You shall not pass! (English class)

I am not a wordsmith.  I am, however, a lover of words, a fancier of the English language, and a sucker for good prose. Unfortunately, I have a little problem.  I am, and have been for quite some time, a grammar nazi.  Most of the time I keep my chastising to a minimum.  But as of late I have been so consumed with misspellings, misuses, and basic ignorance of grammar rules that I have been unable to focus on anything else.  For instance, I haven't weighed in yet on who should play Haymitch in the upcoming movie "Hunger Games," or whether Lindsay Lohan should just go to jail already, or even if Lady Gaga really is a man who wishes he/she was Madonna... All of these important ponderings have been left unpondered.  And, I suppose I should get to pondering already...


Just kidding...


My main focus on today's lecture is speech...  Yes, my little hypothetical friends, speech I said.  As in grammar and spelling.  Any and all of MY grammatical/punctuation/spelling errors are me taking creative license, and as such, not subject to debate.  The focus is on those, shall we say, less informed individuals who make a mockery of the English language and turn it into some kind of monstrosity.  I give you permission to call some of them idiots.  Granted, it's not all their fault, some of their lack of awareness was begot by idiots, and had nowhere to go but down.  Bear with me my lovelies, I've actually researched and compiled notes on these barbarians.
*Please note, if you are one of these people, stop reading now, as I will no doubt offend you, or more likely, confuse you.


One of the most common, most often abused phrases, is also one of the most misunderstood.  When someone tells you, "I could care less what she wears to prom.  Her face will still show."  They aren't telling you what they THINK they're telling you.  They're telling you they are either a teenager or a victim of lobotomization. I personally COULD care less about the state of our economic affairs; meaning I actually DO care for them, therefore, there is an opportunity for me to care less than I already do.  What I COULDN'T care less about is what dress Adam Lambert wears to the Grammy's.  It's really his decision as to whether or not he wears pink taffeta or baby blue crushed velvet.  But, there IS one possible exception to the ignorance here that not many may realize.  In Yiddish, there used to be a saying that was very similar, although the translation of it implied that the speaker was saying, "as if" before saying, "I could have cared less."  In that context, for those of you unfamiliar with sarcasm, it makes sense.  So, unless you're Jewish, or are feeling a little frisky, don't use that statement improperly in front of me.


Recognition and rehabilitation:  These offenders are some of the easiest ones to spot.  If they are not wearing a yarmulke or are not native English speakers, they get a pass.  If they do not fall into the previous two categories, you will recognize them by their enormous egos, since they are not interested in anything that doesn't involve them.  These people typically only need a little verbal correction to nudge them in the right direction, and maybe a little lesson about what the world REALLY revolves around, ie. not them. A quick smack upside the head is sometimes allowed in the most extreme cases where offenders are unwilling to cooperate.


There was an episode of "Friends" in which the character known as Joey uses the word 'moo' instead of 'moot'.  This is a comical redirection of the next infraction that irritates me.  If you have ever actually heard anyone use the term 'moo' when they mean 'moot,' you should just shoot them in the face, right there on the spot.  I don't know of any circumstance where someone would refer to a situation that a cow wouldn't even want to discuss.  No, the more common offense is someone saying, 'mute' instead of 'moot.'  The term 'moot,' means arguable, up for debate, or a pointless endeavor.  When someone says the point is 'moot,' that is what they mean.   When someone tells you the point is 'mute,' they are hearing impaired.  The point is not, in fact, silent as they would have you believe.


Recognition and rehabilitation: You may spot these people because they are always yelling, "What?!?!" whenever anyone asks them a question.  I would suggest a good hearing aid.  I heard Miracle Ear does wonders.  Now, if someone who is not deaf or at least partially deaf uses this term, their insolence must be dealt with in a delicate manner.  Usually I would suggest for you hurl several angry, venom-filled spiders at them.  (The ones from Australia work best)  But, gentle reader, there is a chance one of those spiders may bite you before you get a chance to toss them.  This would be bad, hence the delicate manner required.  I would instead recommend to get a bag full of venomous snakes instead.  It's simpler and much safer for you.  Simply toss the bag in their car, office, or bed, whichever is closer, and then run.  Run far.


Another on my hate-list is people who actually still use "irregardless" in their vocabulary.  It never was a word, (I pray to all that is holy that Webster's never caves in to your reckless abandon of language to add it to the dictionary), and will never be a word.  Have we not bastardized the English language enough already?  Regardless, (See what I just did there?) it is still used all too frequently, although it has been debunked many, many, many times.


Recognition and rehabilitation:  These offenders are sometimes difficult to identify, but are easy to catch in the act... Typically, they attempt to imitate those people whom they identify as intellectuals.  They are usually mistaken, as the aforementioned intellectuals they mimic, are most often pretenders who like using big words that they really don't know the meaning of.  Correcting this bad behavior takes time.  The offender will most often easily slip back into using the faux word if you give them an opportunity to do so.  In this case, it is important to set up a strict schedule of regular beatings.  And whatever you do, do not miss one or you will have to start the program all over again.


The offense that bothers me the very most, so much so, that I have once attempted to spear my own eardrums to save me from ever hearing it again, is "supposably."  This, my uninformed reader, is not even a decent fake word.  It is, in essence, gobbledegook.  I assume they mean to say the word 'supposedly,' but they have either drank or smoked away too many brain cells, or may have just suffered exposure to lead paint as children.  The only time this is allowed is if you are seven years old and are cute as a button.  Unattractive seven-year-olds do not qualify for this exemption.


Recognition and Rehabilitation:  The offenders that use this nonexistent term are the ones that were always caught sniffing glue in art class... You'll recognize them by the rubber cement on their fingers and paint fumes emanating from their bodies.  I haven't quite figured out how to handle this situation in a good manner.  For now I would just suggest strapping a muzzle on them and maybe even lighting them on fire to get the point across.  It's not abuse, it's good discipline.  Or it's just a mute point.


We all have our literary and oral faults, but please... Do your part.  Spay and neuter your idiots.

Why having children should come with federal aid.

As much as I would like to take this opportunity to sound off on the horrible customer service practices of the local pharmacy (I mean, how long does it really take to count to 90 twice?), I realize I have bigger fish to fry.  The fish, in this case, being my children, and the frying pan, well, it's a frying pan.  

I realize that these are children that I'm talking about here.  Self-important, whiny, sarcastic, combative little  brats ahem, children.  What I don't understand is, why they feel the urge, no, need, to drive me to complete and utter insanity.  I can handle bickering.  I can handle the barrages of stupid, inane questions.  I can even handle the picky palates.  What can't I handle?  I'm so glad you asked.  

I am sitting outside on the back patio, staring at my dirt and messing around on my computer; taking advantage of the fact I'm not hearing screaming, hitting, swearing, or the thwomping of six little feet above my head.  Needless to say, this means I am about to be interrupted for no reason whatsoever.  My children have an innate sense, somewhere in the recesses of their brains, to know when Mommy's trying to relax.  

I have gotten interrupted for the lamest most important things today.  Such as, "my shoelace came untied while I was on the bus today, and I almost tripped."  Well, did you trip?  NO. You did not trip, therefore I don't give a rat's hindquarters that your shoe somehow intentionally untied it's own laces today.  I told you to double-knot them.  Not my fault you're shoelace-disabled.

Or, this little ditty...  "If I have six more bites can I be done?"  Sure.  There's only two bites left in your bowl, but you go ahead and take an extra four bites of air, why dontcha?

I know God has a sense of humor and all, but did he really have to go ahead and make children so completely dim-witted to the core?  I swear.  I was in the military for 12 years and dealt with some major contenders for the Nobel Prize for Stupid, but come on, how difficult is it really to sit on a school bus and not accidentally throw yourself out one of the windows?  (Don't ask.)

I may be crazy, but then again, I may just be crazy.

I really don't have anything in particular to write about today, but it's been a little while, and I know how much you've missed me, as my awesomeness has no limits.  So, I've decided to grace the blog with the pleasure of my presence today, for no reason other than my own entertainment.  I could go on a serious rant about all of the idiots that inhabit the mall on weekends, or the highways teeming with escaped mental patients, but I shan't.  I shall instead conduct myself with dignity... Oh who am I kidding?  I just don't DO dignity.


So, I didn't bring you here to tell you that.  And, yes, I'm fully aware that I really haven't made any point so far, but hey, this is me.  I've never claimed to be normal with you folks.  I'm sort of bored, so it's either this, or I call each and every one of you dedicated, hypothetical readers, and make you entertain me.  And, since you're not fulfilling your role in our little entertainment bargain, I guess I shall have to do all of the work.


We've been working diligently on landscaping/pool plans for our backyard as of late, and if I have to look at one more design plan, I may have my dinner re-surface.  Needless to say, I'm at the point of just picking the next thing I'm offered.  If that's the case, I may end up with a Playboy Mansion-esque pool complete with grotto and petting zoo, or quite possibly, a roller coaster.  I haven't really ruled out either of those yet, but I'm pretty sure they'd be budget-busters.  Darn the luck.  I really kinda wanted that pair of peacocks.  And, I guess there'll be no upside-downies, cavern-cruising coasters either. Ah, such is life.  Maybe I should just let Hubby make the choices... Oh, scratch that.  I do want something OTHER than a 1200 square foot workshop and rock in my yard.


So, I guess I'd better drink myself a bottle of Pepto so I can stomach getting back to the painful process of replacing my weed-infested, dirty, dusty, oh-so-brown backyard.  Somebody please just put a .45 through my occipital lobe so I don't have to look at it anymore.


I guess I broke my promise about no rants today.  Whoopsie!

Mama never said there'd be days like this.

I was a good kid. The "Mother's Curse" never even worried me as I got older and began having children.  But, then again, maybe I was wrong thinking I was so right.  Ok, I'll admit it.  I was not the perfect child.  I remember telling on my sister (I was 4 or 5, she was 6 or 7) for sneaking down to the nearby, partially frozen Mississippi River boat launch a block from my house.  (it was basically a very steep, scary hill that dropped off into the mostly frozen water)  Yes, I was there too.  Yes, it WAS my idea.  But she was older, and should have foreseen the punishment awaiting us if I opened my big fat mouth and told on her.  So, ultimately, it really wasn't my fault.  She knew I was a tattle-tale, and should have also known that I would still tell on her, even though it would get me into trouble doing so.  Okay, so maybe I was a sado-masochistic child.  But, on the whole, I wasn't so bad.


So, why do I feel the need to complain about my own children via blog entry?  Oh, just 'cause I hypothetically can.  As a hypothetical reader, you can close out of my blog and not listen to my whining, and I can continue ranting on to nobody in particular about how my children are big bloated hemorrhoids on my derriere. (Which is hypothetically small, by the way... My derriere, I mean)  I really don't remember fighting quite this hard or quite so much with my sister when we were younger.  I would ask my mother, but she tends to exaggerate how awful we were.  I just don't believe her.  Now, I will not deny that my sister and I fought; just that we were sooo much quieter when we did so.  We knew the repercussions if Mom, or God forbid, Dad, heard us.  It scared us into quietly beating each other into a pulp until one side gave in. (Usually her. Didn't I already tell you I was a tattle-tale?)


My children prefer a more boisterous form of fighting.  It probably includes a similar amount of violence as the likes of my sister's and my fights, but Good Lord; it sounds like someone has lost a limb most times.  But, I have found the most perfect solution to this very problem.  My super-smart-mommy remedy for this?  I'm glad you asked.  The iPod.  It's an amazing little thing, especially when you turn up the volume loud enough to drown out the Armageddon going on in the next room. For a mere two hundred-ish dollars, you too can enjoy your life, fight free.


So, just to summarize... Oh, crap... they're starting up again.  Time to pop in the ear-buds and crank up the tunes.

And, we meet again...

After a three month hiatus, and I use the word 'hiatus' extremely loosely here, I am back.  Back as in, well, for  right now I'm back.  Who knows how long this may last this time.  Have I mentioned I have ADD?  So, I'm now fully medicated, hubby's home, and kids are on spring break.  I'm not stressed at all.  (hint of sarcasm there, for those who didn't detect that).


The last three months have been filled to the gills with home improvement, furniture shopping, yard-work, cleaning, hair pulling, screaming, and tantrums.  The last three were just me, in case you were wondering.  A semblance of order has finally filled my house.  It unfortunately has not yet filled my backyard, as there is only dirt and a large number of weeds filling that area.  I will be overflowing with joy when THAT project is done, but given our current rate of progress, that will be sometime in the early fall of 2037.


I do have many a good tale to tell of our recent past, but all in good time, my hypothetical readers.  I have been diligently working on perfecting my ability to procrastinate, so it may be awhile before I actually get my tall-tales in order.  At the moment, I'm working on NOT cleaning. I'm really getting good at this procrastination thing.

I'm singing Christmas carols, I swear

I would first like to start this off saying, it is by NO means Christmas-time in Arizona... It was 80 degrees today. I have a very serious problem with this. We are in the northern hemisphere, something is tragically wrong with the universe.


That aside, I have been doing my darndest to make this a 'real Christmas' for the family, as my husband will be home for good, and it will be the first REAL family Christmas in four years. I am making EVERY possible treat known to man. Plus, I have the whole holiday menu planned for Christmas dinner. It may end up killing me, but I'm doing it nonetheless.


Yesterday, I made winter-time muffins, a family favorite; and also made some pretzel/turtle treats. Today, I made sugar cookie dough for an army, and then proceeded to make holiday chocolates... And, this is where the fun turns into pain.


I have three, yes, only three chocolate molds... This can be a problem when you have ten pounds of melted chocolate to make. Six hours later, all the chocolates are made, my back it shaped like a horseshoe, I'm covered in blisters, and I have chocolate imbedded in all of my fingers.


I'm not a huge fan of sweets, but I do believe it will be another five years before I ever put another chocolate to my lips. Did I mention that tomorrow I'm making cookies? Should be loads of fun!


*please kill me now*

Bring the pain.

Well, it's that season again... That one where I rue ever leaving my house, or having children IN my house...

That first little tickle in the throat... usually overlooked the rest of the year, is now cause for anxiety in my household. The little boogers brought home some germs.  I am not, I repeat, NOT a germaphobe.  But I swear that the next person to sniffle in my general direction is going to get Lysol sprayed in their face. I downright refuse to get the winter cold this year. I don't have any apprehension about wrapping myself in cellophane and wearing a gas mask the whole season. I will NOT get sick. I will have my husband home, and my family in full array for Christmas for the first time in years, and if hyperbaric chambers or oxygen bubbles are required, we will get through it!

Having three children and a husband who has been through the ringer and back, I am fully prepared for winter ills, but NOT for Christmas. The day after, they can be sick to their hearts content, but NOBODY is gonna mess this up for me. It's been too long since we had a proper family Christmas.  I am prepared to maim or kill the next germ-infested body that comes within 50 feet of anyone in my family. So, if you have the sniffles, or even worse, a cold, I would suggest you don't drop by or even call me; for fear you may send your germs through the phone lines. I am on full RED ALERT. DEFCON 1 here people.