Saturday, August 30, 2008
Thursday, August 28, 2008
In this segment of Ex Marks the Spot, Claire writes an open letter to a man that lived across the street from us during, shall we say, our biggest period of adjustment.
I am sorry for living across the street from you and irritating you. Especially for the time we decided to go boating on that one weekend and wanted to leave early in the morning so we packed up and left the boat hooked up to the truck overnight in front of our house. I am also sorry for the time that my brother needed to work in the garage on his motorcycle and he left the door up so that you would have to look at him working on his motorcycle in our garage. I know that it must be hard to live in the same neighborhood as Beaver Cleaver (seriously the Beave lived four doors down in his adult self life) and also have us as neighbors. When the parents of my daycare children dropped them off in the mornings and picked them up in the evenings it really must have cramped your lifestyle of looking out the window and seeing the beauty of the flowers growing in our yard. For that I am sorry. It truly must have made your entire day less wonderful.
I totally understand when you had the homeowner's association add the subject of our renting in your neighborhood to their monthly meeting agenda and when our landlords, who were also good friends of ours, were summoned to the meeting only to be told we were well within the guidelines of the association bylaws, you were still angry. I am sorry that did not make you feel better about your property values having renters on the same block and all. The value of your property was an important subject for you because you are retired and do not plan to sell your house but die in it first in another 20 years.
When we would drive down the street toward our home and noticed you standing in your yard with your hands on your hips, shaking your head in disgust, we knew that we were exactly the neighbors that you wanted and that we could be expecting the call for a friendly bbq at your house that weekend.
I would like to explain that it is not always just a mother and a father with two and a half children that make up a family. Perhaps you do not realize that life happens and when people are adjusting to major life changes it is necessary to live in an existence outside of the parameters of the family makeup you would require your neighbors to have.
Now I know that our free spirited teenager did perhaps change her clothes in the Volkswagen camper and that you had to witness that. She was so ugly and hideous.
I am sorry for the time that my visiting brothers and his friends passed out and left their wide mouthed Micky bottles strewed about on the lawn. I do know that this was not well within the guidelines of the association bylaws but we never heard from you on that one, so you must have thought it was fine.
Was it all because of my living with my gay husband and my boyfriend or was it that you couldn't figure out the relationship of all the individuals in our home? Thus we must return to the 4.5 member traditional American standard.
We did originally think that your name was Mrs. Kravitz and it wasn't until we saw you repeatedly naked through your open bathroom window when entering and exiting the shower that we recognized your name was, in fact, Bubbity Chubba.
One thing that I do not apologize for are the Christmas lights that we hung the very first LEGAL association approved day (in November) for hanging Christmas lights nor do I apologize for not removing them until that very last LEGAL association approved day for taking down said lights....(in January). Nor do I apologize for our every effort to make them YOUR favorite color of brothel fusia against our terra cotta stucco home exterior. We thought you would LOVE IT! In fact we did that just for you!
Now, I will take into careful consideration when I remember the other homeowners association monthly meeting when you so dutifully reported on our ONE weed in the crack of the sidewalk. We did pull that immediately upon recognizing our great neglect to care for your view. We just do not understand how your newest neighbors have your approval of the overgrown jungle now growing and we certainly would protest that on your behalf if you only let us know.
We have sources that tell us that the new owners of that home actually keeps a collection of soda cups from all fast food restaurant's in her car. Now you must be thrilled at the thriftiness of her thinking when she can get free refills at anytime. I hope your car is now so well stocked.
Well, now that we have all moved on from your miserable experience of having us as neighbors, we want to let you know that we always really appreciated your dedicated and watchful eye.
The Show Family
Monday, August 25, 2008
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Friday, August 22, 2008
A plethora of tales waiting to be told. . . but are they fact, or fiction? You be the judge.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Sunday, August 17, 2008
. . the natives are unfriendly, the food sucks and everyone lives in everyone else's hip pocket. They all drop in on each other at dinnertime and interfere in one another's lives.
Maybe as we get older we just think Fuck everyone else, I'm gonna go back to thinking everything is all about me - I've earned it.
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Monday, August 11, 2008
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Tagged by Pumpkin Delight
I've been tagged to do this fun meme about six quirky things about myself--I've been seeing it around, and finally it's my turn!
1. Is it quirky to be environmentally conscious? Or is it just environmentally conscious to be environmentally concious? In any case, I CANNOT throw away anything that is recyclable. Not one water bottle, not one soda can. Not even one piece of paper. I have to take it home and put it in my own recycling if there isn't one available. Sometimes when guest are at my house I will go through the trash to see if they threw anything away that should have been recycled.
2. I cannot go to sleep unless I have a cool, full glass of water in my room. Most of the time I never get up to drink it, but I have to have it in the room with me or I'll toss and turn until I get one.
3. I hate breakfast foods. Especially pancakes, waffles, french toast, or--gag--donuts. I'd rather eat a garbanzo bean salad with olive oil, lemon juice, mint, tomatoes, garlic, and salt and pepper for breakfast. Or nothing at all except coffee.
4. Okay, this quirky thing isn't about me. It's about our wonderful babysitter, Ines, who is really part of the family. She does a few quirky things, but the one that is the quirkiest is that after she puts things away in the walk-in pantry, she doesn't just turn around and walk out. She backs out, very, very slowly, with her arms straight to her sides, until she is all the way out and then can safely close the door.
5. All right, this one isn't about me either. This one is about my dad. Now, if you've had any kind of history with The Jason Show, you'll know my dad and his wife #2 and then after that wife #3 were and are really quirky. Here is one example. And here's another. And yes, another. Oh! And one more. But the one I want to share with you here for number 5 is that when he's happy or excited about something, he'll suddenly run throughout the house, rubbing his hands quickly across his arms. That's weird, isn't it?
Now, I am tagging these blogs that I have just recently started reading, and I'd like to get to know better. Play if you like! If you'd rather not, dont' worry, my feelings won't be hurt for more than a couple years.
Love the Eclectic Life
Qü€€Ñ Øƒ Þ£ÄÑÊ† HÔ† ƒ£Â§H™
The Gospel According to Mikey
Storytime With Sugee
I look forward to hearing about your quirkinicitisms.
Friday, August 8, 2008
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Ideas? Suggestions? Good deviled egg recipes?
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Monday, August 4, 2008
A plethora of tales waiting to be told. . . but are they fact, or fiction? You be the judge.
Fast forward about 20 years. I was in my third or fourth year of teaching. One of my students, I wasn't quite sure who, had begun leaving little hard poopy surprises under his desk. I'm imagining it was a student who wore very loose underwear and pants that allowed the hard little nuggets an easy escape route once evacuating the factory. I shared these events with some of the other teachers, and it sort of became an ongoing joke. We even start referring to him as the "Poop Bandit." Days passed and I still couldn't figure out who the culprit was.
Then, being the wicked, wicked educators that we were, we had tremendous idea.
A few minutes later, one of the other teachers came down the hall.
Sunday, August 3, 2008
"Being all Right Said Fred in my new running top and feeling too sexy for my shirt only to realize at the end of my run on two of the city’s busiest streets that one of the girls had slipped below the built in bra and was dangling noticeably out of place."
Saturday, August 2, 2008
B. best friend? Oh, I have far too many to mention.
E. essential item? toothbrush
F. favorite color? brown
G. gummy bears or worms? Either
K. kids? 2 girls, 19 and 15 and one boy, 4
O. oranges or apples? both
P. phobias? snakes
U. unknown fact about me? I used to speak Navajo
V. vegetable? avocado
X. x-ray or ultrasound? x-ray
Friday, August 1, 2008
I was in the middle of an outstanding poetry lesson. The sixth graders were engaged, my material was well-prepared, and I was excited about the topic. Brandon got out of his chair, walked toward the front of the room, and stood there next to me.
"Brandon. Sit down please."
"But, Mr. Show. . ."
"Brandon, you're interrupting the lesson. Please take a seat and I'll talk to you in a few minutes."
"It's just that--"
Brandon turned around, eyebrows raised, and began walking toward the back. "I just thought you should know there's some panties on the floor."
Big bothered sigh from me. The lesson had been officially derailed. I went to the back row, and sure enough, there was a dirty pair of girl's underwear on the floor. Very dirty. Dirty and soiled. In two different ways. You know what I mean. I pictured one of my students sitting in her seat, inconspicuously shimmying out of her drawers and flinging them with her toes to the center aisle. Impossible.
This is the kind of thing they don't tell you about in teacher school.
In a quiet, high voice, I asked "Umm, Lucero? Could you please pick those up for me and put them in the trash? Whose are these anyway?" Crickets. Crickets and thrity two deer in headlights.
"Lucero? Please? Pick them up?"
"Ewww, Mr. Show, nooooo! But I will if I can use these dictionaries," Lucero replied, pointing to her desk.
"Umm, o--kay." I really didn't know what else to say.
So, she grabbed the dictionaries and ceremoniously scooped the ghastly knickers up, slowly tranported them to the trash, and dropped them in. Instantly, all the boys in the class ran over to the trashcan, like flies to a piece of. . .
"Boys. Back to your seats. Back to your seats!"
Yes, my poetry lesson was definitely derailed, and it wasn't getting back on track, not for a long time.
So, now it's up to you, America! In your comments, tell me if you think this story is fact or fiction, and explain your reasoning. I'll reveal the truth in an upcoming post.