00

And yes, the above may be true, but just this last Tuesday night I had my first ultrasound. And I could enjoy it now that I can finally keep food down and everything basic that I used to take for granted.

Now I wasn't planning on finding out the sex of the baby, but gosh darnit, wouldn't that opportunity present itself making it all too tempting. But the truth of the matter is I was afraid I would find out we were having a boy again and then all hope would be lost of having a girl. Only before all of that happened, I looked at the ultrasound monitor as soon as we got started, and noticed something. Something that looked like two white circles. Something I recognized immediately before the ultrasound tech. said, "Guess what?!" John got nervous thinking that meant there was a problem while Jack was just trying to figure out what in hell he was looking at. "There's two."

I could go on about how John shit enough bricks to make a chimney, but I had my secret suspiscions all along the way.

We're having twins. A boy and a girl. And I think Jack was trying to tell us that the whole time. Everytime we asked if he wanted a baby brother or sister he would always say, " I want a brother and a sister!"

I get what I always wanted which was three kids...and I finally get a little girl just for me.

So in closing, I would like to say Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukah, Happy New Year, Happy Kwanza, and Happy Festivus for the rest of ya's.

Debbiecakes, new and improved.

2006-11-21T16:57:00.000-05:00

It's been awhile and I'm sure all of you gave up on me. In fact, I'm quite sure the forementioned "all of you" have moved on with your lives and forgotten about me. Perhaps you thought it just a case a really bad writer's block and kept hitting the refresh button in hopes to find something other than my rant about what dishes are safe for the dishwasher, but eventually after your finger cramped up and recovered from physical therapy, you just threw in the towel.

Or you might have assumed that I got a bad case of food poisoning, died, mourned my death, searched the internet for any news on me, but then decided that weeping over the loss of my blog posts wasn't going to do anybody any good. You instead proceded to celebrate my blog life and the Debbiecakes you came to know and love. You thought of me and smiled looking up to the sky, bravely thinking I made it up to heaven unscathed. And you went on thinking of the good times we had instead of being sad, because you knew that that's how I would have wanted it. Bless your little heart.

But I'm back from the dead, in fact what's been up with me has been sort of the opposite of death. I'm a born again!

No, no, no. Actually, I'm creating life as we speak. But being pregnant doesn't always agree with me and I've spent the most of these last thirteen weeks with my head in a toilet. I'm starting to feel better and actually having an appetite once in a while in between the severe hormonal headaches and throwing up. And after all those attempts to lose a few pounds to make those jeans a little less tight, all I needed was some good old morning (noon and night) sickness. I'm happy to report I've lost six pounds. I know it won't last, but I'll brag about it, because damnit, my jeans fit great. I hope I don't gain fifty pounds like I did with Jack, but there's just no telling what lies ahead. But for now, I hope to keep my saltines down and I will try to keep things up to date on here.

Dishwasher Dangerous

2006-09-17T16:33:00.000-04:00

My mother-in-law has all these plates and I’m not sure if any of them were actually purchased by her or received as a wedding gift, because they always seem to be her mother’s. They’re really lovely plates but they’re always referred to as "old", at least according to her.

So when I’m there and I happen to be helping with the dishes, I always have to ask whether or not certain plates and bowls can go into the dishwasher. Because you just don’t know. And I certainly don’t want to be responsible for ruining a set of dishes that once belonged to my grandmother-in-law, so to speak.

Some of these plates have got to be over fifty years old. I know some of these pieces weren’t prepared for the harsh conditions of a dishwasher. Or maybe it’s vice versa. They’re not "dishwasher safe", in fact they’re "dishwasher dangerous". Dishes may explode in the wash and perhaps the dishwasher will blow up and burst into flames.

There’s always this temptation for me, to see what exactly is so taboo about certain dishes going in. Now, I’m not about to try such a risky experiment with someone else’s belongings, but if I come across a dish that I’m willing to take a chance on one of these days, believe me I will.

Maybe George Jefferson had it right after all.

2006-09-06T19:55:00.000-04:00

Before I get started, you should take a moment to check out the free poopex pooper scoopers listed under the Pets section over at the Free Grabber. Charlie was nice enough to and he may be just 6-8 shipping-time-weeks away from picking up dog doo in a virtually mess-free fashion. Grab some free stuff now- including a free Carabou iced coffee. I'll be printing my coupon this Friday, sure nuff.

Me and Margie used to believe that George Jefferson had the right idea. When you walk, you oughtta swing your arms behind you, not to try and look cool like he thought he did with this strut, but to wave off any offensive odors.

As frequent slumber party guests at each other's homes we were familiar with the routine, consume lots of sugar which would inturn create hyper giggling which would often produce the side effect of gas. A side effect that we welcomed. Even little girls have farting matches. But during the daylight hours we would use the George Jefferson walk. Having been exposed to every episode of the Jeffersons that my parents watched, I came up with a theory that GeeYorgy was full of hot smelly air and that he was fanning his heiny to cut the green odor waves off of his person. I really believed this. Especially since Wheezy (that's right) would always throw a limp hand in his direction and make a disgusted expression while turning her face the other way.

Having said all that, I think I've made a pretty good case to back up my theory. And when you happen upon any wind breaking in your future, look to George and wave to others from behind.

a bedtime story and free bibles

2006-08-25T14:28:00.000-04:00

When I was about 12, I got up in the middle of the night feeling queasy. I walked out of my bedroom and and stumbled down the hall to the bathroom door. I stopped knowing full well I wouldn't make it to the toilet, but couldn't decide whether to throw up on the carpet in the hallway or the bathroom rug.

But before you go on to read the rest of the story (insert Paul Harvey's whistling /s/ here), be sure to check out the new renter over to your right- my left, I'm on the other side of the screen don't ya know? Free Grabber is a nice little joint full of links to satisfy all your freebie needs. From free Cliffnotes' style bibles (Come on, dude, the original version is way long ans BORING.) to Motzart chart-topping single downloads (Sweet!). Maybe the Free Grabber will be adding links for some more desirable items like iPods and those new fangled picture taking cellphones, but for now, we'll have to take condensed bibles and classical music. Hey, you get what you pay for.

In case you were wondering, I chose the carpet, thinking that Mom would be more upset if I did it on the rug since it was more of a shag texture and would probably hold on to nasty bits of upchuck. Still don't know what my reasoning was, but I think it had something to do with the half-assed logic that you wake up with when you're fucking nauseas.

Shove it up your ass, Jim Perdue.

2006-08-25T13:38:00.000-04:00

When it comes to publicly humiliating the very animals you make money off of slaughtering, where do you draw the line?

Recently, I had the displeasure of watching one of the many Perdue chicken commercials that Jim Perdue likes to not only make an appearance in, but give himself the star role. If you haven't seen it yet, basically it involves the CEO of the chicken coop checking his email. He finds a message from a certain someone asking if he ever considers giving his chickens treats, like doughnuts for example. Perdue responds saying that he only feeds the chickens corn and other healthy stuff. Anyway, the emails go back and forth and eventually Jim gets suspicious that one of those blasted chickens is in on it. He takes a walk down to the coop and cuts off their internet access as if he treated them oh-so well before giving orders to break their necks and package them up for sale.

Is it me, or this a little disturbing? I'm not a vegetarian, although I was once many years ago, but come on, have a little respect for the creatures you're about to chop to bits and sell.

Jim Perdue, who's the chicken now?

I have no idea what I meant by that either.

Gone tanning.

2006-08-04T23:23:00.000-04:00

Again, thanks for stopping by and checking out my little place, even though my posts have been absolute crap as of late. I appreciate the passerbys (hmm, that's a word...) from my landlady, Janet, and yes, the old folks like David A. are always fun to have swing by.

Since I will be on vacation this next week, it would behoove you to not only check out my renter GreenTeaRocks, but also all the Smiling Liars (which includes the forementioned David Amulet who is the official Daily Show anchorman of Blogger) and a ton of other great blogs as well. I would start to name them all off, but sheeyoot, don't wanna leave anyone out.

And if you really wanna, and I would also highly recommend getting your hands dirty and reading the archives, maybe even like the first month or two I started this thing. Those old ass posts have no comments. Go comment the hell out of them if you want. Or not. Whichever.

In conclusion, have a nice week and I've been waiting a long fucking time to work behoove into a conversation.

Thank you.

deb

Why, hello there new people!

2006-08-03T18:38:00.000-04:00

Just wanted to say hello and thanks for stopping by to everyone that came from Janet's blog. Nice to have some fresh blood running through the veins of Blogger via BE's Rent My Blog.

And speaking of renting and renters of blogs, if you haven't done so already, please make sure to stop over at my newest tennant's place GreenTeaRocks. KristinaQ has done quite a bit spiffing up the place and you should check it out. I love the smell of fresh paint in the morning. Another reason to go is she having a contest! Free T-shirts! WooHoo! And I heard she's gonna give away a bunch of points she won at BlogMad....well, you'll just have to go and check it out for yourself.

I'll have a story to tell tomorrow, I'm sure.

My Grandma's Gonna Set Your Grandma on Fire.

2006-07-31T14:22:00.000-04:00

If you still haven't been, then you need to go to see a true member of the RatPack. Frank, Sammy, Deano, and Bingo...and who's that other guy? Oh yeah, Paddy. Yeah, you remember him, right? Go check out his rodents and cakes and cake-eating rodents and some other good stuff. You'll be glad you did and be sure to tell him I sent ya.
________________________________________________

Feeling a little silly lately and starting thinking about things like my grandmas. They're both gone, but I started to wonder what they've been up to. I wonder if they still have conversations somewhere on the "other side" similar to what we'd overhear when the whole family would get together on the holidays. They'd be chatting away saying things like:

Baubie (Jewish grandmother) : So Ann, you still smoking?

Gramma (Catholic grandmother) : (nothing said, just a roll of the eyes)

Baubie : (shifts positions and appears to be irritated)

Gramma : (takes a long drag and lets the smoke crawl out her nostrils)

Baubie : That Kristen is such a tramp.

Gramma : (throws a limp hand in the air out of disgust) Don't get me started.

Baubie : Who the hell does she think she is? Eugene's about to find out about her and her little boyfriend if she's not careful.

Gramma : Oh and he's a bad one, that guy.

At this point we'd all look over, intrigued by the conversation. Who are they talking about?
Ineveitably we'd finally realize they've been gossipping about The Young & The Restless. And we'd smile knowing that their love of soaps was the only they had in common.

Knick knack. Paddy whack. Give the boy a rat.

2006-07-27T10:01:00.000-04:00

My apologies to Paddy. I've been a lousy slumlord and haven't been around to raise the roof for my renter.

Why don't you go on and see what all that pitter-pattering noise is over there, huh? What, you don't hear it? I do. How could you not hear four rats scattering about?

Go see my friend Paddy, his girlfriend, his photos of cakes gone wild, and his babies- yes, the rats. He's an animal lover like myself (who couldn't solve her own mouse problems without a humane solution) and proud of it. Although he has suffered many losses lately, and losing a pet is so painful, that hasn't stopped him from regularly updating his blog....like some people I know....hmmm.

So, yeah....

In other news, my dear friend Ann Marie has become obsessed with Eddie Izzard. I've been telling her about him for who knows how long and then I finally remembered to loan her my DVD and she now loves any and all things Eddie.

On one hand, I can't believe he's not huge over here like he is in the UK, but on the other, I'm sort of like happy that only the few cool people here in the states know about him. Okay, there's more than five or six people that know of him here, but Jesus, he's incredible. How is it there aren't more people who've heard of him? Mind boggling (spelling?).

Oh, enough already. I have no point.

The Phone-Head vs. The Coolest Pharmacist

2006-07-20T10:31:00.000-04:00

I pulled up to the Walgreens drive-thru prescription window. I did this not out of the usual laziness, but because Jack fell asleep in the car and it’s really hard the lug him around over my shoulder in the store. Especially so when trying to get past the seasonal aisle, there’s a lot of great stuff there. And don’t even get my started on the As Seen On TV section. That stuff’s all right there, you can touch it, you can feel it, you can judge whether or not that thing’s gonna work like it did in the commercial and it’s selling for half the price!

So I went to the drive-thru and posted on the window, plain as the mole on my face, was a sign that read, "PLEASE TURN OFF CELL PHONES." They could have just left it at that. Talking on your cell phone whilst in a prescription/money transaction is just rude. And annoying. But no, under that they listed some over explanatory reason, "We cannot guarantee that your conversation won’t be broadcast on our system along with all your embarrassing symptoms and list of possible side effects you may get from your anal wart removal prescription. The FCC requires us to tell you this and not to mention we don’t want any lawsuits on our hand because one of the pharmacists may have heard half a sentence of your ‘private’ conversation that you chose to have in a public place. Lawsuits are just messy and we don’t want to be up to our anal warts in legal fees because then we won’t be able to offer you those great As Seen On TV products for half the price it would’ve cost you to get it on TV."

A couple hours later I pull up to the same window only to be in line behind a phone-head in a minivan. She’s got her head halfway out the window and yakking away. I wanted to put the car in park, get out and bash her face in. That sign was right next to her head. And then after a few minutes the pharmacist came on the speaker. "Ma’am? Let me know when you are ready," she said in the sweetest shit-eating grin voice. "Yes! I’m picking up a prescription!" yelled the phone-head. As usual these people never acknowledge anyone or answer a question correctly but instead just blurt out demands. "Are you sure? I don’t want to interrupt you, I know you’re on a phone call right now." The phone-head never even heard what she’d just said and kept right on flapping her fat jaw. But I smiled. That pharmacist kicks ass. And it’s too bad I didn’t get to tell her so because when I pulled up for my drugs I got the boy pharmacist and he didn’t look like he was in the mood for a drive-thru chat, he was all business with me.

So here’s to coolest pharmacist at the Walgreens on Bainbridge and Rt 91. You rock, sister.

I'm alright,and nope, nobody heard about me.

2006-06-28T08:22:00.000-04:00

Those are the lyrics, right?

Golly. I am sorry. Poor little turkeys in suspense.

It's occured to me that I am a lousy blogger once the sun shines. I'm a bad weather blogger. Which is good news to some, the two of yous, that actually read this thing. Why? Because I live in Cleveland. Not exactly the sunshine state, now is it?

Anyhoo.

So, yeah, the GroundHog. Whatever happened to it, Deb?

Well, like I mentioned earlier in my last post, you know, the one I wrote about five years ago? Yes, that one. Big Brownie had a "friend", but then that one moved out and left Big Brownie on their own. And then Spring blew into town and Big Brownie came out of the hole. And ate some dandelions. No, Big Brownie did not scurry right back in after catchy it's frightfully fat shadow. That Winter weight could scare anyone right back into bed. Let me tell you, groundhogs are notoriously shy and perhaps an even lessser known fact is that they are also very modest creatures. Combine that and the weight gain and you have one very depressed animal when swimsuits are all on display at the underground mall.

Well, John cursed the furball and I did too. But secretly, I said a little "Hi there, Stranger!" and went back about the business of talking about how we were going to rid ourselves of this thing.

After a few more weeks went by of simply hoping and praying to Saint Petunia (patron saint of ridding your garden and/or lawn of inwanted pests) Big Brownie was still hanging around. Wishing thinking just wouldn't get us anywhere I tell you. But it did give us a suprise. When you can't get rid of one groundhog, many more appear, looking for places to live. Well not exactly, it was more like they just multiply.

That's right.

Turns out Big Brownie's a girl. And she had some babies. And let me tell you they were so damn cute! But that's not the point, right? Now our hands were tied. You can't try to trap or shoo away the mother from her babies, they need her to survive. And even John couldn't deny little gound-pups their mama. Although I have this sneaking suspicion that if I weren't around to remind him of the wonders of nature, he'd a clubbed that Mother Hog like it was baby seal.

A few more weeks went by, during which John had complained about our plight to any neighbor who'd listen and give him some advice or shrug and say, "Whaddya gonna do?"
Ray, next door, told John that he really better do something about that groundhog and the offspring because they were going to become his problem soon. He was right, but what to do then? Bill, next door on the other side, told John that a trap really might work. And on my way out to have the best corned beef at Slyman's (pronounced Shlyman's, extra spitting encouraged) I backed out of the driveway and spotted a metal cage in front of my door. What's this? I asked myself.

Kind of mysterious, I thought. Because for the rest of the day I had no idea why there was a dirty metallic cage sitting at our door. No note, no nod from a neighbor taking credit, nothing. But as it turns out it was only Bill lending his handy groundhog trap to us. I mean that's nice and all, but did you ever hear of leaving a note and maybe some instructions?

We put it out over the weekend and two days went by without a-nothing. We had baited it with vanilla extract, lettuce, bits of tomato, and part of bush I'd seen them nibbling on. Then Monday morning John found a small scared young groundhog. I came out to have a look-see and felt so heartbroken, the poor terrified little creature. It had no idea what was going on. But John took it to a feild and the little bugger ran free to dig and eat dandelions and burrow itself his first apartment.

The next morning we caught another, and the next day, another. Then a week went by with no catch at all. We'd been hanging out in the backyard all afternoon that Thursday and then went out front for about ten minutes and came to the back again to find another young groundhog trapped. For those of you keeping count, that's a total of four baby hogs. Big Brownie, though, still on the loose.

About a month has gone by since my last post and I am thrilled to report that I got that Big Brownie. I found that all it took was a Red Delicious Apple. I was even there rooting her on into the trap from the kitchen window. She set foot inside as she had many times before but ussually her suspicions got the best of her and she'd scurry back out again never setting off the trap. But this time the temptation of the sweet juicy apple was too much to walk away from. She'd nibbled on the slices I laid out on a short trail up to the cage. To get the biggest hunk of apple she'd have to get inside. She stepped in, cautiously, and then moved in a little closer and then right as she laid a paw on the catch the door shut behind her. She jumped and turned around quickly realizing her fate, desparately trying to dig her way out. I jumped as well, did an obnoxious dance and Jack joined in not knowing what all the hype was about but he was game. I called John to tell him that I did it. I caught that ground hog. Me.

Ray helped me load her into the car and take her to her new home, she was a heffer. And we set her free in the same field her children had ran off in before her. She was scared in that trap, not knowing what lay ahead, but not so scared that she didn't finish eating her apple, probably figuring it was her last meal. We opened the trap door and watched her run like her ass was on fire and we laughed. That groundhog brought half the neighborhood together. I know that somewhere in that big peice of land she's running and wobbling around the tall grass, digging big fat holes you can break a leg in, and happy as can be....miles away from here.

By the way, how do you keep a turkey in suspense?

I'll tell you tomorrow.

It has been a while, no?

2006-06-10T08:57:00.000-04:00

Despite my new foreign writing accent, nothing much else has happened. I haven't had a lot to report on in about three weeks. But there are a few little things that I could share, I suppose.

Hmmm. Let's think, here. Well, there was this morning's little adventure. Yes, that's right. The Groundhog.

After a year or more of scheming, we've caught one of the buggers and set it free to roam in someone else's field. Let that little critter have a happy life in the wild, but not in our yard, thank you very much.

About a year ago, John and I found a large brown animal that looked like a beaver/cat-without-a-tail wobbling around the backyard. I found him cute and wooly and he ate up the dandelions. All good things in my book.

But the "oohs" and "ahs" came to a screeching hault when John found a gaping hole about ten inches in diameter right in front of the shed door. "Someone's gonna break a leg stepping into that thing!" he exclaimed. "Why, that's just silly," I said, "Who in their right mind would step in it on purpose?" But I didn't really say that, because I knew our son could...by mistake. But that never happened either. I showed him exactly where it was and told him a wonderful tale about a groundhog who lived in there and only came out when we're inside the house to eat the weeds. Jack respected the hole. He would tiptoe around it and always point out that "that's where the groundhog lives- don't step in the hole!" And when his friends and cousins came to play, we'd pop a soccer ball in it like a cork to make sure no insurance claims would be called in.

That Fall we saw that the big brown wooly feller had a big grayish wooly friend. They moved in together. We got nervous and thought trouble was brewing. Let's face it, groundhogs don't know the first thing about safe sex and much less about combining his and her furniture and belongings from both their holes into one. But we heard things weren't working out. Eventually, the big gray one moved out. Big Brownie never heard from him again. Good riddens, I say.

Winter came and all the groundhogs hunkered down into their respective holes.

Then sometime this past April, the big brown fella squeezed his fat hibernating ass out of that hole. I was thrilled, Spring was coming early! John, not so much.

You see, I neglected to say how John and I called the city of Solon to ask what they were going to do about this nuiscance of ours. Actually, John was the one all up in a huff about it. But the city wasn't going to do anything. They shrugged and said that we had to trap it ourselves and then we could call them. But I was worried about what the poor little animal's fate would be when the city came out to "collect" him. Collect. Was one the city workers going around and "collecting" the trapped wild animals and skinning them? Huh? Does anybody really know? Well, I couldn't get a straight answer so I told John we could probably just stuff up the hole after he runs out and then with his home all boarded up, he'd have to find a new place to live. Of course that would probably mean he'd go and set up camp in our unsuspecting neighbors' yards, who later would give us the evil eye and train their dog to go in our yard.

I would stake out in the house all morning by the window and when that big brown furball ran out of his hole and far enough away, I would run out and put a big rock in his doorway. Later, he'd come back and would at the place his hole used to be and look around as if his car was stolen. "I swear I parked it right here! Oh, this is bogus, man," and then he'd go hobble away into the bushes. But the next day he'd dug alittle bit around and squeezed into his hole again. Damn thing knows how to break into it's own house.

When your own gem of an idea doesn't work, what else can you do but turn to the internet? I researched "groundhogs", a.k.a. "woodchucks"or "gophers", and found that they will only be scared out of their hole if they think a predator is trying to invade. And wolves are the predators. Unfortunately for us, there just aren't enough wolves wandering around to scare them off, and if their were, we wouldn't have a severe issue with the over-population of deer and groundhogs. And I know for a fact if they were actually living among us, the people of this town would be up in arms and claiming that we need to shoo them out of town for they'd eat our pets and children. A double edged sword for sure.

But where there may not be wolves, it is possible to purchase bottles of wolves' urine. That's right. I found that out on the trusty internet. And I found a local store that sold it. Ewww, I know. But you can bet a bought a bottle. And how much is a bottle of wolf pee going for these days, you might ask? About ten dollars in change. I'd like to know more about the background of this product, like where did it come from? Who collects this urine? Do they have wolves lined up on a big machine with funnels attached to their "parts" leading straight into these bottles? Is it then pastuerized or something, because I don't know if stale wolf pee is gonna do the trick now.

Well, after I put on some latex gloves, dribbled a little bit around the hole, and washed my hands, of course, I waited inside by the window. After about ten minutes the groundhog peeked it's head out and then ran like hell. Yeah! It worked! I'm a genius!

Not so fast.

Okay, more on this later....I promise. It's getting dangerously too long for one little post. You'd had enough reading for today, now haven't you?

"Just a friendly reminder..."

2006-05-19T14:21:00.000-04:00

I got to thinking this morning about going to the dentist. No reason in particular, it jus came to mind.

What is it about going to the dentist that really freaks everybody out? Most of the time they count all your teeth to make sure you haven't lost anymore since your last visit, and if you have, they just clean any that remain. So what's all the anxiety about?

Well, when I was little, I went to Dr. Griffith. I considered him to be sort of an odd man. His uniform always consisted of a tight white dentist shirt cover that had buttons running diagonally up from waist to collar with a pair of plaid pants. I'm not sure if they were the same pair of pants, but all plaid kind of looks the same.

He was thin and tall and didn't have much to say. Any time my mom took me to see him, his wife/receptionist would always lead my to a back room with a brown vinyl reclining chair, open a drawer, and take out a peice of paper towel and a chain with two pincers on the ends. She'd clip one end of the paper towel and run the chain behind my neck and clip the other side, making a bib. I always wondered what the point of that was, why a chain and paper towel? Why not a terry-cloth bib with velcro, or maybe one of those plastic ones you get at a restaurant when you eat lobster- maybe instead of a lobster there could be a characature of a big healthy tooth holding a toothbrush and wearing sunglasses...or something along those lines.

Anyhow, it was always the norm. Every single strange ritual that was preformed didn't seem so strange. It was the same scene everytime. It was worse than deja` vu, only because there were weird things happening, but I never bothered to question it. Until now.

Why the paper towel and chain? Why the scary looking drill with a rubber suction cup bit on the end? It's pretty frightening looking. And how exactly does it clean your teeth? They've always got that little tiny paper cup, it looks like the same ones that you squirt ketchup into at Wendy's. And in that little tiny paper kethcup cup, there's about a teaspoon of grainy blue paste. They scoop it out with the little suction cup drill bit and turn on the "vibrate" and rub it all over your teeth. How's that going to do anything? Seriously, everytime I leave the dentists office, I've got all that blue grit stuck in between my teeth. My mouth does not feel fresh and clean, it feels like a bit into a big blue sand sandwhich and I really ought to go home and floss. There is no way to rinse that stuff out enough, even with the dixie cup that automatically refills itself with water. You need a hose with a power spray, or you might even need to break open a fire hydrant and stick your face in the geyser.

Whenever Dr. Griffith finished up with me, he'd either call my mother back into the room or he'd lead me out to the waiting area. I never knew which was coming. If I had a cavity or a clean bill of health, he never gave me a clue. But I do know that you always feel like you're in a little bit of trouble when you go to the dentist.

I mean you're in that chair, laying back, you've got people shoving their big hands into you're mouth. You have to remain submissive and let them do it, there's no choice in the matter. Where else in life do people make you lay back, crack your mouth wide open, stick wads of cotton in and then shine a big hot light in your eyes and force you to answer questions? Then they start in with that evil hook and scrape around your teeth and no matter how "careful" they say they'll be, they always catch your gums and cause excessive bleeding. You feel like you're being interogated and tortured with midevial instruments and then obligated to thank these people and come back for another round a few months later.

I need to make an appointment. Really, my six month checkup has come and gone, I should go. I've had that postcard pinned to the fridge for a while now. You know the one. The reminder card. "Just a friendly reminder..." it says on the front. I also recieved a reminder from my OBGYN's office, although that came enclosed in an envelope and read like an old wired message, "Our records show that you are due for a Pap Smear [STOP] Please call to make your appointment [STOP]" That's not one to look forward to either, but I must say that a gynocologist tends to be a lot more gentle and sensitive, a dentist knows that you know what you're in for and you anticipate pain and dicomfort, he feels under pressure to deliver. But at least there's no paper bibs and chains.

"I'm living in a fish bowl!!!"

2006-05-10T11:34:00.000-04:00

Bing!

Me: I believe the question is, "What did Grandma shriek out when calling Mom early in the morning?"

Alex Trebek: That is right.

I suppose you thought I'd take this opportunity to have a little fun with the David Blane special. Special. It sure was. An entire two hours of prime-time television dedicated to all things special and David Blane. But, I'm not going to tell you a bunch of things all those late night guys already said. Well, I don't know what they all said since I go to bed at ten, but let's move on.

I will say that the title of this stunt was more than brilliant. David Blane: Drowned ALIVE! That's right, David Blane....drowned.....ALIVE! Well, let's just talk about what an amazing feat that is, not only will he be drowned, but he'll be alive when it happens. Who knew? I thought that it was only possible to drown whilst living and that once someone dies of drowning they're considered drownED, as in, "The cause of death, well she was bobbing for apples, never came up for air, and she drowned."

Why, wasn't the whole point of it all to actually just hold his breath and not drown? Holding your breath for nine minutes has almost nothing to do with drowning, when you think about it. He didn't even have to be under water to do it. He could have held his breath sitting in his living room an egg timer. Oh, but we had to be all dramatic and go into a big plexi-glass bowl full of cloudy looking water and get our hands an feet all nasty and water-logged. And we had to have chains and handcuffs to undo on top of all that. Oh enough, already. It's his own fault he didn't make it. He should have stuck to the basics, just run of the mill holding his breath underwater for nine minutes. Hop in, pinch your nose, and make big cheeks until time's up.

Looking at him in that tank left me tempted to shake some fish food onto the surface and tap on the glass. I would have like to have gotten him a treasure chest that periodically flipped it's lid to burp some fresh air bubbles. He needed some colorful aqarium pepples on the bottom or something, the way they were keeping him, he might as well have been in that big plastic baggie from pet store.

But try, if you will to imagine what it would be like to live in a fish bowl, with the whole world watching you float around, and how exposed you would feel. I couldn't quite grasp what the saying meant when the phone rang early one morning. My mom answered in a voice that sounds close to Andre the Giant's which is what she ussually sounds like if she hasn't had enough time to wake up.

"Hello."

"I'm living in a fish bowl!!!!" a small, scared voice cries. It was Grandma. Apparently sometime after she woke up in her studio apartment , the curtain rod to the one very large and only window gave way and took all her privacy down with it. She was still in, what she would call, her dressing gown. She knew that everyone who happened by Solon Road or the complex parking lot would surely be looking up at the top floor and find her indecent. For her, this was an emergency, of course second to her having only three packs of cigarettes left in her carton of Belairs.

The whole world was watching as blue curls of smoke framed a tiny woman, shaking in her nightie as she peered down into the parking lot below, waiting for her daughter's car to pull in.

My spidey-senses tell me...

2006-04-29T10:06:00.000-04:00

that something fishy is going on downtown (Cleveland, that is).

About two weeks ago, the local news anchors had a lot of fluff for news about the Indians, the Cavs playoffs and Lebron James, but mostly it was all a bunch of talk about Spiderman filming downtown.

I suppose that it's easier to close down Euclid Avenue from the hours of 8-6 every day for two weeks than some NYC street if you want to film a bunch of car crash scenes. But for the people who actually work downtown, they aren't too thrilled with adding a good forty-five minutes to their commute.

Yes, Spiderman III is being filmed here, but for the love of God, it ain't like Tobey McGuire is dangling from his feet off the Hunting Bank building and upside-down kissing Kirsten Dunst.

Those silly news anchors. They tried to get everybody all excited, but they can't fool me. The best part about it, is that there's some freak walking around dressed in a Spiderman costume downtown everyday. Now there's a grown man who probably still lives with his parents. He's Spidey's number one fan. But his costume looks like he got it on sale after Halloween at Kmart, it's all ill-fitting.

John said he's heard about the freak and a couple of guys he works with have seen him, too. I first saw him on Channel 3 News. Yeah, this is the guy they picked to interview about all the hubbub of Spiderman. And he sounded like a fairly normal guy and said all the usual pleasantries like, "Oh, this is very exciting," and "it's great for Cleveland." But did the news guy stop and ask, "Hey, what's going on with the Spidey get-up? Let's talk about that."? No, he didn't. Come on, that's the real news. I wish David Letterman could have been our guest news anchor.

We're going to take Jack down today, since it's supposed to be the last day of filming. John said he saw Spiderman last night while he was trying to get over to the Rapid (local train). He said he watched for a minute, and basically it was Spiderman holding on to a truck while two guys that were working on the set held up his legs. He was most impressed with the costume, other than that, it was pretty uneventful.

All night he kept going on about that costume. "That Spiderman costume was really nice," he'd say. I asked if it looked better than the thirty-five year old freak's drugstore version. But the real thing's spandex is always going to look better than that rayon/polyester crap that's so thin you can see through it.

If we don't see the real Spiderman, I really hope we run into some weirdos dressed up like him. I have some great questions prepared on index cards just in case.