Wednesday, April 25, 2012


Success at raising a child has somehow qualified me to advance to the next level of raising things.

I bought a puppy.

My parenting skills can be called into question at any given moment.  My son broke his two small toes once.  I laughed so hard all of the way to the hospital, I had to pull the car over so he could find something to cover his foot so I couldn't see it anymore.  When we arrived at the Emergency Room, they had to tend to me first because I was hyperventilating from laughing so much at my son's foot.

Dog raising, however,  is actually my skillset and I take that very seriously.

His name is Ruckus.  I thought of buying a cat, but honestly, I believe that cats have a hidden agenda that I haven't quite figured out yet.
It might appear that I have an anti-cat view and I do.  Have you ever noticed that cats lick themselves a lot after you pet them?
They are desperately trying to remove our smell.

I noticed that cats take deep advantage of their kittenhood.  They lull us into their graces and then set us up to be torn to shreds by their sly ninja reflexes.  They are nothing more than conduits of a little something I like to call:
I really am a "dog person," though.  I hope my dog likes me.  The other day, I left him outside too long .  I noticed that he had whittled a knife out of a milkbone...and he left a wet chew toy at the top of the stairs...and the other day when I was taking a bath he fetched me the hairdryer.  Overall we are getting along just fine.  My son didn't start whittling weapons until he was at least two, so I am a tad concerned. 

My son wants the dog to stay inside so I am housetraining it.  I am NOT understanding why he eats so little, yet so much comes out.
Ruckus is always in search of a new thrill.  Yesterday, he slept behind my chair instead of under it.  I am not one of those "dog whisperers," but I can read his thoughts.

Sometimes we go for a walk.
He is still adjusting to the leash.  At times, it looks like I am dragging him, but he just likes to slide, that is all.

Ruckus has been transplanted to this strange, beautiful wonderland called my home.  I am already behind on everything there is to be behind on, but sitting here watching him chase his tail over and over again in an endless loop of tail-chasing, stopping only to kill his chicken themed squeaky toy I realize that my home will never again be the same and I think I'm gonna like it that way.

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Friday, April 13, 2012

Crabs in a Bucket

I live in Louisiana.  I love the state that I live in,  however, I still managed to find a reason to crawl to the state line as an infant.
Louisiana is a rich tapestry of political history.
Well, at least the politicians are rich.

The nightlife in Louisiana is a wonderland of excitement.
The most exciting thing I have been doing lately is cheering for my bug light. "Geaux" is pronounced "go" in Louisiana.  Fortunately, we are able to take words, create our own variations and no one questions anything that we do.  It is just one of the many perks of being a Cajun.
I often sit out at night on my back patio watching bugs get bumped off by the electric mafia thinking that surely there is something better than this.

I do this alone.

I am not unlike a crab in a bucket.

One interesting thing that I like to do here in Louisiana is to go crabbing.
There are some great brackish (salt and freshwater mix) areas along the coast of Louisiana to go crabbing.  If you decide to go crabbing here, make sure you bring along a big stick to push away the alligators that try to take the bait that you put out.   On second thought, leave the stick at home and let them keep that chicken leg you put out.

I don't like to go by myself, though, because afterwards I need someone to season and boil the crabs for me.  My cooking skills are very limited.  I know how to boil water and melt butter.
There is something about crabs, though, that honestly makes me laugh.
When you put one crab in a bucket and there is a way out, that crab will get out. However, if you put two or more crabs in the same bucket, no crabs will get out.  They will continually pull each other down.  

Much like people.

Sadly, I find the people closest to me are the ones who pull me down.  Usually, it is the confluence of miscommunication and many unremarkable vexations that torpidly spiral out of control that brings them to this point.  I feel like we should be working with each other instead of against each other.  No one wins that way.  The sum of all of the frustrations of being pulled down begins to eclipse my capacity for patience and lucid thought.  Over time, I have developed this hard exterior shell that keeps people from getting close to me.  I get tired of being pulled down into a bottomless pit of tribulation.
I often sit back and wonder why some  people aren't better than crabs in a bucket.  Why do we pull each other down instead of lifting each other up? I do have people in my life who are desperately trying to pull me down right now.  My bloodstream has become a thick brew of betrayal and sadness.  It runs straight to my heart.  Fortunately, I carry something that keeps me from fighting back.  I carry it at all times.

It is very difficult at times to maintain a level of dignity and integrity, but I still do it.  Maintaining direction is very important to me.  I still forgive those who are out to destroy me for some reason.  I just wish that they would stop.  I really just want out of the bucket and to get where I need to go.  That will be my reward.

My compass guides me and I will never be without it.  They can't take that away from me. No one can.

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Thursday, April 12, 2012

Don't Worry, Be Happy

Hey Guys! My REAL post was deleted by Blogger (I have been having technical difficulty) so I threw this together just as my way of saying I care until I can remember what the other post was about, try to piece it back together again and hope it won't be erased.  My illustrated posts take hours to compose, so thanks for understanding!

I just bought my 10 year old a Barbie recently.  According to my calculations, not that I am calculating, Barbie should be 51years old.  Lined up beside her in the Barbie section (will I ever have my own section?) are the usual convertibles, hairdressing stations and I even saw a Barbie toilet.  She has her own bathroom now.  Ah, but does she have an alligator? Score for me...

OK, let's try to be a little realistic here.  If we are going to be honest with our kids and give Barbie a toilet, let's be real and give her what the average middle age woman really needs.   Spandex.  Wonder Bra.  Therapy.

Why can't we be realistic with our precious children? Speaking of children, I haven't seen mine in a while.  Thankfully, they show up when they are hungry.  I just feel that the toymakers should update the toys on a regular basis, not give toilets to something that looks anorexic.

As for Mr. Winnie the Pooh, he is still  running around with no pants on.  Anything that is old enough to be on medicare should be forced to wear pants.  We forced Grandpa.  Hey, it's life.

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Friday, April 6, 2012

The Prince of Whales

On a daily basis my big brain laughs in triumph over most day to day tasks that involves the category of thinking.
There have been days where I think so brilliantly and so fast with my thinking that my brain makes Speedy Gonzales look like Regular Gonzales.

Honestly, though, I don't consider myself the smartest person in the world. I have always felt myself to be slightly educated, but recently it has come to my attention that there is a place I didn't know about called Whales and there is a prince of it.
When I think of Prince of Whales, this is what I actually think of:
I do know this much.  The people of Whales are in grave danger.  Thankfully, we are trying to save them from the throes of death.
There are very distinct differences between Whales and Wales.

When I see grammar mistakes, little knives shaped like grammar, deception and betrayal make herculean efforts to stab into the big brain with such a mass amount of force and confusion that I begin to second guess my own ability to determine right grammar mistakes from wrong grammar mistakes.

I begin to feel as though I have been shanked by the alphabet.
The Prince of Whales has made it his quest in life to undo the wrongdoings of misspelled words.
Apparently, through no manipulation of my own, I possess the world's supply of awesome.

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Sunday, April 1, 2012

The Sophisticated Life of Owning a Trailer Park

I've lived in mobile homes off and on my entire life.  It is really not a good sign when your home has more miles on it than your car.  Ironically, at times, our house had wheels on it while the car sat on blocks with no wheels.

My already confusing life as a child was an enigma wrapped in aluminum,tires and the occasional vinyl siding.  I began to associate everything with wheels.

My goal always was to get ahead in life.  The only connecting factor going for me in life was mobile homes. My brain made that connection.
Living in a mobile home park had its upsides. Once, when we were cutting the grass, we found three cars.

My brain usually works for me, but sometimes it works against me.  I call it the big brain.  After living in mobile home after mobile home, I finally decided that if "you can't beat 'em join 'em."  I'm not really sure if that relates to what I did next as my thoughts are still going through the maze, but when I was 25, I decided to buy the mobile home park that I was living in; however, I lacked the glorious trait of sophistication that the rival mobile home park owners had.

My first step in that direction was to switch my choice of ketchup.  It seemed right at the time and I was desperate.
Staying non-fancy is the one part in life that I have mastered.  Everyday is simple and casual, like going to the Dollar Palace.

My tenants are my pride and joy.  For once in my life, I am in control.  They have to like me, unlike my friends, who don't.  Sadly, some of my closest friends treat me like a glass vase.  They initially put nice, beautiful flowers inside of me to make me like them.  Then, they break me, give up on me and go home.  I am then left broken and confused, relying on people who owe me money to pick me up and put me back together.

I have heard EVERY excuse in the book about late rent.

Sometimes I get this feeling that I am being pulled down in life, yet at other times it feels more like I am being pushed or more specifically, shoved.  It is a "dog eat dog world out there" and no matter what I own or who I am friends with, I am wearing milkbone cologne and the dogs are always out.  

Ironically, I have given free rent and cleaned my tenants homes free of charge when I see them struggling financially or physically.  I am not one of those "slum lords."  Life is too short for that.  My bills get paid.  At the end of the day, I get to live with myself.

I am trailer folk.  Mobile homes run through my veins.  I am not one of those people who is "trailerly challenged." I know the mobile home park life and I make the best of it as a professional trailer park owner.

Sometimes my male tenants think I want to date them.  My favorite pickup line ever was when some guy told me I had "nice teeth." 
Owning a trailer park is fun and full of great adventures.  I specifically encourage my tenants not to shoot at each other's pets or windows and to stay at least partially clothed when outside. There is only one rule that I stand by and enforce.

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