It All Started With The Popcorn...

...and quickly went downhill after that. If you've spent any time reading these ding dangity pages, you probably already know that my life is one little train wreck after another, in which the heroine, meeeeeee, always comes out on top...or somewhere squished in the middle of the dogpile of life.

This week is really no different. It started out with the movie popcorn...which I left overnight in my sweet ride. Opening the door on that fine September morning I realized day old popcorn smells like wet cardboard soaked in skunk piss and was not likely something I'd be consuming later. Who the hell takes a doggie bag of popcorn home? Yeah...me...and oh yeah, in a desperate attempt to get salt into my system, I did indeed eat said popcorn later during a dark and lonely night while watching netflix. I WAS DESPERATE, OK???????

Stinky popcorn, really...no big deal, however, the fact that I have water trays in my freezer is turning out to be a HUGE deal. Water trays? What's that, you say? Well that's what mother effing ice trays turn into inside a brand new (used-new to me) freezer. My favorite part...god, I love this...is when the ice bucket completely thaws and then re-freezes into one HUGE SOLID CHUNK OF ICE. That shit don't fit in your water bottle real nice, no it don't, honey. Did I mention I stole $500 from my ex husband to buy this stellar piece of shit refrigerator? Did I mention that? Because, if I didn't, well now I am. No, I'm not a thief...well, not a thief ON PURPOSE...but when your old joint account checkbook (lavendar, hee hee) looks IDENTICAL to your "I'm-divorced-now-and-this-checking-account-contains-all-my-money-and-not-yours-ya-rat-bastard" checkbook, well, let's just say that a girl shouldn't be judged too harshly when she grabs the wrong one to frantically pay Alberto the fridge guy. Don't you judge me!

As if a stinky car, a broken fridge and stolen money weren't enough to bitch about...I got a ticket in the mail the other day. This is significant because I gave up one of my favorite past times a few months ago. Speeding. Ohhhh, how I looooved to speed, here and there and everywhere. It wasn't until I had gotten pulled over about six times in one month that I realized I had a problem. A problem worthy of SA-Speeder's Anonymous. I was so lucky that each time I got pulled over, I knew the cop! And this was great for me, ya know, because I didn't have to flash mah boobs or nothin! Because, really, at 36, the old boobies aren't what they used to be. Shoot, the way they lookin' now, I wouldn't be surprised if the cop didn't double the fine.

Anyway, back on track...the ticket was for running a red light...one of those rude-ass red light cameras that takes the WORST picture as you're running the stop light. Did I really look that bad driving? Do I always look so damn ugly in the car? Shoot, that's probably why nobody ever lets me merge! This is crap, seriously...there's no reason I should look THAT shitty while driving. Should be a crime! Haha! Wait, maybe it is! The sad part, is that I've been practicing being a good driver since the self intervention, I really have. I go the speed limit, I don't pass EVERY-FREAKING-BODY...I drive like...my DAD. What's even sadder, is that I have no memory of running a red light. And THAT, my friends, is the very definition of a bad driver. When you run the stop lights so frequently that it doesn't even occur to you anymore that it's the wrong thing to do. Slap my label on, folks. I suck at driving. And have the ticket to prove it.

...And the drama continues...over the past few months it's become clear that the neighbors of my cul-de-sac are no fans of mine. You see, I have the pleasure of being the single mom of the 'hood and folks don't take too kindly to that 'round these parts. I had gotten the impression that I wasn't welcome pretty much right away...the first day I mowed my lawn and apparently it was a spectator event. As I looked around the houses I noticed that after a few minutes of mowing, 5 of the 7 houses had their occupants firmly planted outside looking on at the anomaly that was occurring in their very own neighborhood. A WOMAN was cutting the grass. A WOMAN? Gasp! It cannot be, but it was. I, Ginger (last name here), was indeed breaking allll the rules and revving that engine all by my little old self.

And ya know...if it had stopped there, I wouldn't have minded so much...but one week, Ms. Single Mom over here got about 25 hours worth of overtime dumped into her lap and, well, as I am a good little worker bee, I went off to work in the wee hours of the night and did not return again until the sun was beating down on my tired face the next day all seven days of the week. Exhausted was an understatement. I should have known something was up when I saw my next door neighbor...we'll call her "I-don't-work-because-my-husband-does-that-for-me," or IDWBMHDTFM, for short, outside as I was leaving for work one evening. I was wearing my ugly ass work issued polo along with my work ID when she asked in her scrunched up "I'm totally judging you right now" face, "what do you dooooooo???" I replied with a big smile, "I'm a 9-1-1 dispatcher, ma'am." She turned on her heel and started back into her house, calling over her shoulder, "well, THAT must be very interesting!" Well shit yeah it is! Fuckin' A right, lady! Mystifying exchange, it was, but I had no time to dwell on it, until the next day when I was desperately begging the sleep Gods for a small blessing, just a few hours of that delightful unconsciousness I so badly needed.

The phone rang. The fucking phone ALWAYS rings when you work nights. It was the property management company. Yay! It's always good news when THEY call! NOT! I was politely informed that I had not cut the grass that week. Oh, and there's a brown spot you single mom whore, did ya notice that? Did ya? The neeeiiiigbors are complaining! Something must be done, NOW!!!! As my foggy brain tried to process this information, all I could think was, wahhhh, I JUST fell asleep. You ASSHOLE! But, being threatened with all things scary, such as fines, eviction and neighborhood ostracization, I did what any sensible tenant would do. I fucking got up. I put some fucking clothes on. I opened the fucking garage. And I mowed the fucking grass. I also said the f word to myself as I did it. And because I know the people on my special little circle like me so much, I danced to the tune of my iPod. Yes. I did. And it was RAPPPPPPP music. Oh Heavens no! And ya know what else I did? I watered the shit out of the brown spot. For three days in a row. I'm actually pretty proud of that...raised my water bill by a good 20 bucks, yes I did!

Oh how the property management company loved that. They loved it so much, they even gave me a note on my door with a sweet little smiley face that said, "Thanks! Good job!" Awww...I feel so accomplished now. I did a good job...this week. Over the next week to two weeks, work wreaked havoc on my life again. The grass...well you know where this is going, don't you? Sadly, the grass grew again. I KNOW! I couldn't believe it myself. Fucking traitor ass grass! If you guessed that I got another phone call from the yard police with some more nasty threats...well ding ding ding, you guessed right. And the process repeated itself. Drag tired ass out of bed...cut stupid piece of shit asshole grass...make scrowly face while doing it...all this occurred. It was epic. Neighbors placated. Property management company issues smiley face #2, blah blah blah.

After too many weeks from hell at work, life gets a little more normal. Grass cutting 101 commences. Weekly grass cutting. No bitching from neighbors. Life is good. Until I got the notice. The city...gosh that sounds scary...anyway, the city says that the big ass dead tree in my yard MUST come down because there have been complaints from surrounding neighbors. Hmmm...IDWBMHDTFM must have made a phone call to the CITY. So...my grass is green and purty now we have to complain about the tree. Nice. The owners hired some dudes to chop the tree down, that mo fo was big. Like supa fly big, y'all. They must have been thirsty tree choppers, because when I came home, I found empty water bottles littered all over my yard. What a nice bunch of assholes they must have been. Ya wanna know what else I found in my yard? A giant huge ass bigger than yo mama big fucking pile of wood chips. See picture that follows...

Yeah...it's been there almost a week. It's killing the green grass I so lovingly watered the shit out of. The property management folks don't know whennnnnn they are going to remove the wood chips, but they better fucking do it soon because I don't know about you, but I'm a little afraid of IDWBMHDTFM...I'm sure she's already been on the phone whining about Mount tree-sa over there. (That was a play on words there, did ya get it? Like the leaning tower of Pisa? Except with Mount and tree? Haha)

Sweet Revenge
I am not a vengeful person...if you don't believe me, please see previous posts, re: divorce, where I did not, in fact, sugar anyone's gas tank, key any cars, or burn down any houses. However, when I woke up one morning to find my tire flattened to hell and gone, I could never have guessed what sweet revenge the universe would bestow upon me. Ahhh, I like to smile now as I look back on the lovely scene that played itself out right in front of my very eyes. Do you remember IDWBMHDTFM? Do you remember her? She doesn't like me. I know this. I have accepted it. Anyway, there I was, minding my own business, waiting for my friend to rescue me from the misery that is a flat tire, when IDWBMHDTFM's HUSBAND crossed over to my side of the driveway and said, "Excuse me, I notice you have a flat tire, would you like some help?" I nearly passed out but had the wits about me to gladly accept his kind offer. I did what any smart woman would do in a situation such as this. I offered to help fix my own tire, to hand over a tool or two, but the man helping would have none of it, because he was saving the day. It's some primal thing, I don't really get it and I genuinely do feel guilty when people help me...but nothing made me smile bigger than when IDWBMHDTFM came outside and saw her husband changing MY tire. I think the sun shone a little brighter on me that day, and I have to be honest, I really had a hard time not rubbing it in. I may have winked a little when I thanked her for letting me borrow her husband. I couldn't help it...it was just so...magical. I really shouldn't be so gleeful about such a thing, but I was downright giddy. And of course, appropriately thankful. I know I will pay for this with some other complaint...but for now I will relish in that moment.

I'll have to wrap this up because I fear my tales of woe will begin to be unbelievable. Such as the $1,000 bill I just got for the ONE college class I'm taking through my job that is supposed to be FREE, or the fact that I've been accidentally paying 40 extra dollars a month for rent...or that my rent is being raised by 45 dollars if I renew my lease. They have me by the balls. Surely insomnia is believable. I haven't slept more than 2 hours a night for 5 days. I push my head as hard as I can into the pillow, hoping that will do the trick, but sadly, I am just tired and have a sore neck.

I'm going to take my sorry ass off to bed, where I will dream of chocolate frosted donuts, cool weather and more smiley faces. After all, winter will be here soon and I'm sure I'll get a good job sticker if I shovel my snow. I can just FEEL it!

Dancing Danika

The adorable child in the back dancing to the beat of her own drummer is Danika. Nice work in dance class, little lady!




To watch the video in full screen, click the icon on the bottom right of the video that has four arrows.

A Quick Observation...

Raisins are not food. What lazy ass S.O.B. let grapes sit around until they were all dry and wrinkly and then said... "Hey! I think I'll eat these!" No. Just no. That's gross.



The man who covered them in chocolate? Fuckin' genius.



That is all. Carry on with your day.

P.S. Raisin is a funny looking word. The more I look at it the more I don't believe that raisin means "raisin."

"Home" Is Where All Your Old Crap Is

Every so often I make it back home for a visit. I'm all grown up now, all busy and shit, so these visits don't happen too often. You really can't go back too regularly, because as soon as you cross the threshold of your childhood home you're instantly twelve years old. It's true. When I walk into my parents home, I drop my suitcase just inside the door and I forget EVERYTHING. Suddenly I'm a kid again and I call my parents Mommy and Daddy and I want to stay up late and eat ALL of the ice cream and I think every time the phone rings, it must be for meeeee!

Everything at "home" is so familiar. I like that I can walk into the kitchen and find the plates exactly where they were 25 years ago. At home there is always a never ending supply of tea bags and sweet n low, toilet paper and salad. Apparently these are the essentials in life. The joke is that if my Mom, (Mop...that's what I call her) gets down to one case of toilet paper, she has to make an emergency trip to Sam's Club to stock up. The woman has a great fear of running out of toilet paper. I guess she likes a clean ass or something. Weird. If I'm lucky enough to be home for longer than a few days I might get to see my Dad's infamous bill face. This mysterious face only comes out once a month and it's a toss up on whether or not you really want to see it. Entertaining to watch, but ohhhh soooo serious. For the record, the bill face does not speak while it's in use. When I was a kid, before I recognized the bill face, I would ask my Dad, "Whatcha doin', Pop?" And he'd answer without thinking and with a big sigh, "The Bills." Oh. Hmmm...that didn't sound very fun and not something a kid could do, so I'd scamper off to play fashion plates or homemade karaoke until the bill face and the bill drawer went back to their hiding places.



By far, my favorite thing to do at home is to go to my bedroom and look at my old stuff. I know what's there, I left it behind almost 17 years ago. On purpose. There's a comfort in knowing that somewhere in this world there is a place that contains my stuff. Physical memories of the past, a simpler time when all I had to think about was if my science homework was done or how many pennies were in my piggie bank or what weekend the all-night skate would be down at the skating rink. Late at night after my parents have gone to bed, I start digging through my drawers where I come across old rings and necklaces, a random pair of socks, notes written by my best friend in middle school, all folded up in that awesome middle school way. After I've inspected everything in my drawers, I head for the hope chest. I gently open the cedar box, so large it reminds me of a coffin. The smell of cedar fills my nostrils and more memories fill my head. Stacked neatly inside are my senior high school pictures. I can't help but laugh at them...I have that dreamy far away look on my face, bright red lipstick and totally 80's hair. I'm not sure if the seventeen year old girl in that picture knew where her life would lead her, so far it's been a good ride but I think 17 year old Ginger wanted a little more than 35 year old Ginger has now. But for a moment it's fun to flip through the old pictures, pick up the trophies and remember all the fun times I had. I like to keep in touch with the 13 year old me, say hello to her every now and then and remember how much fun it was to blow off the day and lay around at the beach. There needs to be more of that when you grow up!



Last but not least is my closet....ohhhh my closet. It's now filled with half of Mop's wardrobe, but buried deep within I find my poofy red prom dress. Truth be told, it's the best dress I EVER had! In an unusual turn of events, my Dad was the one to take me shopping for that dress and I remember when I walked out of the dressing room he instantly said, "that's the dress!" And it was...bright red, a little poofy, a little scrunchy, but just right for my senior prom. Oh how many memories a prom dress can bring. I spent all day getting ready for prom, getting my hair done with half a can of aqua net, painting my nails and waiting for my date to pick me up. We headed off to my Grandma's house so she could see me all dressed up. She was sick with lung cancer and the visit was the hilight of her night, I loved having her be a part of that day as much as she loved being a part of it. Once we departed Grandma's house, we stopped by McDonald's for dinner where I ate chicken nuggets and answered the many questions from the other patrons about my plans for the night. "PROM, of course," I said...and oh, by the way, my date is a cheap bastard. I'll never forget walking out of the bathroom at the dance with the back of my dress trapped in my pantyhose. MORTIFYING...except I felt the breeze before anyone saw my hiney. Phew! Also left at home was my Army dress uniform. It hasn't fit me for years but I love to look at it, still pressed from the last time I wore it, medals adorn the chest, my name tag still in place. I can't even begin to recount my short time in the Army, but suffice it to say, it was fun, scary, hard, annoying, and invigorating all at once.



As my visit home comes to a close I contemplate packing up all my old stuff and taking it with me. And every time that thought crosses my mind I veto the idea completely. My old things don't hold the same meaning in my house. They belong back "home" where the 6 year old me still lives. The kid with curlers in her hair eating homemade popsicles and petting a cat named Precious.

Bridesmaids-A Movie Review

Tuesday morning...I woke up and decided I was going to see a movie tonight. This is unusual for me because I'm generally known as a movie hater, but I felt compelled to see this particular movie because I'd heard it was FUNNY. And...well...I like funny. Funny makes me laugh and feel all happyyyyyyyy inside. Watching movies usually makes me crazy. I'm trapped. For two whole hours. In the same seat. My mind doesn't stop...I think about EVERYTHING...I have to pee. Am I hungry? Should I get my nose pierced? How about a tattoo today, that might be fun. Random sporadic thinking that cannot be contained. In preparation for my big night out I texted 11 friends...yes, ELEVEN friends, to see if anyone wanted to go with me. If you're still reading this story, you can probably guess by now that I went to see Bridesmaids alone. And you might also be thinking...wow...that's kind of pathetic. And I can see why you might be thinking that, but I swear, it was anything but.



I arrived at the theater with 15 minutes to spare. I was excited. It's date night, after all. I take MYSELF out, and the only person I have to worry about is meeeee!!! One ticket for the movie in hand and it's off to the snack bar. Large popcorn and a large drink? Yes, please! I made my way over to the ticket guy and looked at him in desperation as I realized my all important movie ticket was buried somewhere within my wallet, keys, cell phone, popcorn and coke. As it turns out I really DO only have two hands. I sheepishly grinned at the 16 year old movie ticket taker boy and said, "Wow, it's really hard to carry all this by yourself!" He was not amused...so I did what any rational middle aged woman would do...I pointed to the ticket with my nose...and said, "It's there, under the popcorn...no...left hand...if you want it, you're going to have to take it!" And he did and he tossed the stub on top of the popcorn...and then I realized I needed to pee. Well this is going to be inconvenient. I quickly shuffled to the women's bathroom and shoved the door open with my butt. I commandeered the handicapped stall and gently disengaged myself from the popcorn and giant coke while I pulled down the diaper changing table with my knee, all the time praying there wouldn't be any poop smears on it. Score! No poop. And then I...wait...do we need to hear the details of this part? No, probably not. I was in the bathroom. I did bathroom-type things...including a good bit of handwashing. Moving on...



As I entered the theater, I realized that I can sit wherever I want. I'm ONE person. I don't have to make sure there is enough room for my brood. No asking someone else, "Where do you want to sit?" I don't have to automatically go to the front of the theater as I had in years past because today it's just me and I shall sit in the middle! Feeling a little uneasy as I was the first to arrive, I nervously looked around wondering if they'd cancel the movie if I was the only one. They can't do that, can they? Well, I suppose anything can happen, but I'm really looking forward to the next two hours, so bring on the entertainment! As I'm waiting, I decide to make myself comfortable. Loud jingly keys, wallet and cell phone on the floor, popcorn in my lap, drink at my side, feet up and I'm a happy girl.

The previews start and I think I'm home free. And then it happened. To my left, three college girls set up camp, complete with whispering and giggling, but hey, at least they left a fag seat. (You don't know what a fag seat is? Too bad! Figure it out!) I'm happily shoving fistfuls of greasy popcorn in my face when I spot the freaking family reunion walking in mid-way through the previews. It's dark and the three women look directly at me and my prime movie watching spot and make a beeline for me. Really, y'all? Really? There are like 22 people in the entire theater and...yup...you guessed it, Miss "I'm-drenched-in-Cinnabar perfume-and-you-WILL-smell-me-from a-mile-away" perched her perfect little hiney directly next to mine. Ok, I didn't actually SEE her hiney...being dark and all, but she was a petite little thang, wearing a pencil skirt and a pretty flowing blouse, expertly coiffed hair, dangly gold earrings, Tammy Faye Baker makeup and that GOD-AWFUL perfume. Fuckin' kill me now! My nostrils have been invaded. As she sat down, I realized my wallet and phone were directly under her legs, so I quickly reached down and promptly found myself with a handful of foot! I say the first thing that comes to mind, "Oh my gosh, I TOTALLY did not mean to grab your foot!" I uttered this semi-apology while I still had her piggies in my grasp. Finally able to let go, I floundered around on the floor til I could locate my wallet and phone. Ms. Perfect seemed totally unfazed by the foot grabbing incident, so I allowed myself to relax and wait for the feature presentation.

WARNING!!! If you are planning to see Bridesmaids, the movie, you may not want to read further as I plan to spoil the shit out of this movie for you. Ok, not really, but I gotta tell some-freaking-body about the funny parts of this movie. You've been warned...your spoiler alert has been thusly posted.



The movie begins with an awkward bedroom scene...you know the kind...you're sitting next to your MOTHER in the theater wondering why in the hell you brought her to this movie and why didn't you check the online reviews first to find out what naughty little bits might be in this flick that you absolutely do NOT wish to see with your mother! But hey, ya know, I'm not here with my mama, so I am not wishing the floor would open up and swallow me. The girl two seats down from me, however, is not so lucky. The 30'ish year old girl is there with her Grandmother and Mother (aforementioned perfume head.) Grandma is loudlyyyyy whispering, "Oh my gosh! This is really NOT necessary! Why do they show such things in movies these days?" Oh good lord, Grandma, don't get your panties in a twist, k? It's just sex, it ain't gonna kill ya, and if my calculations are correct, I believe you engaged in "such things" and created the stench to my right some years ago! Hee hee! No...I did not say these things with my out loud voice. But I swear, I should have!

I decide early on that this movie is quite entertaining and I will do my absolute best to NOT make any superfluous trips to the john. Also I will be taking notes, mental notes, of all the life lessons being offered up for a mere five dollars and fifty cents. First life lesson: (Taken from awkward bedroom scene)

Douchey male: "Ohhhh, this is soooo awkward...I really want you to leave, but I don't want to sound like a dick."

Life Lesson #1: Any man that says this IS a dick and is not worth your time. Also, you should call him a dick to his face, it'll make you feel better. I promise.

As the movie progresses I am feeling less and less alone. As you can guess, a movie entitled, "Bridesmaids," attracts a predominantly female audience and tonight the theater is packed full of us lady-types. And ONE man. We're having a great time together, almost laughing on cue all together in a happy little chorus of lady laughs. I am thoroughly enjoying my "alone" time with these 20 ladies. Even stinky McGee's perfume has stopped annoying me. I like the female bonding. Yes I do.

The next scene shows the main character, Annie, hanging out at a coffee shop with her best friend, the bride. They are discussing Annie's booty call from the night before. I can't properly describe how damn funny it is when Annie contorts her body and closes one eye to do an impression of a penis. Nothing short of hilarious. She even uses her arms to look like the...um...well...you know...there are two of them...whatever, you get it! They catch up like only best friends can do, reading each other's minds with just a look.

Life Lesson #2: You need a best friend that you can laugh about penises with. It's a requirement for sanity.

As the movie progresses it becomes more apparent that Annie is a little lost and trying to find her way. She's a lonely single gal, always the bridesmaid and never the bride, and I can totally identify with "the cupcake scene." Poor thing goes home and spends a good amount of time elaborately preparing a beautiful cupcake. She makes just enough batter for the single cupcake, bakes it, frosts it, decorates it and places it on the counter. All that work for one cupcake that no one else will see. She stares at the cupcake for a while looking forlorn and then she does what any sensible woman should do. She picked the fuckin' thing up and shoved it in her face looking almost victorious and defeated all at the same time.

Life Lesson #3: Eat the cupcake. EAT THE FUCKING CUPCAKE!

Picking out the bridesmaids dresses...this obligatory task can be a great bonding time for the girls or it can be a disastrous miserable nightmare. In this case...total nightmare. The girls ate some baaaaaaad meat and the results in this all white dress shop were not pretty. Everyone dashes off to the bathroom...and...well...diarrhea is just funny. The plus sized bridesmaid, Megan, hops up onto the sink, hikes up her pretty pink dress and goes to town. That sink will never be the same. When the food poisoning finally hits the bride, she starts to run across the street to find an empty bathroom and makes it about halfway before she starts sinking to the ground yelling, "Oh God, it's happening...it's happening...I'm shitting in the street. I'm shitting IN.THE.STREET." Annie is looking out the door of the bridal shop at her street shitting friend with a really defeated look on her face mumbling, "You're really doing it, you're really shitting in the street."

Life Lesson #4: If the toilet is occupied, the sink is a good second choice. Followed closely by the middle of the street.

Ok...here's the deal. I can't write anymore...my fingers are bleeding, man! You HAVE to see this movie. That's it, there's really no other choice. It'll make you laugh. It'll make you cry. It'll make you want to eat some freaking wedding cake. Also...there's a really cute cop in this movie and he has a great accent...which brings me to my final life lesson.



Life Lesson #5: Guys with accents are hot. They can't even help it.

So there ya go, that's my big Tuesday night out. I think I was a pretty good date. I bought the popcorn, I paid for the movie, heck, I even gave myself a goodnight kiss. I do believe I'll be calling myself for a second date.

I Forgot To Sleep

I was standing at the kitchen window this morning downing my daily dose of allergy meds when I noticed out of the corner of my eye a small bird pecking at the ground. Having a little time to kill I thought I'd take a few minutes and soak in some nature, kinda like national geographic, except suburban style. A few minutes into watching the bird, I realized he (well, I assume it was a he) wasn't pecking at all, he was pulling a worm out of the ground! At first I thought it was really cool because here I am up at 5:30 am watching an EARLY bird catch the worm! This has to mean something, maybe a sure sign of luck for me...today will be a GOOD day because I have seen the early bird and it is indeed catching its worm. Except...it was disgusting. The bird was yanking this fat juicy worm out of the ground with its creepy pointy beak while the worm would do its best to wiggle itself back into the ground. And so it went, over and over...yank, wiggle, yank, wiggle, yank, wiggle, until finally YANK! And the bird won...the worm was bloody and wounded and would not be returning to its little dirt tunnel. I felt nauseous and decided...maybe today won't be so good, it surely wasn't for that poor worm! Stupid selfish pig headed bird!

And on the morning went...I tossed a load of laundry in and set about getting the kids up for school. One by one they dragged themselves out of bed only to plop down on the couch to watch tv. Breakfast made and dishes done, I popped in to check on the laundry. And that's when I smelled it. Burning. Something was burning! But what??? "Oh my gosh," I thought, "It's true! Lint CAN catch on fire!" This CANNOT be happening...I threw open the dryer door and massive amounts of pale green lint came billowing out, the clothes that had been drying for an hour were still completely wet. I pulled the lint trap out and scads of lint fell onto the floor, nothing was burning but the scent of smoldering lint wafted into the air. I'd caught it in time, no fire today. I foresee a fun new dryer-taking-apart project in my near future, but not now. Now we have to drive to schoooool!!!

As we rush out the door, I flip the light switch only to hear a quick *pop* and the garage goes dark. Great. ONE.MORE.THING.TO.DO. Fine! We fumble our way to the van and I open the garage door and notice it's still raining...oh and look...there are my trash cans sitting on the curb, lids off, collecting copious amounts of rain water. Add that to the list. Mental list. Things I gotta do. Must remember the things to do...wet laundry, suck lint, fix light bulb, dump water out of trash cans, bring them inside. Ok, I can handle all that. Yes. As long as I don't forget. Now then...kids all buckled in their seats, time for the drive to school. Kid #1, Miss teenager that she is, rushes into the building to make it to her first class and I'm not more than a mile away when I get a phone call from the office that I need to come on back and bring the kid her cell phone. Wonderful. Fine. Drop #2 & #3 off and rush home to retrieve said phone and hurry back to school for a speedy delivery. It's not even 9am yet and I'm already tired. At some point today, sleep must happen because work will happen tonight, whether sleep comes or not.

I finally get home and breathe a sigh of relief because I'm all alone in the house and it's time to rest. I like resting. It's my favorite...next to boiled peanuts, baths and swimming. I have a date with my laptop, a bowl of ice cream and a dining room table. It's internet time, time to relax before nappy time. But first I make
a much needed pit stop in the bathroom. I have to pee like every hour. What is THAT about? Is it because I have 3 kids and they stomped all over my bladder and now it's all misshapen or something? It's annoying! Anyway, so there I was...minding my own business...DOING my business, just number ONE, y'all, gosh...when I dropped my phone...yeah, yeah, I was playing on my phone on the toilet, whatevs. Anyway, I lean over to pick up the phone and I hear a loud CRACK. FUCK. I just cracked the fucking toilet seat. I gingerly (haha, see what I did there?) sat my hiney back down so I could finish my biznissssss. This is an important lesson I need to share. You see, apparently when you SIT on a cracked toilet seat, said seat expands, or the crack opens up a little, if you will, like a tiny shark with teeny little razor-y shark-y teeth. (Rocky used to call sharks "sharper fish" when she was a little kid...cute little childhood memory for ya.) ANYWAY...when you stand up, the toilet seat teeth grab your ass like an angry little bitch shark and hang on for dear life. Shit! That really hurt! I guess that's one more thing on the old list...but later. Pretty much everything can wait, because as I mentioned before, I.NEED.TO.SLEEP!

Finally I have a few minutes to sit down at my beloved laptop. I might read the news, chat with a few friends and generally just waste time until the sleeping pills kick in. This is a grand plan and I LIKE it. Wasting time is ALSO my favorite. While I'm sitting in the chair I notice that it's wobbling really bad. This could be an emergency. What if...one day I sit down in the wobbly ass chair and I break my back or my leg or something. That would hurt. Also, maybe I couldn't walk anymore. I would not like that. No. No, I wouldn't. I decide this is definitely an emergency and needs fixed straight away. I skip out to the garage (yes, I really did skip...what can I say, I was in a good mood...skipping happens, don't fight it, y'all.) and get a screwdriver. I know how to fix wobbly chair! I am on top of this one! Wait, it wasn't a screwdriver at all, it was that other kind. The bendy metal thing that comes in like...packs of 10 in different sizes. It was one of those. Yeah. That's what I fixed the chair with. Anyway, look, long story short...I fixed the freaking chair, ok. I like FINISHED fixing something and it's all sturdy and shit now.

I'm starting to get a little annoyed now because I was supposed to putz around on my stupid computer and then fall asleep! This is the plan and I only have about 7 more hours to make it happen. I decide to run out to the mailbox and check the mail. This turns out to be a bad idea. Do you want to know why? I'll tell you why. Fuck the IRS. Ok? Fuck them. They have my money and I want it back. Does anybody know a guy with a big huge scary pipe who can go rough up the IRS and tell them to gimme my MONEYYYYYYY??? No? Fine. I'll open the stupid letter those rat bastards sent me and fill out another 15 forms so I can wait yet another 2 months for my refund. Whatever. Oh...and by the way, the mail was soaked because it was raining. And the special envelope I have to mail my forms back in? Yeah, it's TOTALLY glued shut! How am I gonna find an envelope with that dumb ass cellophane window in just the right place to display the address? Huh? Tell me that! Fuck it. I'll just rip the damn thing open, stuff my shit in there and tape it back together. It won't look una-bomber'ish at all. Right. Fuck the IRS. Did I already say that? Tough. Fuck 'em.

It's around noon time now and I could totally get 3 and a half hours sleep before I have to pick up the kids. I could. If I got into bed. And it's about this time I'm wondering how mother flippin' effective those sleeping pills are. Not very much, by golly, because I am still conscious. I'm thinking that since I can't sleep, it'll be a real nice time to clean out the garage. Who doesn't love a good old fashioned garage cleanin? Hmmm??? I suppose I'll tackle this project alone, you know, since I forgot to have adult companionship of any kind around. Bollocks! I have like...eight things. Not much at all. When you move and start over, somehow, there is a severe lack of stuff. That is ok. I do not like stuff, but the stuff that I possess shall be lined up in pretty lines, boxes stacked neatly, everything will be just so, because THIS IS MY GODDAMN HOUSE AND I SAID SO! Ahem...Sorry, anyway, the garage did in fact get cleaned, by my hands. I did it. Done, complete, finito. And, oh joy! I found my wedding ring. Isn't that exciting? Anyone want it? No, for reals...cuz, I could mayyyybe get 12 dollars for it, but maybe it needs a good home. Or maybe it needs to be drowned in the middle of Lake Loveland. Maybe it does. And Maybe I can make that happen. I've murdered a wedding ring before, don't make me do it again, fuckers. I can murder the shit out of a ring.

I gotta be honest, I'm tired of writing this damn post. I was tired the day I did all this crap, but reliving it? MORE tired! All I wanted to do was convey the fact that EVERYTHING gets in the way of me sleeping for work. So I do not sleep. To finish up, I shall write the rest of the things I did on this day in an orderly list so that you understand how I really didn't do a damn thing but couldn't get a moment's peace all day long...

*Went to visit friend and new baby at hospital
*Made mad rush to Wal Mart before visiting friend in hospital for totally awesome welcome baby gift
*While at hospital washed my hands (accidentally) in one of those mother fucking bunn hot water spouts. Hands then throbbed like a cartoon character for the rest of day. Red, throbby ouchiness all.effin.day.
*Picked kids up from school
*Tried to make dinner
*Oldest daughter cried that the poop our dog was eating was not poop at all, but a dead bird. Poison worm? Maybeeee...
*Pick up dead bird and give it a god damn funeral in the trash can.
*Son kicked ball over house into neighbors yard. Neighbor's dog finds ball and absconds into the house with it...then teases us for the next hour going in and out of the doggie door saying "ha ha ha, I have your ball, you dumb ass kid" each time.
*Our dog rips my son's shoe off his foot and runs away with it. After much chasing and yelling, mom rescues shoe. And tells dog to quit bein an asshole.
*Dinner, 2nd attempt. Find mold on hot dogs. Go to McDonald's.
*Eat, clean up mess.
*Take dryer apart, suck lint. Lots of it.
*Make 2 kids take baths.
*Take shower. It's cold. Kids took all the hot water. Try not to whine. Whine anyway.
*Get kids to their dad's so mom can go to work. It's 8 pm. How did this happen? It was just 8 am 5 minutes ago.
*Call co-worker and say...I forgot to sleep...can I come in at midnight? Co-worker loves me and says yes. Yay!
*Sleep. 3 hours. Glorious.
*Drive to work...fast...get pulled over by cop who from a different police department. Cop asks the right questions so Ginger does not get a ticket. (Where are you going so fast? Work! Where do you work? Police dispatch!!! Yessssss!!!) Sergeant from MY police department backs up cop who pulled me over. Now I am embarrassed. And Sergeant thinks it's funny. So funny. Cannot live this one down. Vow to stop speeding...but then remember how much fun it is, so I say fuck it and drive fast anyway.
*Get to work, finally. Bored to tears.
*Get home at 7am, remember the stupid dog didn't want to come inside last night. I hope she learned her lesson. She got sprayed by a skunk. And now I'm suffering for it.

Good fucking night.

Laughter Is The Best Medicine

Laughing is my favorite. I think I like it more than cake and ice cream and roly polies and swimming and telling a-holes to f-off and having a good hair day. I like laughing better than ALLLLL these things!

So sometimes, when I find myself sitting around thinking too much about life and what it all means, I think...shit! I have to get up and get out, do something big! I have to liiiive!!! NO MORE THINKING!

Maybe I'll bungee jump or sky dive or go ice skating or eat sushi. I could enter a break dancing contest or take a tour of the White House or run a marathon! I could do ALLLL thisssss to clear my head orrrrr....I could watch funny videos on YOU TUBE!!!

And that's exactly what I do. I usually start off slow, with something that will elicit a giggle or two to get the ball rolling...

This video is a comedian talking about being broke. Watch and giggle. THAT'S AN ORDER!



Next I'll watch something cute...you know, something adorable that makes you go awwww!!!



Equally as cute...



And really, once I start watching funny animal videos, it's kind of hard to stop, but I have to limit myself because there are MORE hilarious videos that I NEED to see like nowwww...Such as my ALL TIME FAVORITE, which incidentally is the reason I'm going to hell. (If you laugh at this I'll see you in the fiery pit of hell sitting right alongside me.)



And you can never go wrong with a dumb cop video.



After a while I get a little bored with videos...so I do something completely different...and read and re-read my favorite blog...



http://www.hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/

Did you read the blog? Did you? Read some of it! Do it nowwww!!! I PROMISE you will laugh!

Other things make me laugh. Like the other night at work when I told my friend Sam to google something for me and he said..."I'll google your face!" So he did. He googled "Ginger's face" And this is what happened...



This website will keep me laughing for hours...

http://damnyouautocorrect.com/



After a while I get bored and take a break from the internets. Maybe I'll go outside and lay in the grass...you know, get me a suntan!



Yeah, that's me...I was RIGHT THERE in that there grass. See me? Yeah, I ain't got no head!

Or maybe I'll go to the grocery store to visit the fruit.


U-G-L-I? You ain't got no alibi, you UGLY! Hey-hey, you ugly!!!

It's important to stop by and check out the vegetables while you're at the store, you never know when you need some young impressionable peas.



Hee hee...

You can't spend too much time out. Being out makes you tired and grumpy and the point of the day was to LAUGH, so back home I must go so I can sit around some more and watch MOREEEEEEE videos!

Airport humor? I think so!



This one is totally inappropriate, but you can't help but laugh at a dude who can't keep from laughing...



Men have no tolerance for pain...poooor little bunny!



Eddie Murphy...a classic, you don't laugh, you did not live in the awesome 80's!



Funny stuff...that's all I have for today! More laughing! No frownies! No thinky! Too much thinky makes a girl crazy! Goodnight!

Hi POP!

Hiiiiiiiiiiiii Dadddddyyyyyyyyy!!!! Whatcha doin? I was just about to post a new blog post, but I see you already checked in for today at some crazzzzyyyy early hour in the morning! Ya gotta give a girl a chance to write, man, what do you think I do, stay up all night long? Well, yes, I do, but first I had to play with my coupons, and eat some seeds, and then stare at the tv for a while and chat with friends and...oh yeah...work! So now, I shall blog and off you go to eat your oatmeal and bananas and then to work. Tell Mop hi!

Love, Hop!

LIVE: Ginger Goes to Jury Duty

I love iPhone! Look...I take picture of where I park, then I find car soooo easy later! I say..."oh no, where I park?" iPhone say, "you take picture, you park here, remember, lady?" Love you iPhone! Muahhhhh!



I'm here!!! Doing my civic duty. I have to wear this sticker on my shirt...it says "juror" so I'm like all official, y'all. I hate these stickers cuz everyone puts 'em on their chest...that's where they GO and I know this, but when you're a lady-type, that sticker sits right on top of yo boob and it's like a neon sign screaming, "Hey, y'all! Look at my right boob! L@@K!!! There's a sticker there! And underneath...a boob!" I thought about putting it somewhere else, like on my belly button, but really, that would just cause people to say, "hey, shouldn't that be right THERE...you know...on your boob?"



The slide show started y'all. It says "Welcome to jury duty." Awww...isn't that nice? After the first slide I am not feeling so welcome. There are lots of slides that, in a nutshell, say, "YOU PARK HERE! NOT THERE!!! YOU PARK THERE, YOU GET TICKET! YOU PAY NOWWWW, MISTER!!!"

Nobody is sitting next to each other! Why dey do dis? It's like on an airplane. You know eventually the empty seats around you will be filled but for those first 15 glorious minutes before the flight takes off you delude yourself into thinking you will have space. WRONG!!! No space for you! Flight is full suckaaaaa!!! I chose an aisle seat, FYI... What? A girl's got to go potty without trippin' over a buncha dumb legs. Gosh!

OMG! We've been waiting 30 minutes since we checked in...what is going to happen next? What are they going to tell us?? We need informations right now. It's soooo quiet in here with all these people, yet so noisy. Sooo many noises. Sniffing, coughing, throat clearing, nose blowing, whispering, scratching, papers rattling, sipping, oh my!!!

Oh! It's video time! Being a juror is fun, video says, it is your civic duty. You do good job, or else! You do it NOWWWW!!! Even judges have to be jurors, and retirees and moms and dads and smelly men and perfumed ladies and people with no teeth and and and...

After video the judge is coming to talk to us. The JUDGE! He's like a celebrity! What will he say? Maybe we will get a stern lecture with lots of finger pointing and eyebrow furling. Or maybe he will tell a joke to lighten the mood. I like jokes. I bet he tells one that starts off with a priest and a rabbi walking into a bar....oh wait, here he is. Oh my gosh, his name is Judge Lynch. Hahahahahaha!!! Hee hee hee!! Oh...ouch...that struck my funny bone hard. LULZ!!! It turns out that the prosecution's eye witness was a flaky mcflakerpants and the whole case has been dismissed. We are free to go. What a let down! I feel robbed! I want to be jury NOWWWW!!!

Well, I have my day back, what should I do now...hmmm....how's about I go to my favorite restaurant since I'm already downtown. LUCILLE'S for the win! I love love love this place! It's a Cajun restaurant in an old downtown house. They serve spicy iced tea and beignets and grits and oh my gosh I love it soooo much. Before your meal they bring you a biscuit. Biscuit, oh boy!!!! That is a biiiig biscuit, enough for four people! There's apple butter and strawberry rhubarb preserves on the table...homemade...in little crocks, sooo cute! Yum. By the way, what the heck is a preserve? That's what I wanna know.



Don't eat too much biscuit, don't do it. Real food is next, nobody wants to fill up on biscuit, that's just silly!

Also, iPhone is my dining companion. Isn't he cute? Just sitting here hanging out with me. The chair's too big for him so I just hold him in my wittle hand, pushing all the buttons, typing things, reading stuff. What a good little iPhone. I am NOT the cat lady! NO! I am the iPhone Chica! I could have used the iPhone, to, you know...call someone to go out to eat with me, but that's too much trouble. People are so unpredictable with their silly schedules, and work and kids and crap. iPhone always there! iPhone go to breakfast with me! Thank you iPhone!

Oh look...here's the real food. The only thing I ever order at Lucille's...Eggs Pontchatrain...oh how I love thee! Let me count the ways! I love your yummy pan fried trout and your fluffy scrambled eggs and your down south grits and your rich hollandaise sauce. Right now you are my besttttt friend and I will eat you all up!



So breakfast is done, jury duty out of the way for another year...now it's time to go home, where I'll sit next to a lazy dog on the couch, watch crappy tv shows on netflix and write things to people on my laptop. Eventually this excitement will be just too much for me and I will require a long nap because after all, I have an overnight shift to look forward to at the good old police department. Yay for having a job! YAYYY!!! And boooo for having a shitty schedule. BOOOO!!!

Stupid Light Bulbs...And Other Things I Wanna Punch!

I know the day has gone to hell in a handbasket when I find myself telling the pencil I just dropped to fuck off. Stupid pencil better learn his place! I came up with a theory recently...bear with me. Ok, I think the days where everything goes wrong are actually worse than a really truly bad day. What's a really truly bad day? Your dog dies. That's a really bad fucking day. Crash your car into a telephone pole? Yes...also a bad day. But here's the thing...on these truly awful days you have a real tangible reason to be pissed off or sad. But on pencil dropping days, you're stomping around the house mad at the world for no good reason. And people are all...hey, why are you in a bad mood? And really, the only appropriate response to that is I DON'T KNOW! Now fuck off! You and the pencil can both go to hell!

You laugh, but you know you've been there. I'm there today. Welcome to my hell. My kitchen light burnt out. Mere annoyance. I can deal with that...change the bulb and I'm on my way. But noooooo, it can't be that simple, now can it? Brand new light bulbs installed, I flip the switch and damn it all to hell if there ain't no light coming out of them!!! Hmm...check the breaker (note: I know this is not the problem, but decide to go look at the little fuse thingys anyway) all is good in the breaker box...so my next course of action is to stomp back inside the house and flip off the kitchen light as hard as I can with BOTH HANDS!!! Grrrrr!!!



I went to the doctor yesterday and the nice lady at the front desk asked for my insurance card. I handed it over, somewhat nervously, because I am on a new health insurance plan. All I could think was pleeeease accept my insurance, I looove my doctor. The last thing I need is one more FUCKING change I didn't sign up for. She entered the info and asked if my ex was still the primary subscriber and I had to of course explain to ONE MORE PERSON that doesn't really need to know, that, no...he's long gone and I'm the primary. So then she looks at me over the top of her glasses and says, "well then, whoooo will your emergency contact be now?" I wanted to yell at her "NO-FUCKING-BODY!!!!" How about THAT you snarky tip of the nose glasses wearing office lady? How about THAT! I decided against that after having a moment of clarity. I said, "Keep my ex as the emergency contact, HE can deal with my dead body!" Yeah, stick it to the mannnnnnnn!!!! Hahahaha! (Side note: I don't really know who the man is, thus I'm not sure who will have it "stuck to them.")

Sigh...I just went to make myself a bowl of cereal. I like cereal. It is delicious. Also a good snack late at night when cooking is out of the question. I opened the drawer to grab a spoon and to my surprise there are only big spoons left, the small spoon slot left bare yet again. Fucking big spoon, AGAIN?? Whyyyyy???? Why me? Why do I ALWAYS get stuck with the spoon so big I have to open wiiiiide for every bite? Oh oh, I get it...it's a fat joke. Haha, joke's on me! Chubby girl gets the big spoon. That's a good one. Maybe I'll start hiding a small spoon just for me. MAYBE. I. WILL. But then...I'd probably forget where I hid it...and then...I'd hide another small spoon and forget where I hid that one. This isn't going anywhere good. Maybe I'll just stop eating things that require spoons. That'll show those big spoons! They'll never get used again. Muwahahahahaha!!!

After a day like this, filled with stupid light bulbs, dumb ass spoons, and obnoxious pencils, I just wanna come home, climb into bed and chat with my friends who live inside my computer box. Avoiding the real world? Maybe. Cat lady-like behavior? Could be. Do I care??? Noooooo. (Ok, maybe a little.)

How I Got Somethin' For Free...And Other Amusing Things I Like To Blame On My Divorce....

Ugh...I trade my shame for your amusement...

Most days start off for me like this..."hey, didn't we have that one thing we had to do today...at that...um...place?"

This post on pause for the following reason: 13 year old daughter just walked up to me, laid her head on the dining table and said, "Mom...you're gonna be a cat lady. You need to get OUT there...I mean, not to the bars, mom, but NOT on facebook or online or whatever, ok?" Well fuckity fuck fuck fuck and excuuuuuse me! I'll just go drink a big fat glass of tequila and pass out so I can forget what a LOSER I am because I don't have a boyfriend.

Disclaimer: I will not be drinking any tequila because I don't want my momma to be disappointed in me. Also. Puking. I don't like that.

Update: I did drink the tequila. (Sorry Mop, and Pop, if that sorta thing matters to you.) Sometimes, and holy shit, it's not often, you just wanna be like, hey! Let's have a drink and forget all the stupid shit that happened today. And then, next thing you know, you're sad and pathetic and you have to be up in 3 hours and your best friend is NOWHERE to be found and you're all, why did I drink this nasty shit? Oh yeah, to forget. Forget about what? I dunno. Fuck, I already forgot. See? Mission accomplished!

Yay! All is forgotten...except the following dumb ass things...

1. I took Danika to a cheerleading class today that she wasn't enrolled in. Yeah, see, THAT is how I get free shit. See, what had happened was, I didn't talk to Ben and you know, ask him when her class ended, so I brought her today like a TOTAL dumb ass and the teacher asked to talk to me after class. And I was like, uh oh! What did I do...so I texted Ben, and I'm like, is this class over and he's all yeah and I'm all like shit, because she's in there now, cheering away! Hahaha! Joke is on me. But, whatever, cuz...free class!

2. I am watching Ben's girlfriend's dog while they go away for the week together. Does that make me a pushover? Maybe it does. MAYBE. IT. DOES. But, ya know what? One day, I'm gonna need a HUGE ass favor, ya know? And they'll be all...remember how nice and AWESOME Ginger has always been? She watched our ugly dog! What a pal! Yeah, THAT is how it is going to go down...and then they'll be all...we'll fuckin' do anything for her! She is the best ex-wife EVERRRRRRRR!!! You think this shit happens by accident...nope! I have a plan. Be nice and some good shit is gonna happen. Mmmmhhhmmmmm!!! Yes it will!!!

3. I forgot what I was doing here. What are these numbers for?

4. See, I was sitting at the dining table tonight typing to some friends and listening to music and hanging out while Rocky worked on a school project. I thought we were having fun. And then. BLAM. Out of nowhere, we were most certainly NOT having fun! Rocky laid her head on the dining table and said in the most serious kidding voice she could muster, "Mom, you are going to be the cat lady. You need to get out. Not to bars, Mom, and not on facebook or the internet either!" Well great...OMG, I just realized I already told this story at the top of the page! See kids? THIS is what tequila does to you. It steals your short term memory.

5. Ok, so I am trying to figure out what a boyfriend is good for. Because I'm thinking adding an extra person will be kiiind of a headache. Like for example, dinner. I'll have to start saying, "honey, what do you want for dinner?" When, really, I don't give a rat's ass what he wants for dinner. Also, he might want to watch something on tv I hate. FAIL! What if he has too many clothes and they won't fit in my closet? I mean, really...I think that's automatic grounds for a break up, don't you? What if he's messy and leaves his crap everywhere, like socks in the dining room. OMG, even worse! What if he's a neat freak! I am a slob at heart! I can't deal with a neat freak! All the messes I make must be able to be blamed on him, a neat freak would know he didn't leave out a bowl of guacamole and a half drank root beer overnight, but a slob? He'd be like...hmmm...maybe I did that and then I could be like yes you did! You ALWAYS leave guacamole out and I have to clean up after you! You owe me, you piggggggg!!! Yeah! That'll show him!!

6. Ok, things a boyfriend would be good for. I can do this, hold on. Ok, like when I am out with friends and every last mother fucker there is coupled up, if I had a boyfriend then I could be like, ha ha ha hee hee hee, we have our own private jokes and they are soooo funny! Ya know, I could stop being the third wheel. Also...food. If he had something delicious to eat I could be like, hey, boyfriend, lemme have a damn bite of that, that looks gooood, and he'd be like, yessssss, because he is my boyfriend and that is what they DO! Ooooh! He could drive! Yessss!!! OMG, I want a driver! Please! Ok, I will totally take a boyfriend if he will drive. Sold! Broke stuff. He could fix broke stuff! OMG, I am soooo happy about this boyfriend, hahahaha! You know why? Because I am freaking SICK of fixing broke stuff! Broke stuff = man's job, and as far as I know, I am not, nor never have been a man!!!

7. I changed my mind. All that stuff on #6. I can do that myself. None of that crap is worth the heartbreak when the lousy SOB leaves and breaks my fragile lil heart. (See that...that was bitterness there, yeah, I have a little. And it just came out. Which means...it must be time for bed. FML.)

I just realized I didn't talk about anything in this post I meant to. In fact, I don't even freaking remember what I had planned to write at all. Instead I ended up with this crap??? Really???

Oh! The tomato seed! Rocky hates tomatoes. We went to Applebee's. She ordered food. There was a tomato seed on her plate. She gingerly (see what I did there? haha) wiped it on her napkin. About 5 minutes later, the tomato seed was on her wrist. She wiped it on the table. A few minutes after that the tomato seed was on her arm. Hahahaha, at this point I was giggling. Because up until that moment, tomato seeds were not humorous in the least. But now? Freaking hilarious! Finally, she flinged (flung?) the seed across the restaurant. I didn't see where it went, but I bet it landed somewhere and some other tomato hater is gonna go home with that tomato seed plastered to their arm, LOL!!!!

It's Fine, I'll Wait...

An hour ago Rocky chastised me for eating airport mexican food right before a 3 hour flight. I DO know better, but the huevos rancheros were calling my name.

Sandwiched between Danika and a man reading a yellow book, I'm silently plotting my escape. We're at 10,000 feet just a few minutes into the flight and it's ok for everyone to turn on their iPods now, but standing up? NO! That is still forbidden. My tummy is rumbling. Ohhhh green chili you were soooo very delicious on the way in. Why are you trying to kill me now? My face is sweating...maybe if I hold onto the armrest a little tighter the cramps will go away. Why the f*ck is that g*d damned seat belt sign still on? I can't see the ground anymore, we are high enough! Come on!!!

Sitting next to a 6 year old in the tiny confines of an airplane requires a bit of patience. Danika's 8 X 11 tray table is covered with drawing paper, crayons, hot chocolate, a tortilla, a pen and a hashbrown. With predictable frequency something falls to the floor and the pile on her tray table quickly becomes the pile on my tray table. Up goes her tray and in a flash she's on the floor retrieving a wayward crayon.

I've been holding the hot chocolate steady on Danika's tray for 20 minutes and I know it's coming, I just don't know when. A notebook slips off the tray, I pick up the drink, Danika rushes to the floor, grabs the notebook, pops back up and elbows the hot chocolate and there it is folks. First spill of the day, all over the paper I'm currently writing on. The child is oblivious. Up and down she goes until I finally ask, "How many more times do you think you'll be doing that, sweetie?" Her response..."Depends on how much stuff I drop, Mom!" Oh well...duhhhhh!!!

Meanwhile, the sign is still on. "Keep your seat belts fastened, you are not free to move about the cabin." Look, I don't want to move about the cabin, I want to SIT about the bathroom. Please? My tummy has the rumblies. I'm dying here, y'all, if Danika bumps me ONE.MORE.TIME it's gonna be a green chili egg explosion. I swear!



The flight attendant whizzes by for the 8th time and I'm starting to get annoyed. Apparently she has super standing up powers on this flight. I call out to her, "Is it ok if I take her to the bathroom?" Using the child to get a little sympathy... (The man next to me with the yellow book is looking at my paper. Hi man with yellow book. Blink twice if you can see this. No? Ok, fine, I was just trying to be funny. You can ignore me if you want, you killjoy!) The flight attendant informs me with great inflection in her voice that she cannot GIVE me permission to use the lavatory while the ever present seat belt sign is on, but sometimes you have to DO what you have to DO. Oh realllly??? That sortaaaaa sounds like permission to me!

Woo hoo! Mama's goin potty! Yessssss!!!! Let's go! I'm gonna run RUN back there, stomach cramps be damned, I have a secret rendez vous with a barbie sized potty! And then...the light flickers off. And I'm free to move about the cabin...and so is everyone else. The aisle quickly fills and there I am. DEAD LAST. Noooooooooo!!!!! Randomly, Danika asks, "Mom, how many more seconds til we get to Flooooridaaaa???" And she expects an accurate answer. Before I can multiply up an answer for her she wails, moooommmm I'm hungry! I take a mental inventory and wonder how this is remotely possible. Six year old child plus ziploc baggie of cocoa puffs, plus egg McMuffin, plus hashbrown, plus orange juice, plus airplane bag of cookies, plus hot chocolate and nutty bar all in a span of less than 5 hours and THAT equals hungry?

And finally...it's my turn to "go." I don't think I really even need to anymore. I take my place on the tiny throne and all I hear is trickle-trickle-trickle! Really? I had to pee sooo bad! Full bladder! FULL! I ate MEXICAN food for craps sake! And that's it??? Trickle? I'm starting to think my stomach is a bit of a drama queen!

And back to my seat I go just in time for another round of "I dropped my crayon" and "Mommy I spilled" and other exciting in flight games.

My Stupid Pants

I have this pair of pants...everytime I see them I always say, "oh God, I hate those f*%$ing pants." EVERY.TIME. I can just hear my friend Mike saying, "why you gotta be hatin' on those pants, lady, what did those pants ever do to you?" I'll tell you what those pants did to me...oh I'll tell you alright.

Ya see, it all started when I went to that one store, yeah, you know the one I'm talking about...the one targeted for the "bigger gal." Uh huh, THAT one. So there I am, minding my own business, when I see stacks and stack of jeans. Blue jeans. Black jeans. I love jeans. They're so comfy and you can't really see the crap I wipe on them throughout the day. Wash hands. Dry on jeans. Sneeze. Wipe on jeans. Dog slobber. Rub into jeans.

Like I said, there I was...eyeballin' all these jeans, trying to figure out which ones I wanted to try on when the buxom clerk walked up to me with a tape measure and asked if I wanted a bra fitting. Well heck yeah I did! No! No, really, I didn't. All I wanted was to snag a few pairs of jeans and get the heck outta there. And if that's what happened I wouldn't be telling this story, would I?

The clerk stood there looking me up and down, chin in hand, index finger tapping her lip, deep in thought. "Blue dot," she says. "Huh? Blue dot?" Says I. "Yes," she explains. "You see," she says, "studies have shown that larger women don't like the double digits in their dress sizes, it makes them feel...well... large...so we decided to revamp our store's entire sizing system and you, my dear, are a blue dot." Well ain't that some sh#*...ok, ok, fine, hand me the damn pants, and I'll put my big blue dot ass in 'em and we'll just see how this goes down. I mean, I don't want to feel LARGE, or anything...


I make my way to the dressing room, pull down my pants as fast as I can and slip on the new ones to find that they fit ok. Great, they button, they zip. I'm all set, that's all I need. I stop and realize for a moment that I am generally too hasty in this clothes shopping game but decide that I really don't care. I'm not in the mood for breathlessly trying on outfits for the next hour to find just the right one. These jeans ZIP UP! That's all I need to know, I'm OUTTA here. I'm DONE.

I proudly take my new blue dots to the register and pay entirely too much, but that's ok, 'cuz I'm in the "big store" where no skinny clerks are allowed and the fat girl section is not located DIRECTLY next to the maternity section. OMFG what flippin brainiac came up with that idea? Do you know how many maternity shirts I've mistakenly bought at Target? FML! Maybe, I dunno, just MAYBE, they could put maternity clothes next to the infant clothes??? But what do I know, I just work here....or whatever, you know what I mean. Major sidetrack, sorry...

I take my new clothes home and excitedly rip the tags off and throw those bad boys on. New clothes must be worn right away. Everyone knows this. I spend the next several hours relaxing at home, watching tv, doing dishes, talking on the phone in the new duds. It doesn't take long for me to absolutely abhor everything about these new fangled jeans. They're just weird. First of all, there is enough space in the back side for at least three asses. Not three cheeks, y'all. THREE.WHOLE.ASSES. That's right...SIX cheeks. They're like stretchy or something, so everytime I walk, more space stretches out for more asses. I don't know how big the clerk thought my stomach bone was, but I'm noticing that the top of the jeans are resting right under...well, right under my boobies, ok? This is not good. These are not polyester pants and this chick ain't 82 years old. I have a shape and it ain't the kool-aid man. Also...there's a weird smell. Burnt plastic, maybe? With a little bit of sulfur on the side. I do not like this smell. No. These pants are all wrong.

I know what you're thinking...why don't you take them back? And I swear, I had every intention to do it, but day after day, I'd remember, "Oh, I have to take those craptastic pants back!" And as soon as I'd remember, the thought had floated right on out of my head. And after a while the blue dots were part of my wardrobe, in the weekly laundry cycle, the last choice to wear for the day, mind you, but sometimes I do slip 'em on and silently curse the day I paid forty dollars so I wouldn't have to see a number in my pants. I've thus far been unsuccessful in finding any other asses to share them with. And honestly, if I took them back, what "size" would I exchange them for? Yellow triangles? Blue moons? You'll never get me lucky charms!

And now...for a completely inappropriate, yet funny picture, brought to you by Natalie Dee at http://www.nataliedee.com/

What I See at the Spelling Beeeee

So here I am at the Colorado Convention Center in a long desolate hallway while my lovely 13 year old daughter is herded into a giant room with several hundred other nerdy kids who can spell things like pnuematic and phlegm. She'll be in there for the next 90 minutes taking a written test to determine if she will be going on stage for the oral portion of the day. I'm not nervous for the kid...this sort of thing comes naturally to her, she's like...so totally talented.

Meanwhile her mama is waiting anxiously at a large round table that seats eight with another lady who was here first. Though we are sharing the table equally, she was here before me, so I am trying to keep my table drumming and foot tapping to a minimum. I sooo enjoy people watching and this hallway is ripe with entertaining folks to observe.

Downtown Denver


The lady at my table is wearing a pink t-shirt and pink headphones and every so often she giggles softly while reading a book that looks like it's straight out of Oprah's Book Club. To my left is a lady in the typical Colorado fleece winter vest complete with that crazy ski goggle sunburnt face. I can't help but notice that "goggle face lady" is missing the pinky finger on her left hand...and she's doing a crossword puzzle, writing with that same left hand. I pick up my own pencil, right handed, of course, and try to simualate what it would be like to write with no pinky...giggling to myself, I remember this is the exact thing I would snap at Danika for doing. You don't call attention to the different people, Danika! For what it's worth, I think I can live without a pinky.

Half an hour in and I've gone potty...yeah, I call it potty, what's it to ya??? I've gotten my make up on so I don't have to hear every Tom, Dick, and Harry comment that I look soooo tired...am I ok? Eyeliner really does work wonders. I love you eyeliner...and mascara...and lipgloss...oh how I loooove you! iTunes is blasting in my ears...Olivia Newton John wants to get Physical and Kool Moe Dee is rappin' about the Wild Wild West and Ginger just wants to get up and do a few cartwheels and dance around for a few minutes in this wide open space. But that just isn't done, is it? Us humans have to follow the rules, don't we? No random dancing, NO! Dancing can only happen at weddings and at late night drunken bar runs and in the privacy of your living room when the kids are off to school. Those are the rules and they must be followed lest we endure the judgemental stares from "people". For now I'll settle with a little chair dancing, wallflower style. Nobody puts baby in the corner!

Slight interruption from my good friend Davey updating me on his latest love interest. The boy always has his head in the clouds, hopeless romantic that he is, the conversation is over as quickly as it started, he must get back to the girl. That's always the way, isn't it? Friends become scarce when girlfriends and boyfriends come out to play. If we haven't found it already we're always out looking for our one true love. Sigh.

The guy at the end of the hallway has been smiling ever since he got here 45 minutes ago. His laughter is infectious and the crowd gathered at his table are clearly entertained by his over the top stories, wild hand movements and genuine happiness that exudes from his every cell. I'd love to get closer to hear what is so dang funny but I'm sure that awkard encounter would put a screeching halt to the good time. A tap on my shoulder...it's a tiny Korean woman shoving the daily newspaper under my nose..."Rook! The sperring bee is in da paper!" I thank her for the info and am impressed that she was willing to approach me even though her English is not perfect. I remember how daunting it was to live in Korea and know the language but be so afraid to talk for fear that I would be misundersood or made fun of. Never happened once. I think it's true that there is nothing to fear but fear itself. But I'm still scared of stuff.

Rocky's finished with the written test and makes her way down the hall to where I'm camped out with my laptop, pepsi, make up, peanut butter cookies, cell phone and sunflower seeds. She's chuckling to herself as she tells me that some kids asked for alternate "pronounciations" of words. Is that ironic? Hahaha, Yes, I think it is! We're sitting here sharing my headphones and listening to Journey...Any way you want it! That's the way you need it!!!! I love how an iPod can transform your boring day into a little internal dance party. And can I just say with my out loud voice how much I am enjoying a little alone time with this awesome girl? She was the only child for 5 years and once her brother and sister were born I haven't had much one on one time with her. She is a cool kid who is currently drawing a coconut tree on a beach. Coconut has to be my FAVORITE smell everrrrr!!! It makes me think of beaches and sun and all sorts of deliciousness...tropical drinks, swimming, salty air, and sleeping in a hammock.



I suppose I should post the finale of this story. The real reason we are here is for the Rock Star to shine, not for me to fine tune my people watching skills. So...the family all arrived at lunchtime and we sat around a big round table, all of us together, eating a little something. Sally made us an "invention". Saltine crackers with turkey and cheese...little cracker sandwiches were the invention of the day! We sat patiently through a speech given by last year's winner, man, spelling bee kids are such nerds! I'm surprised he didn't have like a golden dictionary as his trophy. The nerd's speech was charming, but I really had to laugh at his aim high and reach for the stars motivational words...really kid? Is spelling misanthrope really gonna make me a realllly successful ladyyyyy??? I dunno.

Here's what I do know...the announcer lady announced all the finalists for the oral round of the spelling bee. The eight of us sat around the table waiting to hear Rocky's name called. We waited til the end and her name was not called. And there was that split second when we all felt a little defeated by this crazy state spelling bee. Rocky allowed a tear to form in her eye and almost as soon as it was there, it was wiped away and she was off to collect her test results. Poor kid, I think she was shocked by what she found. So many of the words on that list were REALLY hard! I'm impressed she got to go to the State Spelling Bee, amazing kid, that one. I guess she forgot to memorize the dictionary. Sue us!

Back In The Day...The Korea Headache Story

Quick Background: I lived in Seoul, South Korea for 3 years from 1999-2002 with my now ex-husband and oldest daughter who was 2 years old at the time. He was stationed there with the military and I worked as an English teacher part time. Boring stuff outta the way, on to the story...

Having newly arrived in Korea, Ben and I wanted to set out on adventure for the day. We had heard about this amazing place called Lotte World (pronounced low-tay), so we hopped on the subway to see what we could see, Hey! Lotte World is a huge indoor and outdoor amusement park. Along with a huge mall. And food court. And ice skating rink. You could spend days there entertaining yourself. On this day we decided to browse the mall, grab a bite to eat, just take a look around. Soak it all in.

Ginger and Rocky at Lotte World


As we were perusing the various shops, I noticed Ben wasn't feeling so great. He kept rubbing his head and he had this awful scowl on his face. I asked what was wrong and he said he had a headache but didn't have his usual supply of advil with him. I knew if we didn't act fast this headache would be a total buzz kill to our day. I mean...we all know men have a very low tolerance for pain and a headache could mean a few days in bed and chicken noodle soup and could you go get me a movie and where's my coke and fluff my pillow, oh my! Yeah, the man needed to be medicated ASAP!

There was a pharmacy inside the mall but the military had mandated that US military members not enter Korean pharmacies. I suppose they were worried about people buying medicines in Korea that would be illegal in the US. Valid concern I guess, but we needed aspirin and we needed it now! Ben agonized over this...he wanted the headache to be gone but he didn't want to break the rules. We finally came up with the brilliant idea that I could go buy the drugs! I wasn't in the military anymore so clearly I was exempt from their silly rules.

Korean Pharmacy, pronounced kang yak gook. Yak gook is the word for pharmacy, kang is the name of this particular pharmacy.


I walked into the pharmacy, ready to impress the pharmacist with my Korean Language skills and to save the day with a box of aspirin. I looked at the pharmacist and said the following in Korean...well, at least this is what I THOUGHT I was saying.

Ginger: "Hello. My husband has a headache. Do you have any aspirin for his headache?"
Pharmacist: "What?"
Ginger: "My husband has a HEADACHE (louder...because that's what you DO when someone can't understand you.) Do you have ASPIRIN?"
Pharmacist: "What? What do you want?"
Ginger: "HEADACHE. NEED ASPIRIN." (No more polite talk, just blunt and to the point.)
Pharmacist: "Aspirin? Okkkkkk...." (That okkkkk was accompanied by a huge eye roll, by the way.)

I walked out of the store, aspirin in hand feeling totally dejected. All I wanted was to buy some aspirin and impress the Korean dude with my language skills. He didn't seem at all impressed and acted like buying aspirin was the most ridiculous thing in the world!

Ben asked what had taken so long and I said, I don't know I guess he just didn't understand my accent or something because it took forever for him to figure out that I wanted to buy a box of aspirin...all I was said was, "제 남편은 머리카락 있어요. 아스피린 있어요?" Ben stopped opening the aspirin, looked at me and started chuckling. He said, "Oh Ginger...Ginger Ginger Maringer, you just told him that I had HAIR and that I needed aspirin for my HAIR, ha ha ha ha!"

And that is the Korea Headache story...I still giggle about it and try not to be too harsh to the foreigners I meet when they ask ME for aspirin for their hair. I mean, it's the least I can do.