Fat Ass

This evening, a truth I've been avoiding was cemented: I have a fat ass. Oh, I have a lot of big things. But I have the horrible feeling I will discover just how "big" one by one.

While hugging Steve, he patted my rather large 'rear feature' and I reached back to slap his hand. Only I slapped my own ass. I had no idea how far around it was to his hand. No clue the territory had undergone such development in the last few years.

After shooting Steve a withering glance for his, "Did you like it?" comment after I told him what I'd done, I left the room in deep thought.

I was recalling how seven years ago I had a real problem when bowling of attempting to swing around what I thought were my HUGE hips. I just knew I was going to slam the bowling ball right into them. The girls and Steve use to laugh at me. They finally broke me of the habit.

A few months ago when we went bowling, I slammed the bowling ball into my hip so hard it bruised it. I left there laughing at the irony; but still unaware of the true scope of the problem.

Consider me aware.

A Box of Naked Chicken

I'm a big fan of skinless, boneless, fatless chicken. It's not that I'm overly health conscious. I just don't like to be reminded I'm eating animals; it takes all the enjoyment out of my meal. Needless to say, I'm the only one in my house that feels that way.

Both men in house love to eat things off bones, tear through skin, and chew on fat. Just call them Fred and Bam Bam.

Will is going through a growth spurt at the moment and eating two to three times what he normally does. He also gets cravings when going through one. I believe that most cravings, other than for sugar or carbs, are probably your bodies way of telling you what you need.

While returning a movie this evening, Will and I passed Bill Miller's Bar-B-Q. While we are not fans of their bar-b-q, we do like their fried chicken. Well, Steve and I like their chicken. Will just likes the crust on their chicken.

And you guessed it, Will wanted chicken.

We went home with a ten piece box of chicken, all white. Steve wasn't home yet and Will was starving. I peeled the skin off of three breast pieces and put it on a plate for Will. You don't even want to know how gross it looked. I ate two of the breast for supper. But Will asked for seconds, and a few more pieces of chicken got stripped. Then he asked for thirds. By the time he was full the entire box of chicken was naked.

I had to giggle as I closed the box the last time, imagining Steve's expression when he opened it later.

"Ha, Ha, Fred! No skin for you!"

The Carnival

Charlene talked Will and I into going to the Austin Rodeo with her and Charlie today. There were all kinds of exhibits and shows to see. However, once the boys found carnival rides in their size, it was all over.





We spend a ridiculous amount of money, got severly sunburned, and came home with cramps in our leg muscels. Well, this mom did anyway.

The boys had a great time.

Pulling out Hair

After weeks of inputting receipts for my business, contacting companies for forms that have disappeared, and proofing all our information, I was ready to actually "start" the taxes.

The first hurdle, software. Every year we have either been sent a CD in the mail or our dearly beloved father has purchased a copy for us. I really had no clue what tax preparation software cost. Sure, it's not to bad if you are filing a simple return. But if you require the ability to file a Schedule C, it skyrockets. I was looking at $70-$100. So I decided to look some more.

My friend, Charlene, suggested I try the free link off the IRS site for the software I wanted. Oddly, while on the H&R website, it practically said that if you needed the more in depth software you had to pay. By simply going through the IRS, I was able to use the same software for free. Go figure; oh wait, I am.

I created an account and quickly began to input data. Every once and a while I would have to run gather more information. In the past, our files were automatically input from the previous year, cutting down on repetitive entries. Not so now. During one of these searches, I timed out on the web site.

Attempting to log back in, I was told my password was invalid. I don't know if I keyed it in wrong or what. Clicking on the "I'm a dumb ass and forgot my password" button I went through the motions of getting a new password. What email address is assigned to your account? Mine, of coarse. What are the last five numbers in your social? I actually knew the answer to that one too. Go, me! Well, right up until I received the following message, "We do not understand your response."

Welcome to the club.

I tried reentering the information several times. I tried pasting in the information. I checked my verification email to ensure I was entering the right information. I shut down the program and brought it back up. I shut down the Internet and brought it back up. I rebooted the machine. Nothing worked. I searched for a service email address. They didn't have one.

I called the 800 number, but you can only get help during business hours. To bad they didn't say that online or while you were strolling through the ten rounds of "press this button."

So I called them first thing this morning. A great guy answered quickly and walked me through the process. Then he asked me for the same information I had entered. That's when things got funky. He told me he could not help me with the software because the information I had given him did not match the information on the account.

How the hell is that possible? I made the account. It is directed to my email address. I entered all the information. Hell, the security questions were even ones I'd picked out. Then I remembered it was a joint return.

I logged back on and entered Steve's social security number and was immediately allowed to reset the password.

Does this seem odd to anyone else?

Boycotting Hastings

I have a brother-in-law that has very strong beliefs regarding commerce. I don't know if he still does or not, but, at one time he carried a list of companies and manufactures in his wallet that he refused to do business with.

I'm not that dedicated. Definitely not that well informed.

I'm just pissed.

The Hastings bookstore in San Marcos is one of those places I stop in when visiting Tori. I'm there an average of 3-5 times a month. In the last year alone, I've probably spent well over $300 there. I've been shopping there for over three years. I know most of the employees by site and many of them know Will by name - of coarse, that probably has something to do with me having to yell, "Will, stop that!" all the time.

A few weeks back I was in and purchased a t-shirt for Steve. It was a St. Patty day shirt that said, "Pinch me and I'll punch you in the nose." Of coarse, it was all black - not a bit of green in site. Needless to say, it fit Steve to a "T".

Through a series of non-important maneuvers, I ended up loosing the receipt. Since the t-shirt was a gift I took off the tags. That evening I was showing it to Steve when I noticed a hole in the fabric. It was obviously a manufacture issue. No biggie, I'll take it back.

Now, while it is true I had no idea what their return policy was, I had seen a woman exchange an item without tags or a receipt just the week before. So I didn't give it another thought.

When I showed up in Hastings and explained the situation, a manager was called. It was one of the people I generally see in the store and I explained the situation. She told me point blank, "Without tags or a receipt we can not offer a refund, exchange, or credit your account."

I showed her the damage, stressing how obvious it was a manufactures flaw. After a few minutes, I just had it. I told her to keep the damn t-shirt, it wasn't going to do me any good and I left the store.

On the way out, Will was begging for some candy. I told him, loud enough the manager could hear, "We're not buying anything from this store again."

And that's when it hit me.

I don't have to.

Unreasonable Reasoning

I came to a weird conclusion today. Really, more of a realization.

It became clear that anytime I deliberately avoid doing something I need to, I avoid doing everything.

In my subconscious, it works this way . . .

A)I need to work on my taxes, it should be a number 1 priority
PLUS
B)Working on my writing, cleaning house, cleaning the yard, working on new patterns are all less important than doing the taxes
EQUALS
C)If I do NOT work on taxes, I shouldn't do anything else.

Yeah, I never said my reasoning was, well, reasonable.

What?

Just a couple of things that made me stop and think the last few days.

Eagle Nest Doctor
My home phone is supplied through my Internet connection. Recently, the service I use has added free emails of your voice messages. Which for me is a great thing; I don't like checking voice mails.

However, I have to admit to being very confused the first few that I read . . . at least at the beginning. The first three emails I received started like this:

"Ms. DeMarko Court..."
"Mess Tea Mark Art..."
"Ms. Teige Marfort..."

I don't know why I was surprised. Steve's GPS unit I bought him for his birthday doesn't pronounce DR. as drive, but as Doctor.

Who's Stalking You?
I made the mistake of signing up for Classmates.com sometime in the last year. I am constantly getting emails that encourage me to find out who's looking up my profile - among other things. And while I don't care enough to check it out, I have to admit to some curiosity.

Today a facebook friend of mine suggested I sign up for a program that will tell you who is "stalking" your facebook page. I can see how that would be interesting. However, I have to wonder how un-popular you would feel to find out no one was?

Senior Moment

This weekend, my best friend, Charleen, and I spent scrapbooking. We are fortunate enough to be able to leave family and responsibilities behind two to three times a year and escape for a weekend of creativity, food we don't cook ourselves, female-type humor, chick flicks, and alcohol.

At breakfast this morning I found exactly what I wanted to eat, only it was on the Seniors Menu. All I wanted was eggs, hash browns, toast, and bacon. The same breakfast I grew up eating when I went out as a younger person - which apparently was a LONG time ago. I figured I would order it, and if the waiter give me a hard time I'd ask him to just create the same meal option and charge me whatever he wanted as the Senior Menu was for people over 55 and was discounted.

He didn't even blink an eye.

Charlene gave me hell about it. I just shrugged my shoulders and ate my breakfast.

It was really good and I saved twenty percent. What's not to like about that?

I Wish I Loved Momma Lots

Twice in the last week Will has found a dandeline ripe to be blown. He will trample through yards that aren't are own to reach one. And every time he find one he runs back to stand next to me and makes his wish.

Last year I tried to explain the process of making a wish before attempting to blow off all the petals with one breath. He didn't grasp it real well. He always makes the same wish and he will huff and puff (sometimes even slap it around on a tree or the road) until all the petals are free. His wish?

"I wish I loved Momma lots."

Fortunately, I know what he means. But it strikes me not only as cute but quite hilarous.

You see, about two years ago Steve convinced Will that he (his Papa) was number one and that Will could only love one person enough to be number one.

Each day as Will winds down, he climbs on my lap for loves. He cuddles up against me and I'll pet him. Give him kisses. At some point I'll whisper, "I love you.

And my only son will whisper back, "I love Papa more."

Norris said . . .

Norris is the girls grandfather, my ex-husbands father. He is a very quite man with little to say, ever.

When I first met Norris he was already married to his second wife, Ella. Ella, love her heart, never shut up. Which left me wondering if he was quite by nature or self-defense.

During the ten years I was married to their son, a common expression out of Ella's mouth was, "Norris said . . ." Everyone who knew the couple had to fight from laughting. Really? Norris said?

Ella used Norris as an instrument to make the words she was about to utter more important.

"Honey, you know I would never complain about what you wear.
But, Norris said you should dress up more when you come to work."

There is no way in HELL that man could have carried less about what I wore, or any of the other thousands of topics he supposedly commented on over the years. It was just Ella. Just their relationship.

Since Ella's death in January, I've been worried about Norris. His only child lives in CO. He's been all wrapped up in carring for Ella the last few years. No real friends. No job. No one to listen to constantly.

While in Brady this weekend I felt his loss deeper than I have since Ella's death.

I had to wonder if Norris would ever say anything again.