NaBloPoMoDay 17: Ugly Sister Smackdown

I can't tell you how much it pains me to do this.

But these photos will not be denied.

One word:




Perms.

(I am so in trouble, yous guys.)




ETA: Okay. I don't feel that bad.

NaBloPoMoDay 6: Get To Know Us!

Unfortunately - or maybe fortunately - this is going to be a quick post.

I'm dog tired, and I know for a fact that my Seestor is sick as a goat. I called her today for a quick chat and to coordinate holiday plans, and she sounded like she had a pot of bubbly oatmeal in her lungs. That can't be good. Or appetizing.

So, no matter what you do here, you must go to my Seestor's blog and at least post a get well comment, if not a kudos that she is even dragging her oatmeal infested body to the computer to NaBloPoMo today.

She's hardcore.

------------------------

The gimmick today is that The Ugly Sisters answer a Get To Know Us autobiographical question.

Acting as muse will be the blog To Our Children's Children which just so happens to be the title of a book by the same name by author Bob Greeen. It's a book of questions that are meant to act as a guide and memory jogger when writing your own autobiography.

Which I suppose is redundant. If you were writing someone else's autobiography, you'd be sitting in a more comfy chair, or perhaps wearing larger shoes.

Anyway, the folks on the autobiography blog not only went about answering the questions, but they were every so helpful in listing the questions, too. Now that seems a bit problematic copyright-wise, but I swear, I already bought the book a few years ago. It's...somewhere. In some box, I think. I'll look for it later.

(This was supposed to be short, yes?)

Okay...so a question from chapter three, The House Of Your Growing Up. Then I really need to get to bed or spend time with my husband. Uhhhhh....I mean.....

Question #3

What was your bedroom like? Did you share it with your siblings, or did you have it to yourself? Can you remember the carpeting, the wallpaper , the pictures that hung? What did you do to make it your own? Put pictures up of your favorite stars, paint the walls a certain color?

My bedroom was on the second floor, in the front of the house, overlooking the main drag through town. My room was roughly13' x 10', and when I was about 10 years old, my father covered all four walls with pine-board panneling and stained the boards white. Having thick pine boards covering your walls makes a fabulous room-sized bulletin board, and I had every square inch covered with horse pictures, some from books and some that I had drawn. At one point, there may have been a poster of Elton John or David Cassidy. Maybe a cover from the DYNAMITE magazine with John Travolta as Vinny Barbarino.

The floor were hardwood planking with little wooden button thingies that would pop out and make my mother go nutso trying to keep track of the buttons.


My sister and I each had our own bedroom; however, I hated to sleep by my lonesome. Especially since my bedroom was right next to the attic door. Right now that attic is chock-a-block full of old magazines and books and toys and QVC boxes, but back in the '70s, both Rosemary's Baby and the girl from the Exorcist lived in that attic.

My sister couldn't honestly care less if she slept in the same room as me or if she slept alone in her own room. She had some sort of Demontor-B-Gone spray, and she never shared. However, whenever I was being particularly horrible to her (as older sisters will often be), my Seestor would take me out at the shins by declaring that she would not sleep in my room with me that night, nor would I be welcome in her room.

She would, in effect, feed me to the monsters.

And there was no bargaining with her.

For a child so blond and dimpled, she had an iron spine when it came to doling out logical consequences to her weenie older sister.

However, the following night, I would be back in her good graces, and we'd room together and jump on the brass bed and snort and laugh and pedal our footie-pajamaed feet under the acrylic blankets making static electricity sparks shoot through the darkness like miniature bottle-rockets, until we could hear the THUMP THUMP THUMP of my father stomping meaningfully up the stairs, down the hallway, and then firmly pushing open the door to reprimand us in what was his best attempt at an Angry Dad voice:

"NOW GET TO SLEEP, YOU TWO. AND HEY, THIS TIME I MEAN IT. NO MORE GOOFING OFF. NOW C'MON. GET TO BED. SCHOOL TOMORROW."

Before our dad had even opened the door, my sister and I would plop our heads into the pillows and close our eyes tight and pretend to be asleep. And we'd continue the sleep-charade while he was standing there trying to play the Bad Cop. (Which he did very badly. Our dad could be loud, but he was not very threatening. Sort of like an angry Bill Murray. Give me a break.)

For a few moments after he'd left, my sister and I would still pretend to be asleep even though both of us knew darn tootin' that other was wide awake and trying hard not to snort. We'd hear our dad thump back down the stairs, hear the French doors to the living room squeak open with a few notes of the Hawaii Five-O theme song drifting up to the second floor, and then all would be quiet in the dark bedroom.

Too quiet.

The super-quiet of two girls holding their breath because they both knew that the next sound either of them made - the next gulp, the next sniffle, the next half-syllable - would cause the other sister to bust up laughing and shaking in uncontrollable fits, causing the brass bed to wobble and bang on the hardwood floor, causing even louder lauging and maybe even some peeing, causing a quick repeat of the THUMP THUMP THUMP up the stairs.

So we both lay there, holding our breath.


Holding our breath...


until....

...


...


...


....




"wuzzah"



"BAH-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA!!!!!!"


--------------------------------

So there's a bit about my childhood bedroom.

There's more, of course, but I really need to go visit with my husband and watch some television or something. All this writing is making me think too hard all at once, and I don't want to have some sort of reaction like brain hives or something.

Join us tomorrow for the Ugly Sister Best Of Awards.

And go tell my Seestor to feel better. Demand it of her. She'll listen to you.

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LATE NIGHT BONUS! Click here. You won't be sorry.

NaBloPoMoDay 4: Ask The Ugly Sisters

If there's one thing I'm excellent at, it's telling people things that are very, awesomely helpful. I give great advice.

And it just so happens that my sister is pretty handy with the words of wisdom herself. One of the smartest things that my sister ever said - and that rings true even to this day like tinnitus of the soul - is an adage useful in just about any situation life can fling at you:

"Sometimes you just have to throw your hat over the fence and then go chase it."

My sister should have been a character in Hamlet, because that play would have been about an hour shorter. No hemming and hawing, no worry-warting and going over the if's, and's and but's yet another time. No waiting until you're 100% sure of any course of action because, brother, there just aren't that many 100% sure's out there.

Sometimes, you just gotta mortgage the house and take that trip around the world.

Sometimes, you gotta try to jump the Snake River Canyon and trust in your parachute packer.

Sometimes, you gotta throw caution and condoms to the wind, down that bottle of Marlborough Sauvignon Blanc, and get busy gettin' it on. Can you really handle one more kid? Yes. No. Maybe. Who really knows? You're almost sure...but...but...but...

Time to throw those panties...I mean hats...into the next yard, and just go after them.

Which in no way segues to our question of the week, but what the heck. I'm writing a post every 24 hours. You want solid editing, go read the National Review.

Our question this week comes from Concerned in Schuylkill County.

He or she writes

dear ugly sisters,
i have two friends whom i believe to be on a bit of a self destructive path. i'm worried they may not be able to live up to all of their personal goals and expectations, and their possible failure may adversely affect their relationship, or some innocent person who doesn't know that this month is not a normal everymonth-month. i hope you can advise me as to how to stop these friends from hurting themselves or someone they may love, before november is over.
signed: concerned in schuylkill county


Dear Concerned:

First of all, I'm a strong believer in self-destructive paths.

I think that every seven years, just as the body renews and replaces a good chunk of itself with new cell growth, the psyche should likewise pack itself with Pop Rocks and then down a bottle of Coca-Cola just to blast a bit of the psychological stink out, or even setting off a rather large and firey explosion causing the psyche to rain down upon itself like confetti in Times Square, some of the bits getting blown into the gutters and washed out into the Hudson to be eaten by large sea bass.

And speaking of sea bass, wasn't it Pablo Picasso who said "Every act of creation is first an act of destruction?"

See how I completely destroyed that last extended metaphor, turned it into a fish, and then Voila!...Pablo Picasso was resurrected from the ashes of that sentence?

(NOTE: Please do not try this at home; I am a semi-professional blogger and have been writing nonsensical sentences for as long as I can remember.)

Self-destruction is nothing to fear!

In fact, I would encourage it in your friends.

And I would film their self-destruction and then post it on YouTube as a piece of cinematic fine art entitled Homage to Jean Tinguely.

And now to answer the second part of your question regarding personal goals, possible failure, expectations, relationships...blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.

In response to all this, I need to now quote another great modern philosopher, Doris Day, when she so cogently observed

"Que sera, sera.
Whatever will be, will be.
The future's not ours to see,
Que sera, sera."

What I have found to be true is that, sure, people will say that they care about their friends and they fear for their friends' health and welfare as they watch their beloved skidding down the road to hell like sea bass on ball bearings, but do people ever do anything about it other than worry and talk, worry and talk? No, everyone wants the sordid excitement of an intervention where they can sit their friends under a 120 watt lightbulb and then put forth with their own words of wisdom, play the hero a la Dr. Phil and - let's be honest here - feel good about the fact that this time it's not them making a fool out of themselves and being put in the hot seat.

Oh sure, everyone wants to talk, talk, talk, talk, talk.

No one every thinks of throwing down a more practical roadblock on that Highway to Hades in the form of, say, a nice pasta dinner with salad, fresh bread and a bottle of wine. Maybe with a back rub thrown in for good measure. And don't forget the tiramisu, Kenny.

I mean, "Concerned in Schuylkill County".

I'm sure your friends will be free the first weekend in December, and you can help them pick up the pieces of their shattered lives with a nice red sauce and some calamari.

In the meantime, look at this serene view and relax, would ya?

Yours truly,

Ugly Sister #1





If you have a question for the Ugly Sisters, write to us at TheUglySisters@yahoo.com

NaBloPoMo

That has to be the worst acronym in, like, forever.

It sounds as if it has something to do with a National Organization of Teletubby Sodomizers.

But, it's not.

No, it's the acronym for National Blog Post Month.

For the entire month of November, bloggers who join the movement (or perhaps it's a cult, mwah-ha-ha-ha-ha) take a blood oath to sit in front of their screen- be it large and flat or tiny and expensive - and once a day, to crack their knuckles thricely, stick the tip of their tongue out of the corner of their mouth, squint their eyes and knit their eyebrows, and then tap, tap, tap away at the keys until they finally click on PUBLISH POST (or SEND, or whatever) and, in effect, post something to their blog EVERY SINGLE DAY FOR THE ENTIRE MONTH OR ELSE!

Don't ask me "or else what?"

You can't HANDLE the "or else what?"

Just think thumb screws and water boards, that's or else what.

Okay, not really.

Just think a big "KICK ME! I DROPPED OUT OF NABLOPOMO!" written on a giant yellow Post-It and stuck to the back of your blog for the entire month of December. It's true. These organizers aren't messing around.

And what if you DO post every day for an entire month?

Well, my friend, you have the satisfaction of a job well done.

And maybe there will be another widget to add to your sidebar. Something like "I NaBloPoMo'ed and all I got was this grayscale widget. And a rash on my Tinky Winkie."

Anyway, I signed up. And I'm forcing my sister to sign up, too. I'm the older sister, and you may think that by the ages of 40-something and 30-something, big sisters would no long wield any bully power over their younger sisters, but you would be so, so very wrong. In fact, watch how easily I can blackmail my younger sister into posting to her blog every day for a month.


"Hey. Hey, Seestor. Hey, c'mere I want to tell you something...

Perrier Water.

That's right...Perrier Water.

Yeah, that's got your attention.

I knew it would.

So. Now. Hows about you buddy-up with me and write something every day on your blog for a month, and that story will go no further. No farther, either."

Of course, the downside to bullying my sister is that my sister not only has an equally and infuriatingly obnoxious story she can tell about me, but she's also much stronger than I am and can hold me down and do that thing where you grab the other person's hand and say, "Why are you punching yourself? Huh? Why are you punching yourself?"

Also, she's a natural blonde. Which is neither here nor there, but bears mentioning as a super power.

SO.

Here's the plan.

NaBloPoMo suggests that to make this endeavor a bit easier so as to not "run out of gas" around day 14, bloggers should blog on a theme. My Summer Vacation or Thirty Ways To Cook Toast or What I Found In My Driveway This Morning.

I, however, had the wildly brilliant idea of co-blogging with my Seestor. And because I'm hyper-organized and a pain in the ass, I came up with a easy-to-follow template for each day of the week with revolving topics and writing prompts. Boy. Am I fun or what.

Anyway, it's going to go like this:

MONDAY: Random Noodlings. A little of this. A little of that. Stray thoughts and scrambled eggs.

TUESDAY: Get to Know The Ugly Sisters! Where we get all autobiographical, tell some Remember When type stories, and reveal which one of us has a peg leg. Just kidding. It's only a peg toe.

(Yes, back in the day when we ran with a group of rock-n-roll hippie yonkos, my sister and I were lovingly dubbed The Ugly Sisters. Our friends told us that they were being ironic. However, there does exist a photo of me and my sister with underwear on our heads and frizzy perms. So, it has crossed my mind that our friends were being ironic when they told us they were being ironic. Anyway, we embraced the name as a good moniker for a rock band at the very least, and yes, The Ugly Sisters is trademarked. Not by us, mind you, but that's not stopping me from using it here.)

WEDNESDAY: Best of Awards. Because everyone likes to give an award.

THURSDAY: Question From My Sister. Where we ask each other questions and answer them. Duh.

FRIDAY: Geek Of The Week. Don't be an idiot, and we'll all get along just fine. Get up in our grills, and, boy oh boy...oh boy...why I just outta...don't get me started. Who will the Geek of the Week be this Friday? Stay tuned!

SATURDAY: Ugly Sister Smackdown. Started here. Ended here. To be continued.

SUNDAY: Sisterly Advice - Our weekly advice column. This is the part where we take questions from the audience and offer you the wisdom of our combined years. Ask us anything! We'll give you a thorough and well thought-out answer. Or not. Maybe we'll just make stuff up after giggling over your dilemma. That said, we have a whopping 27 years of parenting experience between us and can adequately cover (i.e. tap-dance our way through) most topics from diapering babies to homework blues to answering "Band-Aid or stitches?" to teenage drivers, as well as philosophizing over more general questions such as "When should I be supportive, when should I discourage, and when do I pretend she's someone else's kid" and "Glitter! What the hell?!" We've both had encounters with possibly rabid animals, and my sister raises goats and wild horses, so right there, a wealth of information. If you need recommendations for beverage pairings to your favorite entree, or music to whittle by, we can help. Problems with noisy neighbors? Wondering whether to dump that dude? Got bunions? We're your gals. Drop us a line at
TheUglySister@yahoo.com or post your question in the comments section at any time and we'll do our darndest to point you in the right direction. (Your mileage may vary.)

So there! Doesn't this sound promising?

Here's to NaBloPoMo!

It's a dessert topping! It's a floor wax! It's a Peruvian poet!

It's whatever you want it to be!

Now, get thee to the buggery bloggery!

It's not easy being meme.

Okay, I’ve owed Julie this for, like, ever. She memed me waaaaaay back in May, and I didn’t even call her the next day to thank her for the nice evening and maybe we could go out for drinks again sometime. I’m an awful, thoughtless date is what I am.

I mean, I'm an awful, thoughtless memer.

Memee?

Anyway, since I’m not feeling particularly inspired, but because I’d like to get something up here at least once a month during this difficult time when my 13-month-old is bent on running out the front door or tossing himself down stairs every five minutes -

I don’t need a nanny or Mother’s Helper so much as I need a small sheep dog -

since I don’t have much time to get all creative right from a blank slate like, I thought that now would be as good a time as any to grab Julie’s writing prompt and go all gung-ho and see what happens.

So here are the question(s) from the original blog

Your mission: Give one or more these questions a stab in a post (or series of posts), and then tag three more writers. If you don't mind, please link back to this original entry—we'd LOVE to track the progress of this meme with trackbacks.

1. Go back to first or early post. How would you describe your voice back in those early days? Who were you writing to? What was your sense of audience (if any) back then?

2. Do you remember when you received your first comment? What was it like?

3. Can you point to a stage where you began to feel that your blog might be part of a conversation? Where you might be part of a larger community of interacting writers?

4. Do you think that this sense of audience or community might have affected the way you began to write?

Oh…wait a second. These are like real questions where I’m going to have to think and ponder and cogitate maybe even use a few more five-dollar words that mean “think“ and “ponder“. And I swear, the baby ate my thesaurus, so there goes that Sound All Smart And Stuff resource. I so need help these days when it comes to Sounding All Smart And Stuff.

Seriously, do you know what I did today for about 20 minutes straight?

For almost an entire half hour, the baby and I took turns chasing each other around the house yelling “BAH!” at each other with varying inflection and intonation.

Bah?

BAAAaaaaah.

BbbbbAH!

BaaaaAAAaaaah.

bah.

There was a time right around when my second child was young toddler-age that any duration of diaper-wrestling, or extended sessions of floor-time building block towers to be knocked down again and again and again and agin, or reading Goodnight Moon for the brazillionth time, would cause my brain to rebel and demand that I spend an equal amount of time exercising my cerebral cortex in some more highly-evolved endeavor such as word-smithing a sonnet or jotting down the first few scenes of the libretto I’d been turning over in my mind (it was for a rock opera in the spirit of Tommy except instead of being about a deaf-dumb-and-blind boy who was a wizard at pinball , my rock opera was about a girl with a lisp who was really good at Gnip Gnop) or just about any higher-order-thinking activity that would silence the persistent voice in my head that screeched like Linda Hirshman on a chalkboard: “YOU HAVE A COLLEGE DEGREE! YOU HAVE A COLLEGE DEGREE! YOU HAVE A FREAKING COLLEGE DEGREE!”

Nowadays, I just pour another cup of warm milk and stare at the pretty pictures. Good night, moon! Oh, what a red balloon! And look, there is the red balloon again! Bah! Oh, what a funny balloon! After nap time, we’ll sit at the purple kiddie table and make sippy-cup coasters from happy round cookie-cutter slices of my frontal lobe. Let mommy do the shellac, honey! Weeeeeeeee!

Bah?

So, you can see that this answering-real-questions-meme going to take a lot of energy. I hope Julie appreciates this.

Here goes….

1. Go back to first or early post. How would you describe your voice back in those early days? Who were you writing to? What was your sense of audience (if any) back then?

My first post.

My first post was actually a cheat. It wasn’t even really a blog post, but something that I had written for a local NPR station writing contest. I received an honorable mention with that essay, I’ll have you know. I even attended a reception and had wine and cheese and everything. Of course, the awards reception was only intended for the winners, but that’s a minor point when considering the demands of my ego.

Who was I writing to?

You know, as with most everything I write, I write first and foremost for myself as audience. If I’m not cracking me up or making me go “hhhhmmmm” or poking me in the ribs and making me say “Ouch! Hey, quit it!” then nobody else sees what I've written.

I write to entertain me.

There’s a word for that, I think, and that word begins with “m”. But I already get at least twenty hits a day on the phrases “wallpaper behind toilet” and “caulk joke”, and I don’t need any more "home reonavtion" weirdos hanging around here - if you know what I’m saying - so I‘m not going to type that “m“ word. Let’s just say it rhymes with “plasterbatory” and leave it at that.

Other than that, I read my posts with the question “Would my sister enjoy reading this? Would this make her laugh that kind of laugh that sounds like our grandmother laughing?”

And if my sister isn’t home, I wonder, “Would this here stuff I’ve written make Amy giggle and, perhaps, even snort?”

Amy being The Most Erudite And Well-Read Person In The Whole Wide World (well… definitely in Schuylkill County) and whose connoisseurship of the absurd sets a high bar that just can’t be vaulted by a few tired Monty Python references or a couple of poop jokes.

Although, I bet she’d laugh at this. And this.

Pfft. Plebian

And when Amy’s not around, I think to myself “What would my dear husband think of this here epic post I’ve written? Would he enjoy it? Smile? Snicker? Guffaw? Read it between fantasy baseball innings?”

But then I remember his weird hang-up about subject-predicate agreement and the annoying way he always corrects me when I use improper pronouns in dangling clauses - or whatever it is I do while torturing the English language - and I recall the parting advice of my favorite college writing teacher way back when my future was so bright that I…uh…I had to…ummm…borrow someone’s sunglasses…and those words were

“Never marry an editor.”

Now, I just lie to my husband and tell him that this is my new blog. No dangling persnipple gerundas there.

Anywho...did I answer the question?

Oh! My writing voice.

My writing voice is a bit bouncy, a bit raspy like I’ve had too many beers too late at night. A squidge self-deprecating, a tad “goose up the rump“. Butter melts in my mouth, not in my palm.

2. Do you remember when you received your first comment? What was it like?

My first comment…hmmm…no, I don’t remember it. Let me go look-see.

Oh yes! Jorge Jazzar commented! I work with Jorge. Jorge is a mind-bending and generally awesome writer if he’d only get off his ass and write more. And he doesn’t have half the good excuses I have for not writing more. Oh what, Jorge? You just told me that you only do laundry once a month, so it can’t be that. (And I’m hoping that you own 31 pairs of underwear, ‘cause otherwise I don’t want to even know.)

The first comment from someone who I didn't know personally (or paid to read my blog) was from a poster by the handle of Rox_publius. How did this person find me? I don't know. I wasn’t even making caulk jokes back then.

3. Can you point to a stage where you began to feel that your blog might be part of a conversation? Where you might be part of a larger community of interacting writers?

Uhhhhhhmmm…uhhhhhh…hmmmmmm.

Some time after I joined Crazy/Hip Mom Bloggers…I think…?

Uuhhh…I suppose I began feeling part of a larger community (i.e. "stalker on the periphery") around then. Along with reading my gal-pals who lurk under the Daily Special placard along the right sidebar, I started getting turned-on to a bunch of other super-dooper women bloggers who were talking about kids and work and issues important to mothers besides making frontal lobe sippy cup coasters, except my gal-pals and these new women were all so articulate and eloquent and…damn, where’s my thesaurus…uhm…they were having all these great conversations about feminism and motherhood and the meta-issues surrounding blogging, and occasionally I‘d jump in, too, and wave my hand around and say, “Ooh! Ooh! Yeah! I thought that once, too! Be my friend, huh, wouldja, huh?”

And every once in a while they still humor me and comment on my blog even though we all know I’m mostly just dancing around in my bloomers with a balloon hat on my head while they’re off having incredibly intelligent conversations with Gloria Steinem and winning Pulitzer prizes and taking over the world and whatnot.



Bitches.


Heh. Just kidding.


4. Do you think that this sense of audience or community might have affected the way you began to write?

Uhhhh…I…uhm…I personally believe…that U.S. American blogging communities are affecting the way I write because, uh, some people out there in our nation don't have blogs and, uh, I believe that our, uh, audience like such as in, uh, South Africa and, uh, the Iraq and everywhere like such as, and I believe that they should, uh, our education over here in the U.S. should help the U.S. bloggers, uh, should help South Africa and should help Iraq and the Asian blogs, so we will be able to build up our future for our children.

The end.

*************************

Now's the part where I tag some other people.

How about my sister, a friend, and this other chick who is a hot, sexy writer that more people should be reading.

And all of whom should be writing more. For the Iraq. And the Asian bloggers.

Hard Ball

Oh yeah?


Take that!

Ha!

I think this picture was later printed in a 1980's parenting handbook in the chapter entitled "Is My Child Taking The Drugs? Three Easy Ways To Tell."

1. Bloated Face
2. Dark Glasses
3. Consorting with Hobbits


(I'm the one with the bloated face.)

Not Even Trying....

I'm not even going to try to come up with an excuse for not blogging.

First, my husband hates when I start posts with "Oh brother, sorry for not writing more...." He says I should just shut up and write. Well, he doesn't really tell me to shut up because, you know, I wouldn't cotton to such talk.

Second, I can't keep using my kids as an excuse, but really, the little darlings are sucking the life out of me. I mean that in the best way possible. That is, if you're going to have the life sucked out of you, then having it done by adorable imps is the way to go.

But enough about my sucking.

Here's someone who does not suck.

My sister.

Have you all met my sister?

I wrote a 5-star love-in for my sister a whiles back, and you can read it here.

My sister rocks long and hard.

And she makes me laugh like all get out.

Recently, she wrote a post about deer hunting, and I literally did LOL. I laughed out loud. Several times. I laughed so hard I snorted and scared the baby and then had to bounce around the room going "Shh! Shh! Shh! Shh baby! Shh!" This is how I do a lot of things these days. While bouncing a baby.

Anyway, hunting.

Yeah, I know it isn't real PC or anything. But you must know that even though I come from a long line of meat eaters and deer hunters, I also come from a long line of cat rususcitators (see above link to post about my sister.) Honestly, even if you are a vegan or cat resuscitator yourself, just try to imagine my uncle falling asleep on top of a coal slush bank while hunting and then waking up with a rifle in his hand and wondering where he is. C'mon! That's funny!

Or okay, it sounds funnier when my sister tells it.

In fact, she made it sound so funny that I gave her a ROFL award for November.



So yeah...while I'm still knee deep in kids and cookie dough, you should be reading my sister's blog for some homespun yucks.

My sister.

Did I tell you that she dresses as Liberace for kicks? She's my kind of twisted.

The Ugly Sisters in full regalia

In the meanwhile...

I'll have a new post up in a day or so.

I've been extremely busy waddling around the house and bumping into things with my splaying knees. I know that this sounds like something I could accomplish in just a few minutes each day, but really, it takes hours of preparation and calculated splaying at just the right angle for maximum impact. I've even consulted some old calculus and physics textbooks.

While I'm fixin' up a few paragraphs, I'd like to direct your attention to my sister's blog and her latest post in which she recounts a journey of a 1,000 miles (give or take) to pick-up a 100 foot windmill...errrr...turbine that she won on eBay.

Is That A Turbine In Your Yard Or Are You Just Happy To See Me?

Girl is gone wild.

Seriously.

Go check her out.

I'll be up and running...stumbling...in a day or so.