This Is My Brother.

This is my Harley Riding, studly, muscular, masculine hottie brother.


That's why this is just so damn funny


Ok, seriously. He bought the little dirt bike for his kids, and of course had to try it out too. I saw my sis-in-law ride it as well, and I'm sure I will too at some point.

On another serious note, the Harley that is in the top picture was my father's. My darling brother bought it. I'm not going to lie and say that there were no sentimental ties. I'm not going to say that I don't truly appreciate the fact that he bought it, nor will I say that I'm not proud that he and his wife (my homegirl, yo) could afford it and were willing to bear the expense.

I would also never imply that I'm thrilled that this two-wheeled object that has no feelings will remain in the family.

I would never say these things 'cause I'm callous and practical.

Damn, I love this family. 

Good place for some shade.

That's not a real orca, by the way. 

Just a great photo!

 

The Crab Feed!!!

Fourteen bucks a plate netted us an entire crab with a dixie cup of slaw and some bread.

By the way, we didn't touch the bread or the slaw. 

You want me to eat what?!?!?

 

Grrrrr.

It's a bird, it's a plane, It's Crab Boy!!! 

Nice little shark...

Da na, da na, da da da da da da da da da na. Ohhhhh, jaws is scary. 

Not a good pet.

Why? Don't you throw a fit about the crap the dog tracks into the house? And the dog only has four legs. 

Puffin

Yep. I took this photo. Yep, I was that close. Yep, I was scared. Birds are icky. 

Dragon Toes

Actually they are barnacles, but Corb and I decided they look like dragon toes. 

Kinda Fun

This photo wasn't supposed to turn out this way, but I kinda like it anyway!! 

Jellyfish

I love the jellyfish. If there were such a thing as reincarnation I'd wanna come back as a jellyfish. What is the jellyfish's job? Float.

I could do that. 

The Sea Pen

I kid you not, a living creature. 

Great Day!

We were blessed with beautiful weather yet again! 

I'm amazed by this!

Wow!! 

The Coolness!

Check out this big girl!! She was on the move and Corbin couldn't resist trying to touch. She was really beautiful and changed colors non-stop while she did laps around the tank. 

No New Posts For You!!!

Ha ha I'm out of town so you'll all have to suck it up and wait till I get back!!

Hahahahaha!

I'll bring you all some sand.

Probably against my will.

See ya soon!

Back to the grind.

So, Easter is over, so now back to the mildly (shut up) acidic and rude posts that I usually enjoy. First, my hubby is a total snot. Here's why. He goes to the store. He buys peeps. My favorite, peeps. The sugar. The marshmallow. The sugary marshmallow goodness that are peeps. We stash them on the shelf and I assume that they (meaning me, meaning we, meaning both he and I) are waiting for Easter to arrive. I restrain myself at great personal cost. Easter arrives. I happily skip to the pantry to liberate those peeps and guess what?

They're gone.

Freakin' gone, man. Why are they gone? I'll tell you why. 'Cause the rat bastard jackass ate the ENTIRE package of peeps. By his-freakin'-self. Without consulting me. He ate all the peeps.

If you aren't totally appalled and horrified at this point you can't possibly understand what I've said thus far. I will repeat for clarity's sake.

HE ATE ALL THE FREAKIN' PEEPS IN THE HOUSE WITHOUT ME!!!!!!

I could just, well, I probably shouldn't say it on what is essentially a public forum. All I can say is that if I gave in to my baser impulses right now he wouldn't be able to empty his (admittedly pea-sized) bladder come sunrise.

I remember those peeps so fondly. They were purple chicks. Sparkling, plump, fragrant, purple chicks. I'm not usually into chicks but the pleasures that these chicks promised were so darkly sinful, so mouth-wateringly tantalizing that I was more than willing to engage in a short relationship.

So short, in fact, that it would barely span snacktime.

Did I have that opportunity? No. It was snatched wrongfully from my grasp. It was pilfered in secret. It was shoveled down the gullet of a sneaky, gluttonous, parasitic, pasty, spare-tire growing, peep-thieving, pumpkin driving, sci-fi watching, grape-juice drinking, burglarizing, stinky, poop-headed nimrod.

I just can't say enough. And really, you guys are getting the sanitized version. The original wasn't PG-13.

Plus, I haven't wiped a booger in any of your hair whilst you were sleeping, so "sanitized" really is the proper term.

But that's beside the point.

I just can't believe he could do this to me. ME!!! His wife! The one he promised to love and cherish!! I seem to recall a phrase during the ceremony, how did it go? Something like, all my wordly goods I relinquish or get my peep-stealing ass kicked by my livid wife. Yeah, that's it.
Someone obviously wasn't paying attention.

I did eventually calm down (I did too, so stuff it) and very nicely suggested that he might avoid a brutal divorce with a punishing settlement and alimony by running his butt to the store in that orange turd he calls a car and getting more peeps. What does he do? He toodles to the nearest store and comes right back to inform me nonchalantly that they are all out. All out. It's like he has a deathwish. It's like he doesn't understand that this is important.

Oh, sure laugh it up. You don't know what it's like to love. You have never felt the pain of denying yourself all the tasty delights of the Easter season that are sooooo well advertised in order to indulge, guilt-free, in the one, the only reward that you want (or are obsessed with in my case) at the end of the self-deprivation tunnel only to find that the overly-pale lump of stupid that you married in a freak episode of a previously unknown personality disorder that has conveniently surfaced just often enough to make you think that he was cute enough (barf) to keep around has stuffed them down his gullet like they were as insignificant as those foul Dorrito's that he washes down with chocolate milk, of all disgusting things. You don't know the eye-rolling dismay induced by said LOS (lump-of-stupid) when he has the overly-dramatic reaction of shock and dismay (Yes, yes and pain, for crying out loud. Happy now?!?!) upon discovering that laying one stubby finger on your person after bedtime results in the unfortunate, near-uncontrollable (shuddap) reflex that sends your elbow into his throat at a high rate of speed.

Blah, blah, my sympathy runneth over. Whatever.

Let this be a glossed-over, cleaned-up, miraculously-edited-to-remove-any-content-not-PG lesson for your male children.

On that note, I'm off to the store. My plan? To either buy every last peep in this town or hit my darling hubby's credit limit, whichever comes first.

Blessed Easter to All!!!

Hope everyone has a blessed and happy Easter.

HE IS RISEN!!!

HE IS RISEN INDEED! ALLELUIA!!!!

It's much too late, for, well, pretty much everything.

Hiya. I just finished a punishing essay on the merits of immigration from the Hispanic point of view. Interesting. Just so y'all know I'm not against immigration. I generally prefer it be legal, of course, but I certainly understand the motivation behind the illegal variety. I think immigration is handled badly by the U.S. of A. that I know and love and I think the system could use some reform. I also think that our current politicians are causing a blind panic by making people think that the number of immigrants currently entering the U.S. both legally and otherwise is out of control and that Mexican folks are streaming into the country unchecked while the INS is collectively having their nails manicured and perusing the Home Shopping Network. This is utter and total bullshit, pardon my french. (Not that I speak French, well, you know what I mean.)

The truth is, about 1 million legal immigrants cross the Mexican border into the U.S. every year with about 300 to 400 thousand illegals, most of whom return to Mexico, although some do an interesting little dance with two steps into the U.S. and two steps back. Into Mexico, that is. Some come back to stay, some don't. Either way, it's not as though we are being invaded and taken over by the Borg (if you will forgive the unforgivable Star Trek reference) and assimilated into a totally different culture than we were previously. You do, believe it or not, still see white people around. Also, there are generally more white folks on welfare and government assistance than Mexican folks. Lets be honest, Americans of low income feel entitled to the assistance. I'm not saying that occasional help for someone who has paid their taxes for years and are working hard to STOP needing the assistance are mooching, I think the assistance exists for these people. I'm talking about the freeloaders. The perpetually lazy, the non-ambitious, the "everything wrong with my life is due to some tragic, unavoidable, natural disaster (like bounced checks or a DUI) or someone else's error" people. You all know who I'm talking about. Heck, you probably know someone you would attach this label to.

I have yet to meet a Hispanic person lacking in personal pride. My hubby works with five (or so) brothers who may or may not have immigrated to the U.S. legally. I'm not telling, so don't ask. The youngest picked up very functional English quickly and is somewhat less than impressed with his oldest brother for not trying harder to learn the language. He has pride. He doesn't want to be seen as the "uneducated Mexican government mooch" that politicians want to make him out to be. I mean, jeez, if we don't get the tax dollars, we at least get the consumer dollars, which I imagine to be quite a lot.

All I'm saying is, it's not as big a deal as we have been told. Do I think the immigration policies need to be revamped? Yes. We don't want to end up as overpopulated as China, China doesn't even want that. We want to maintain the quality and opportunity of life here for everyone, we can't do that if every square inch of land is six deep in people. Of any ethnicity.

Anyway, that's my two cents. If you don't like it, watch an hour of Carlos Mencia followed by an hour of Dennis Leary and read it again.

If you still don't like it, tough. That's the freedom of America, baby!!

Fine, you schmucks, I'm posting already!

Lalala, doodoodoo, what the heck do you people want from me?!?!?!

Anyway, been a little busy over here. Work, school, blah blah blah. Home with a sick kid today. He had a bit of a nasty cough yesterday. We kept him home from his sleepover but we still met up with family to see the second Ice Age movie. Everyone had a great time but my poor kid was so exhausted that on the ride home he was sitting in a puddle of misery in the backseat. His eyes were glassy and red-rimmed, his forehead was hot and he was slowly casting his arms around, trying vaguely to find a place to lie down. He wasn't whining, per se, but he definitely was making odd little noises. I felt sorry for him. This cough won't leave him alone. By the time we got home he had a fever and he was too tired to pull himself together. He wasn't hysterical or out of control or anything, but he was weepy and upset. He sat there while we took his clothes off and put his pj's on and silent tears seeped from his eyes. He took his medicine with very little fuss and when he finally put his head on the pillow (in my bed, of course) he let out the most blissful of sighs and snuggled into the blankets as though they were clouds from heaven. He only woke up once and seemed to be having a bad dream and went back to sleep quickly.

And, oh thank God, this morning he has much more energy. He ate some breakfast and is now practicing opening and closing a ZipLoc bag full of goldfish crackers. He's almost got it. He's sort of watching Twister at the same time. I'm not sure I should be letting him watch it, but he's having a blast, I'm pretty sure the only casualties are a couple of errant cows that do their demise-ing off screen and I'm calling it "educational" to assuage my conscience. So there. It's either the movie, or I have to play Mouse Trap with him for the umpteenth time in a few days and I don't wanna. You can't make me. I'd rather clean, and I'm assiduously avoiding that too. If I decided to tackle the disaster that is my house you wouldn't get a new post anytime soon. Imagine the last minute cleaning job juuuuust before the Second Coming. That's me right now. I'm pooped so it'll have to wait.

Anyway, back to my coffee.

Last Mother's Day, A Post Revisited.

So anyway, not everyone who reads my blog now read it last Mother's Day when I had a very strange day. I am resurrecting the Mother's Day post from way back then so we can all reflect on our own experiences and hope for better experiences this year.

Enjoy!

Just Stuff (insert dirty word here)

Happy Mothers Day to all my tired, stretch marked, cellulite dimpled, puckered, saggy, baggy, partners in arms out there. If you are not of the Christian persuasion, you did not get your little angel up early this morning and try to drag him and your bleary-eyed husband to Sunday School. If, by some chance, you did, you will have almost instantly realized your mistake. You will have unloaded your child at the church in the pouring rain and totally screwed up your tidy hair-do. You will have placed him gently (mostly) in the nursery at chuch and hurried off to the sanctuary to start class and end up so sleepy that you miss most of it. And you will have ended up sitting next to the biggest suprise crack up in the entire congregation who, by pure timing, when the pastor reads the parent tip of the week and states (gravely) that as a parent you can destroy a kid's self esteem in about 3.2 seconds, turns to you and quipps; "faster, if you practice!" making you snort and laugh which earns you a gritty look from the pastor himself.

You will also bust butt to pick up your adopt-a-fogies and return to the church late and then be later as you have to unload the fogies at the door (with their walkers) and park in the overflow lot as the hadicapped spots are all full and because of that you will miss the baptism taking place that morning. When you actually get in to the service your 3 year old angel will proceed to make your hair steam and your teeth grind by the creative ways he finds to make a boob of himself (and you) and you at one point attempt to poke him in the shoulder with your (my) long fingernail to show him that you are not kidding and that truck noises do not belong in the sanctuary when you miss his shoulder and poke him (rather hard) in the neck. This will preface the long, pitiful, overly dramatic wailing that draws every eye in the place. Some sympathetic, some smug. All unwelcome.

You will then drag your kid to the cry room (how apt) and proceed to give him something to cry about. At this point you are seriously miffed and feeling guilty about pounding the behind of this child IN CHURCH. As you are pulling yourself and him together he proceeds to remind you why you shouldn't feel guilty but should feel miffed by telling you that he doesn't like you. At that moment you glance out the cryroom window and notice that your husband is still in the sanctuary smiling slightly and actually listening to the sermon.

You think, this is mother's day. Woo-hoo. On Father's Day, I'm flattening his tires.

Seriously, though, I received garden stuff for mothers day. It is all beautiful, fragrant and very much appreciated. I also was told about 30 times today by my three year old angel "Happy Mother's Day!" which I loved. And to top all of that perfection, my darling and perfect husband made me (I absolutely swear) the most perfect cup of coffee ever. What a strange and glorious blessing my family is!

Life is Interesting.

Hard to disagree with, isn't it? You gotta love the constant change in life. Things never stay the same. This is sometimes good and sometimes not so good. I like things to stay the same most of the time. I like continuity. I like the comfort that is afforded by always knowing where you stand and where everything is.

I hated it when they rearranged the grocery store, for example. It looked nice, I agree, but it took me forever to find anything. I hate having to track down one of the overworked and underpaid employees and ask them where the stupid spaghetti sauce is. It just feels superfluous. I like to just know. The kind of just knowing that comes from years of familiarity, that can't be substituted for anything else.

The same can be said of people. I like for people to be what I know them to be. When you have known someone for a long time and are fairly used to the way they are, it is hard to find out you were so wrong. To suddenly have to admit that your judgment was off, that you were bamboozled.

On the other hand, sometimes it sucks just as much to know that you were right all along. Especially if others were so dead set on defending the person to you no matter the provocation.

Today I found out that some things never stay the same, that I was right about a person, and that I was dead wrong about another person. I don't feel terribly bad about it, to be honest. There was a small part of me that saw these changes coming from a million miles away. I didn't want to admit that I knew, but it was there.

Sometimes you have a hunch. You want it to be wrong, you hope the person will surprise you with something so good that you have to say to yourself "Wow! That's awesome! I never thought I would see the day!" and whatever it is you never thought that you'd see is so great that you have to sit yourself down and reevaluate all those things you thought that were a bit uncomplimentary and find out if you were a worse person for thinking them.

When you are proven right, you only sit down and think about all the wasted time. You muse to yourself that you should've tied yourself to this person in the first place instead of going with instinct. I always assume that my instincts should never be trusted, flawed as they are. I think I'll give them more credence in the future, although always with a diagnostic review.

So the question remains, what to do now? Sometimes instinct and logic play the same tune. I like those days because it is so much easier. I don't have to think and ponder and chew my nails wondering if there is any chance at all that I'll make the right decision.

The answer is easy. I can base it on so many different aspects of my life. I am a busy person. School and work (as of tomorrow) will take up quite a bit of time, and I expect that my hubby and son and homelife will take up the rest. Throw in a little friend time and some time to maintain the hobbies that I love so much, and the answer is, well, just simple.

Walk away.