I heart Meyer Wolfsheim (I Should Have Bought that Noodle Rat)

It’s that Gatsby time of year again and this year I was able to fully incorporate my mom’s tooth art into the chapter 4 discussion of Meyer Wolfsheim’s shadiness. That guy’s fashion sense beats Gatsby’s pink suits and Daisy’s fake white innocence any day!
The children however were not amused as I used Airplay to project the art piece and asked them what they saw.
“Are those real teeth?!”
“Why would your mother save those?!” (They presume the tooth fairy leaves cash and throws away the teeth.)
“GROSS!” (Not nearly as gross as the baby books with a spot for the umbilical cord. I have a friend that still has her son’s cord in a bag. Can’t throw it away.)
“Did you disinfect them?” (What?)
They can not appreciate great art.

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We were wandering through a flea market and I was telling my mom about a classroom conversation involving “tooth art.” As a class we were discussing Meyer Wolfsheim in The Great Gatsby. There are many indicators that Meyer is not on the up and up, but my favorite is his cufflinks made out of human molars. “What does this suggest about Wolfsheim, children?” asks their all-wise and insightful teacher pulling teeth to get ideas rather than cufflinks.

This sparked a story about some t.v. show that one of them saw sometime about someone who had a whole closet full of teeth that they made “tooth art” out of or something. (I love the specifics.) HOW WEIRD!

This made me pause in class to take a mental inventory of all the things in my house that would qualify as “WEIRD” on the level of a closet full of…

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First Snow: Squirrel Action!

Our first real snow was last weekend. It didn’t last long, but it was pretty and fluffy, and covered everything. My yard was full of birds and squirrels all morning running amok and raiding the feeders.

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I love the tiny ear tufts.

***Our current snow is getting melted away and crusted over by freezing rain so there are no creatures venturing into the yard and, of course, I desperately want to leave the house even though there is black ice and I haven’t showered and am wearing pajamas.

Sookie was in charge of monitoring yard activity starting with this window. I feel like we’ve seen this squirrel strategy before , and that I should remember to trim back this bush.

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The most adorable snow plow ever.

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A local species of Bat Squirrel.

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Even though the action was dominated by squirrels, there were several feathered visitors.

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Day 23: Rock of Love Part 2…days later

A blast from Thanksgiving’s Eve Past.

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Whoot! Sweet Home Alabama

Warning: This is long-winded and Bret Michaels is hardly even the most developed part. Sorry, Bret.

Where to start?

“Ohmagawd, Bret is up next!!!”

The evening started with my sister Jennifer and I both trying to get ready at our mom’s house. Not my natural tarting up environment. No inspirational “Living Room Dance Party” playlist, limited fashion choices and no sign of the earrings that I thought I packed. Plus my sister was somewhere else in the house giggling and squeaking “ohmagawd!!!” repeatedly. Just to clarify, she turned 33 today and has a three-year-old who was staying at Grammie’s that night while mommy and auntie went out to shake it.

Our ultimate destination was exactly where you might expect the Bret Michaels Band to magically appear if they were going to make a habit( and they actually have) of showing up in Vienna, West Virginia on Beers-giving Eve…

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Unspecific-ally Obese

All my brain wants to do this fall is forget appointments. I have been SURPRISED by at least two different appointments, and have been constantly scrambling to reschedule things to avoid being charged for “Holy shit!” completely blanking on various medical appointments. So I was more annoyed than shocked when the nurse at my morning appointment questioned why I had a thyroid appointment booked at a different office for the same day.

She misread the appointment info, but fortunately reminded me that 6 months ago my endocrinologist had scheduled her usual followup appointment. Unfortunately, having rescheduled the appointment I was currently sitting in three separate times,  it now aligned so that I would miss the exact same day of school NEXT week for the endocrinologist appointment.

I enjoy a day off as much as anyone, but preparing for a substitute is a complete clusterfuck. Inevitably a student takes advantage of the sub or chooses this moment to show his or her ass (metaphorically). The lesson never goes quite as you’d like. There’s also the off chance that the hired sub will roll in with his or her own agenda; or that, worse yet, no sub will be available and my colleagues will then have to cover my classes. This completely sucks because students who don’t know that you are indeed a teacher IN THE BUILDING usually act like jackasses anyway. Subbing is rough stuff. Plus being absent from my job on the same day two weeks in a row makes me super paranoid. There are colleagues who I am pretty sure have not completed a full week of school yet this year, and I don’t know how they do it. I was freaked out enough when my principal called me at home because she was worried about my legit illness.

I immediately, began making re-scheduling phone calls as soon as I left my morning appointment. Guess what! My endocrinologist is so hip that she has NO openings for another 6 months, but oddly enough she could see me that afternoon. Great. My day was now book ended by doctor appointments and filled with nonsense errands in between.

I hate doctor’s appointments. They weigh me. Blonde Dr., the morning appointment, tells me with her eyes that she thinks I’m fat, and asks her leading questions about food and exercise. I think she’s afraid that I’ll cry again. Yes, in a very frustrated moment I publicly cried about my body. The endocrinologist gets a $35 co-pay to say “Hey, anything new?” and then squeeze my thyroid. This interaction tales less than 5 minutes and then she sends me off for blood sucking which can take an hour depending on the line. Fortunately, she was able to use the blood that Blonde Dr. sucked in that morning since they are in the same blood sucking network.

It turns out that I weigh one pound more in the afternoon at that appointment than I do in the morning. However the endocrinologist is more passive aggressive about her view on weight. This is ALWAYS at the bottom of my printout from her office. It’s a real self-esteem booster.

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I only know what half of this really means.

“Obesity, unspecified?” Do you need me to specify? Specifically it’s in my ass, boobs, and gut? Specifically it’s because I don’t intensively exercise as much as I should, but I really like pizza? Specifically  I have this fucking lazy gland has been contributing to my mass for years? Specifically people have spent 42 years telling me that I am fat even when I wasn’t, but now I’m officially unspecific-ally obese?

I tried to end what had turned into a hectic day with a walk to exercise, but more importantly to enjoy the beautiful afternoon. I was literally gazing up at treetops, thinking pretty thoughts, and enjoying my audiobook when someone sped past me on the road. Thanks to the audiobook, I only caught part of the screamed comment from the car window, “FFFAAAAAAAAAATTTTTAAAAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!”

Donald Trump is in my neighborhood?

Just what I needed two weigh-ins later. It’s moments like this when I wish that I either had telekinetic super powers that would allow me to waggle my fingers and flip a car, or laser beam eyes so I could subtly blow out the tires and proceed with my day. I have this fantasy A LOT. I should probably never be granted super powers or handed a firearm.

Clearly this person needs the rules explained to him while I repeatedly punch him in the balls.

Rule 1: My doctors are allowed to passively aggressively comment on my body. See above. I don’t like it, but I recognize that it is part of their job. YOU are not allowed to do this.

Rule 2: My closest friends are allowed to tell me that maybe I have not made the most flattering fashion choices. Again, I will not like this, but recognize that they are my friends and they want me to look good. YOU are not allowed to do this.

Rule 3: I am allowed to make self-deprecating comments and jokes about my body. I do like this because I’m fucking hilarious! Plus I see me naked and do the clothes shopping so I know what’s up. I’ve got a lot going on. YOU are not allowed to do this.

What YOU are allowed to do, is quietly talk shit about me behind my ample back like a decent person would. Because I guarantee that I would have  a number of “unspecified” comments to make behind your back if we were ever to meet. Plus I would flip your POS car with my super powers.

 

 

 

 

It’s a Happy Halloween if we can poop in our costumes. 

I went low budget, last minute, hard to decipher, work appropriate costume. Check the ears, the t-shirt, and the sort of tropical shirt. I did not have time to make six-fingered gloves. 

I’m a Hemingway cat. Duuuh.

My non-Hemingway cats were less accommodating. All mommy wanted were some nice artsy photos with the pumpkins, but I got this instead.

Surly. “Happy fucking Halloween.”

Indifference. “What are we doing? Happy whaaaa?”

And a few for the Christmas card.

The costumes only fared marginally better.

And then the Bird just rolled with it. When you gotta go….

Happy Halloween!