Music To My Ears

This has been a strange summer for me because my kids are getting older and I’ve come to the conclusion that they would probably rather be with their friends than with me. I’ve managed to sneak in one family zoo day, but it seems every other day has been tied up with either work or one of them has plans with somebody.

Saturday morning I declared “Family Trip to the Lake County Fair Day”. I’m not sure why I insisted on going because my husband had to work, Daughter #1 had a babysitting job, it was 100 degrees and the other three kids really didn’t want to go. Needless to say, by the time we got there I was already cranky. We walked in and the first attraction we saw was called the Sideshow Museum. The sign outside boasted a two-headed turtle. We paid the $1 per person entry fee and walked in. I don’t know what I was expecting but it certainly wasn’t live animals. There were several live animals there with rather severe deformities, which was sad enough but they didn’t look well cared for at all. The rest of the exhibit was animals with various birth defects that were in jars preserved in formaldehyde. One of the last exhibits was positively sickening…human conjoined twins. The sign said they were born in 1950 and died shortly after birth. I can’t even understand how someone would let their children be stuck in a jar like that and put on display in some $1 freak show. We were mortified. So much for fine family entertainment.

I tried to shake the image by visiting some other attractions but my son was upset by the calf-roping at the rodeo and my daughters were scared of the camel rides and the goats at the petting zoo. Perhaps we just aren’t “County Fair People”. We had a better time singing along with the radio in the car on the way home.

We got home and Daughter #3 gets a phone call inviting her to go to the very same Fair that she didn’t like. She wants to go back so she can be with her friends. Go figure.

Daughter #2 and I were left alone for the rest of the day so we decided to do a little rock-chicking at a Bottoms Up show. Daughter #2 and I share a love of music. She is quite a talented musician, plays four instruments and is a member of five different bands in school. If you live in the Chicago area, get out and check out Bottoms Up. They play all your favorite party rock hits from four decades and it’s always a good time. Check them out and see their schedule at: www.thebottomsupband.com. Daughter #2 got to go up on stage and sing and play the tambourine during the big finale and is still on Cloud 9.


Yesterday afternoon I spent some time visiting family in visiting from Atlanta and thankfully, yesterday evening I patched things up with my friend and our daughters, too. I was hoping that if the girls just spent a little time together, things would be back to normal and I was right. The girls went to a movie and when I dropped them off, I wasn’t sure how it was going to go because they did look a little uncomfortable. When I picked them up two hours later, they were laughing hysterically and I can’t tell you how relieved I was to hear “Miss Jessica, can I sleep over?” Like music to my ears.

Beary Weird

Last night the hubby and I watched a three-hour documentary called “Grizzly Man” on the Discovery Channel. It’s the story of Timothy Treadwell who lived with grizzly bears for thirteen summers until one of them killed him. He stayed longer than normal the last time he was there and food was getting scarce for the bears due to the approaching winter. Armed with only a frying pan, Timothy and his girlfriend Amie, were no match for a 1,000 pound plus grizzly bear looking for lunch.

I like to watch animal shows. Grizzly Man has little to do with bears, other than they appear in almost every piece of footage. The movie is really a documentary of a wannabe actor/rock star whose life was spiraling out of control due to alcoholism and obvious mental illness. Supposedly, after he lost the bartender role on “Cheers” to Woody Harrelson his drinking became a life and death situation and despite treatment and programs he was unable to control it. (I’m no Hollywood talent agent, but something makes me doubt that he actually was a contender for the role.) By some self-proclaimed miracle, though, he discovered that he could stop drinking in order to protect these grizzly bears from poachers by hanging out in tents and dressing in camouflage. Hey, whatever works, I guess.

Throughout the movie, Timothy explains his alcoholism, his dislike for people, society the government, the park forest…you name it. He screams, swears and then screams some more. He must repeat a hundred times that he knows he could die and is willing to die there protecting his friend-bears. He shares his fantasies about wishing to be gay. He talks at the bears (they don’t talk back, though), yelling things like “I Love You” and commenting in awe of their “great friendship”. For the most part, his bear-friends completely ignore him unless he is trying to poke them in the nose. I can understand why. They are the only sane characters in the entire story.

The weirdest part of the movie is when Timothy cries over the death of a bumblebee and then literally one minute later is euphoric when he finds some fresh poop from one of his beloved friend-bears named Wendy. He touches the poop, marvels at it and goes into a big explanation about how incredible it was that the poop was just inside her and now it’s on the ground. It shows how out of touch with reality he is. Timothy Treadwell was bizarre and paranoid and Grizzly Man is definitely one of the oddest films I have ever seen.

It’s narrated in an overly dramatic fashion by the director who has an accent similar to Arnold Schwarzenegger. It also features interviews with Treadwell’s friends (who all seem a Cheers audition away from living with the bears themselves) and some frighteningly kooky coroner whose eyes bulge out of his head while he graphically describes the vicious attack that killed Treadwell and his girlfriend. He gets more and more excited and frightening as he replays the whole incident in his mind. The friends, the coroner and the narration add a funny creepiness to the movie and it probably wouldn’t be watch-able without all of that.

This movie is like a bad car accident; you just can’t help but stare at. Timothy’s friends try to convince the viewer that it’s all about his love of his friend-bears. It’s not. It’s about a guy who is unable to live in society, so he retreats every summer to live with these bears and videotape himself a manifesto. One of Timothy’s human friend’s surmises that the killer bear came searching for Timothy with murder on his mind. If that’s true, it’s only because the bears wanted their peace and quiet back after thirteen years of this guy screaming, singing and playing with their poop.

I have to recommend this movie. It’s positively creepy, insane, funny and sad all at the same time. You’re emotions won’t probably change as fast as Timothy’s, but it’s worth checking out.

BON JOVI!!!!

If you didn’t already know, now you do….I love Bon Jovi! I love his music, his personality and let’s just say he’s not hard to look at either.

Bon Jovi was in concert here with Nickelback on Friday Night. I had been debating for weeks about going because the good tickets were available, but really expensive. The "responsible mom" part of my personality decided not to go because it’s time to buy back-to-school supplies, books and clothes. All day Friday, the “rock chick” in me was really regretting that decision.

Late Friday afternoon I got a call from my neighbor telling me that his brother, through some business deal with Bon Jovi himself, just got four incredible tickets to the concert that night. I had to be ready in ten minutes if I wanted to go. I was ready in 8. Seven of those minutes were spent searching for my missing umbrella.

Bon Jovi was performing at Soldier Field (home of the Chicago Bears), which is only 20 miles from my house, but between the traffic for the concert, the White Sox game , the Gay Games and one guy peeing in the middle of side street, it only took us a mere 2 ½ hours to get to there. We had already missed Nickelback by the time we got in. Ironically enough, the security guard checking us in took my umbrella from me.

We found our seats which were nothing short of incredible—about 25 rows from center stage. There was also a ramp that the super fabulous Bon Jovi ran out onto frequently and it put him about 6 rows from me. I jumped up and down, took tons of pictures, screamed and sang for three hours and it was awesome! I know everyone uses the word "awesome" all the time, but this truly was.

I had no voice and my legs ached by the time it was over. I had never seen him live before and the lights and the loud music thumping through my body combined with the sound of 40,000 or so people singing the chorus to “Livin’ On A Prayer” actually made me teary eyed. I was overwhelmed. I’m a weeper, I can’t help it. I once cried for three hours straight during a Barry Manilow concert. Come to think of it, so did my husband, but I don't think it was for the same reasons :)

I don’t have a word to describe the whole experience but I do have lots of great pics of the one and only Bon Jovi. I’m thinking of turning them into wallpaper for my family room. One thing’s for sure, if he comes back and it’s school supply time, my kids will just have to borrow pencils from their friends because the “rock chick” will definitely overrule “responsible mom”. I just want to live while I’m alive.

Baby Molly's Need A Name

Last night I set up a small tank for my Molly fry because I didn't think they'd make it in the bigger tank with the other fish. You can see two of the six in this picture where I've circled. Just to let you know how small they are, this is a 2 gallon tank. They are very cute and any excuse to set up another tank is ok with me!

I'm trying to name them. So far I have Molly Ringwald, Good Golly Miss Molly and Molly Hatchett. I need 3 more Molly names....any ideas?

Good Golly! Little Mollies!

I was totally shocked this evening to find baby Mollies in one of my aquariums. As my loyal followers (all three of you) know, when Oscar Madison and Oscar Mayer jumped tank a while back, I was left with an empty aquarium. I redecorated it a bit and decided to get some various Mollies to put in there. I had never had Mollies before and I didn't realize how easily they breed!

Tonight I was sitting on the couch half watching "America's Got Talent" and half staring at my fishtanks when I saw little fish swim across the front of the tank. I couldn't believe it. I spent the rest of the night watching the babies swim. I just love babies of any kind.

Uhhh...would you like fries with that?

It’s my blog so I’m just going to say this. I no longer have patience for fast-food stupidity and if that makes me a bad person, then so be it.

After coming home with what I think was the 5th wrong order in a row from Burger King, I got mad, packed everything back up and drove back. I had ordered the burgers plain and they came with everything on them. I was very nice when I showed the manager my receipt that said “Plain” on them along with the everything-on-them burgers. He stared at me and asked what I wanted him to do. Hmmmm (this is a tough one)…give me the two plain burgers that I ordered? I told him that this happens a lot and his response was “Well, not everyone can read all the words.”

What?

I wasn’t sure I understood so I rephrased his statement into another question. “So you’re saying that if the person assembling the burgers can’t read the word “plain”, then it’s unlikely I will get a plain hamburger?” The answer was yes. I didn’t even know how to respond to something so stupid. I’m sorry but if you work there, you should be required to at least be able to recognize all of the hamburger related words such as ketchup or pickles. I don’t think this is asking too much from anyone and if it is, this world is in a whole lot of trouble.

Earlier this week I went to Kentucky Fried Chicken. The teenaged kid working the register struggled to put together the 37 cents due to me in change. He picked up a quarter, put it back and picked up three dimes instead. He looked confused, put the dimes back and went back to the quarter, smiled and said “Sorry, it’s my first day”. I really wanted to tell him he should be able to put 37 cents together even if he didn’t work there at all, but I held my tongue. Once he realized that a quarter, a dime and two pennies would do the trick, we moved to the other end of the counter to wait for our food. I asked the girl at that end if I could have a cup holder for my four drinks she just poured. She just stared blankly. I thought maybe she had slipped into a catatonic stupor so I spoke hoping to snap her out of it.

“You know the thing you put the drinks in so you can carry them?” (I’m thinking this girl has to have been through a drive-thru of a fast food place at some time in her life). She said she didn’t think so, but she would ask the manager. Amazingly, they did have them right under the counter where she was standing. I got home to find that I did have a bucket of chicken, yes, but not the chicken that I ordered and not the chicken that is printed on the receipt. How hard is it to put together 37 cents, get a cup holder or put the correct chicken in a bucket? Filling out the job application requires more skill than those tasks.

I just don’t get it. Maybe that’s a good thing.

Left Hands and Leftovers

My hubby and I spent four hours on Sunday in the kitchen cooking up a storm. He’s quite creative with food and we’re going to put together a book of his recipes and sell it online in order to make enough money to buy the way-too-expensive-for-us house that’s for sale down the street with four bedrooms and a huge kitchen. That’s the plan, anyway.

He chopped, cooked, stirred, sauced and I wrote things down. It’s no secret that I’m dangerous in the kitchen and some of my best accidents have occurred there. Once when I was trying to broil steaks, the digital clock on the stove starting beeping and spelled out the word “FIRE” (very clever!). Sure enough, there was indeed fire. I can’t condone trying that with your own oven to see if you have that feature.

I do consistently cut and burn myself while cooking. I used to think I was just culinarily challenged, but then we saw some documentary on TV that says that left-handed people, like me, are much more likely to be injured in the kitchen, especially when cooking with right-handed people. It said that knives, like scissors, are actually designed for use in the right hand. They will slip more easily if used in the left hand.

I am actually mixed-handed, along with most of the people who think they are left-handed. Right-handed people are typically strong right, meaning they use their right hand/right side of their body for predominately everything. Very, very few people are strong left.

I use my left hand for writing and eating, but I use my right hand for other things like throwing a ball. This is different than being ambidextrous where you can use either hand for any task. I can’t. There are things I do with the left and things I do with the right and I can’t switch between the two. I’ve tried to figure out a logical order to when I use which hand, but I haven't been able to. Occasionally, I try something and it doesn’t feel correct in either hand. Chopping with knives feels wrong no matter which hand I use, along with any kind of sports that require a racquet, hammers and guitars. I just have to face the fact that I will never be able to give Wolfgang Puck, Andre Agassi, Bob Villa or Richie Sambora a run for their money.

The left-handed thing sounds plausible enough, so I’ll stick with that as the reason I’m a disaster in the kitchen. The truth, of course, is I hate to cook. The only left thing in our kitchen is leftovers.

X-Ratings

I know…I haven’t been blogging. I’ve been trying to find something positive to write about for the last two weeks, but lately the planets don’t seem to be entirely lining up in my favor. I’ve heard many times that I am too sensitive and think too much…like this is a bad thing. I think if more people were that way, then people like me wouldn’t need to take Xanax.

I will start out by saying that there as been no retaliation from any tree huggers. This is good. No Xanax needed.

Yesterday when my daughter and I were driving, something (a bug, I think) flew through the open window and make a tiny little cut on my cheek. I didn’t realize that I had a cut until blood from my face dripped onto my leg. YIKES! Daughter screamed. I remained calm as I always do in emergency situations. I have been trained to do that. I freaked a little at the next stoplight. Xanax: I survived without it.

One of my daughter’s has been having a problem with a bully for four years now. It seems to be escalating. It might be hormones because the school bully is due any day now with her second child. I was hoping the bully would drop out to raise her kids, but since there is a lovely day-care center in school, I just don’t see it happening. How she gets them to school I don’t know, because she isn’t old enough to drive. It’s getting so bad that we may have to change schools.
Xanax: full dose.

Another daughter writes poetry and posts online. She is quite good. Good enough, in fact, that someone was going to steal her work and publish it in a book. We received an email from some unknown author and publisher telling (not asking) us that she was going to “borrow” (steal) my daughter’s poem and use it in a book. I guess we were supposed to be excited by this. After a few e-mails and an aggravating conversation, the thief agreed not to use my daughter’s work. I was irritated by the stupidity of the whole thing and because it was nice out, I would have rather spent the afternoon at the pool. Xanax: half dose.

Despite pleas from the entire family, my 95-year-old grandparents insist on getting their driver’s licenses renewed every year. They rarely drive but have to be able to get to Dominick’s to get more gummy bears when their supply runs low. Last week I was on the phone with my sister who had just rear-ended someone on the tollway and totaled her car, when my grandmother called. Grandma failed her driver’s test because the examiner said she needed glasses (which my grandmother insists that she doesn’t need) and then made my always overheated grandmother turn off the air conditioning in the car. Grandma got so upset that she blew a stop sign. As they were leaving, Grandma tripped over the curb and hit her head on the ground. She is okay, but bruised all over. Last year when she went to get her license, she tripped on the same curb and split her elbow wide open. Two days after failing the test, Grandma went back, put on her sunglasses, told the examiner they were prescription and passed the driving test. She’s happy. I’m worried sick. Xanax: full dose.