Feed My Neurosis

I love Beef Jerky

noreply@blogger.com (Neurotic Mary) — Sun, 10 May 2009 21:13:00 +0000

I used to work at this vegan restaurant in Minneapolis. It was short lived; I lied on my application when I applied. I promised that I didn’t eat meat. Actually, I am a voracious carnivore. They fired me when they found out I was sneaking beef jerky on my break in the broom closet.

The job was interesting. I am a people watcher, and it was definitely a great spot to watch. One day I was finishing my shift and hanging back rolling some silverware, near a back booth; a man sat alone watching a table across the restaurant from the top of his menu. Three giggling women had already ordered and seemed to be enjoying a Trio Sampler (Pesto, hummus & olive tapenade served with flax crackers). The man had mentioned he was waiting for friends and asked for a glass of water.

A stocky red-head rounded the corner, walked quickly over, and slowly lowering himself to the table. “Geez, John, what is this place,” he whispered.

“What? It’s a restaurant… see,” John motioned, “people eating.”

John’s guest smirked, “Yeah, I see that. What are they eating?” His face was scrunched up as he tried to make out what was on other customer’s plates.

“It appears to be food, Ruben,”

“Always the smart ass,” Ruben shot, “Come here often, do you?”

“Um,” John paused, “I have never been here before.” He tried to be inconspicuous and glance at the other table over Ruben’s left shoulder but he took notice and turned to look behind him. “Is Franco coming?” John asked. Ruben screwed up his face as John continued, “I thought he was coming with you.”

Ruben grabbed for John’s water and said, “You thought wrong,” guzzled the whole glass without breaking eye contact with John, and slammed it on the table. He picked up the delicate menu and began looking it over. After a moment he huffed, “I don’t think I can eat anything here…” Ruben made a weird clicking noise and threw the menu on the table. “It’s going to give me the shits. I just know it.”

John rolled his eyes and sighed. Another man rounded the corner, tall and slim with very untidy hair and clothing. John stood up and waved, “Franco!”

Franco walked over to the table and gave Ruben a nasty glare before he turned to John and said, “There you are.” He grabbed John’s hand firmly and shook it. Franco grit his teeth and smiled, “I had to take the bus,” before turning to Ruben to acknowledge him with a nod, “Ruby.”

“Freakshow,” Ruben responded.

“Thanks for the ride, asshole,” Franco sneered.

A large smile spread over Ruben’s face, “Don’t mention it.”

John gave them looks of great irritation and Franco sidled into the booth next to John. “I have never been here before… I’m starving” Franco said as he grabbed the menu off the table, “Er…Um… What’s hummus?”

“It’s some kind of dip or something,” said John sneaking looks at the girls again while Rubin drummed his fingers on the table.

“Oh… eh, no burgers?” Franco grumbled.

“No burgers, “ Ruben sang.

“Right… no meat here,” John pointed out.

“No meat,” Ruben continued.

Franco turned to John seriously, “What’s going on here, John?”

John looked for a moment at Franco, opened his mouth to say something, but closed it and looked away. Shyly John replied, “I overheard a girl I work with on the phone today; she is eating here. “ Ruben whipped his head from side to side. John motioned to the girls’ table, “Over there… no, over there. Christ! Don’t look. Just look.”

Franco just smiled while John looked at them both questioningly. “So,” Ruben started, “you dragged us to this place, without an edible lick of food on the menu, so you can stalk this girl?”

“I’m not stalking, Rube,” John replied, “I was just curious as to whom she might be meeting here.”

“Why didn’t you just ask her at work if she was seeing someone? I guess this ruins your ‘I’m a successful Architect’ line,” Ruben smirked. “She knows you’re working in a shitty call center because she works in the same shitty call center.”

John shot Ruben a nasty look, while Franco continued to gawk at the table. “Well,” he said, “looks like she is just meeting some friends… no dudes.”

“No Dudes, Frankie,” Ruben added, “Does that matter? What if she is a lesbian?”

“She’s not a lesbian,” John interrupted, “I saw her making out with this guy from the fourth floor.”

Franco smiled and shook his head, “I wish I had your job.”

“Not at work,” John stammered, “at her… um… house.” His face grew extremely red.

“You… freaking… stalker.” Ruben pronounced each word crisp and perfectly clear, and allowed them to soak in before continuing, “You’re mom (‘rest in peace Mrs. Warrington’) would roll over in her grave if she knew you were peeping into girls’ windows.” He shook his head with shame.

John snorted and rolled his eyes, “Whatever.”

“Just go talk to the girl,” Ruben insisted.

John stood up, mumbled, “fine,” and walked over. Ruben and Franco stared at each other for a long time without blinking; apparently trying to communicate telepathically. Ruben would drum his fingers on the table, Franco would tap his feet, and both would chance a look at John talking to the lovely blonde haired girl now standing by her table.

When John finally returned to the table, his friends were hungry for information, “Well…” they said in unison.

John shook his head, “she had no idea who I was, so I told her I was… a… um… successful architect. What? I was nervous and it just came out. Anyway, it doesn’t matter because she is going to dinner with me tomorrow night.” He was beaming.

“Johnny,” Franco asked rather reluctantly, “You think she will notice you at work; now that you have introduced yourself?”

“She won’t” John replied.

“She won’t?” Ruben asked.

“Nope.” There was silence as John motioned the waitress for the check. His water would surely cost a small fee because he wasted space during the lunch rush, “Where do you guys have to be?” Both Ruben and Franco made it clear that their afternoons were free, so John went on, “want to go grab a burger?”

“Don’t you have to get back to work?” Franco asked.

“No, I quit. I texted my boss right after I programmed Sarah’s number into my phone.” John replied.

“Niiiiiice,” Ruben stood up and followed his friends out of the restaurant. John waved a last goodbye to Sarah as he walked out onto the sidewalk. Giggles consumed the girls’ table.

They were gone, so I finished rolling my silverware without distraction, clocked out, and left the building. On the way to my car, I saw that girl, Sarah, making out with one of her girlfriends up against a car in the parking lot.

It was a fun job, but I would never give up beef jerky for it.
~NM

This is my submission for The Protagonist game at: http://www.inspirationunderground.com/

Love or Sabotage?

noreply@blogger.com (Neurotic Mary) — Thu, 26 Mar 2009 17:56:00 +0000

I went to college with a girl named Willow, and she called me the other day and told me she just left the man she swore was her soul mate. They had been dating for close to 2 years, and she was all for hopping on the marriage bandwagon until recently.

Markus’ world revolved around Willow, he would do anything she asked and more. I was floored when she said she left him. They were perfect for each other.

I listened as she explained the following to me:

Willow had purchased quite a few domains, and was working on multiple websites. She had been writing different articles and news posts on these websites, as well as building up traffic to these sites. Her intentions were to create an income from the ads she had placed on them.

Markus wanted to help, and would click on her ads in hopes of driving her profits up, but sadly he clicked too many. This caused the company to ban her from using their ads on her sites.

Willow was devastated. She was sure he was trying to sabotage her, so she left him.

I am not sure how this works into the whole "courtly love" thing, but I would say If you love someone, don’t try to be TOO helpful, they could misinterpret your “love” as sabotage
~NM

I will write more later

This is my contribution to Inpiration Underground Post: The Art of Courtly Love

My Super Power IS...

noreply@blogger.com (Neurotic Mary) — Sun, 22 Mar 2009 06:09:00 +0000

I have to tell you a secret, but you have to promise not to tell anyone. Promise?

I am a superhero.

I know, I know it sounds crazy (not me). I just realized this earlier today, and I have been marveling over it all day.

Of course, I CAN'T fly or shoot lazer beams out of my eyes.

I CAN'T see through walls, or hear my neighbors plotting to steal my morning paper.

I CAN'T run fast or jump high.

I CAN'T see into the future, or travel through time.

BUT

I CAN change out the toilet paper roll when it is empty!!!

I amaze my friends and family with this ability, and I can't believe I was completely oblivious to it until recently. It's kind of nice knowing I can do something EVERYONE else can't. Puts a smile on my face.

I'm awesome. I just need a cool name and fancy suit.
Any ideas?
~NM

This my post for Inspiration Underground's Jar Draw:1 "A Smile"

I <3 My Label Maker

noreply@blogger.com (Neurotic Mary) — Wed, 11 Mar 2009 21:26:00 +0000

Last week I finally broke down and bought a label maker. I have been eyeballing them for many years, but could never justify spending so much for something used to aid my failing memory.

I have had a good time with it the last few days. Mainly because I was bored in the new house, and I didn't want to go out and meet the neighbors yet (I do watch them from behind closed blinds). I have been labeling lots of things in my house. It's starting to freak Marvin out.

Last night at dinner he seemed really distressed as he glanced from "glass" to "fork" to "paper plate"

"Mary," Marvin whimpered, "I am worried about you."

I like it when he worries, and I knew where this was going. Before Marvin and I married, a long time ago in a galaxy far far away, I had a crazy Aunt Deidre. She was married, no kids, to my Uncle Kyle, they were both CPAs or something.

They argued a lot about arguing a lot.

She had this label maker that never left her side. It wasn't nice and sleek and digital like the one I just got. It was big and clumsy and you had to turn a dial and click the handle to press each letter/number into a thick tape.

Deidre was obsessed with her label maker. She would stay up all hours of the night labeling things and relabeling things, which brought about more arguing.

Kyle had to fly to Chicago for some sort of convention one weekend, and the whole time he was gone, she labeled all of their belongings "Yours" or "Mine". When Kyle got back and found my aunt sitting at the dining room table asleep, gripping her label maker tightly, he randomly switched the labels.

When Deidre woke up and found things in disarray, she flipped out. She threw herself about the house in a spastic fit and even foamed at the mouth. My uncle had to call the police, and they came and took her away.

The rest of my family has never forgiven Kyle for messing with her. She has been hospitalized ever since.

ANYway...

I just passed the butter and replied, "Marv, don't be silly. I'm not crazy Aunt Deidre."

This may have comforted him a little, but later I might have gotten a bit "edgy" when he tried to pry my label off the TV.

Tonight, I sleep with one eye open and my awesome new label maker tucked nicely between the matresses on my side of the bed. I don't think Marv has the nerve to mess with my labels.

~NM

Marvin was Hot... Sorta

noreply@blogger.com (Neurotic Mary) — Thu, 26 Feb 2009 22:19:00 +0000

I have written before about how I was guilted into marrying my beloved Marvin. Well yes, he sort of conned me into it, but I was into him... at one point in time. I mean technically I still am, if you call it that. We are married, and we hang out; I like him alright.

We were childhood friends, so it's not like I always liked him. I did enjoy throwing rocks at his head as he drove past my house on his bike calling me names that rhymed with "stink" and "crap" (*sigh* always the poet).

In highschool, Marvin went through this punk rock phase, and for the most part he still enjoys the music, but definitely doesn't live the punk rock life. I remember the moment I actually thought I had a crush on him, sadly he looked a lot like Gary Oldman in Sid and Nancy.

Today he's a closer match for George Costanza from Seinfeild - add some tattoos and a tad more hair. Oh and a bit of height too... You know what I mean?

It's funny how we always turn into our parents. No matter how far out there we go we always round back onto this conservative pallet. Whether it be now or when we're playing checkers 30 years from now outside the retirement center.

For some reason, I can't picture a 75 year old man sitting at a table in his leather jacket with that hand sewn Dead Kennedys patch, spike-studded choker, and bone through his nose saying "king me, Rocko!" while throwing back some jim or jack and spitting while flipping the bird. That's one hell of a sentence!

People change. Marvin's changed. I mean, just last night when he got home from work, he sat down and watched the news. The second his butt hit the sofa and his feet hit the coffee table, his mouth dropped open and he was snoring. The children were bouncing on him like a trampoline and Seven was chewing his socks... nothing.

I watched the slide show in my head of the rise and fall of the punk rocker: the days he tramped in the pit, the excessive use of safety pins, and the spray painted combat boots. Marv's all domestic now. It sort of played out like some National Geographic documentary.

I am glad he turned out the way he did. Because if he spit on the kids, it would be my turn to do some stomping.

Cycle 259 day 2

noreply@blogger.com (Neurotic Mary) — Sat, 21 Feb 2009 05:15:00 +0000

As the days are numbered ONLY in terms of menstrual cycles, I can't help but acknowledge that I am getting older.... it sucks.

It's embarrassing getting old. I have watched a lot of Television, so I know what happens. I am pretty sure it will come out of nowhere, and I will be stricken old like being struck by lightning. It's going to be instantaneous, and more than likely I will be completely oblivious to it.

I will lose my hair, my memory, and most of all my fashion sense. That is if I had any to begin with, and I am thinking, "No, I did not." People will point, and if they don't, they will at least make mental notes about my driving, my posture, and/or my choice of lipstick color.

I already have a sickening foreboding. I decided to brace myself and prepare for it by taking preventative measures. I bought some firming/wrinkle cream. I hate that I did because all of the good stuff (well what I imagine is the good stuff) is incredibly expensive, so I opt for the generic. It smells funny, and after I put it on I can smell it all day.

All day the smell reminds me that I am getting old, and I often wonder if other people can smell it too. They probably can. The only reason it probably has a smell is so we older people can tell we put it on in the first place. I mean, I am grateful they do this with deodorant because I apply it out of habit, but it's not on my face.

Well. I can't tell it's firming anything, but I think Marvin is allergic (although he doesn't seem to mind the smell). I may be allergic too or maybe that is just the cream... working. Does the expensive stuff have a smell? Is your face suppose to swell and change colors? Let me know, so I can decide if it's worth forking over the extra cash.

HOMEOWNERS!!! WOOT!!!

noreply@blogger.com (Neurotic Mary) — Sun, 15 Feb 2009 17:37:00 +0000

It's been a while since I had the chance to write you. It's been crazy around here, and on top of it all I may be having a nervous breakdown and/or suffering from menopause... I haven't quite decided yet. Probably both.

We moved; finally bought our own home instead of renting and over paying each month. The prices are amazing right now since most of the homes are foreclosed or in the pre-foreclosure phase. I do feel a little sorry for the homeowners who got duped into ARM loans, but it just goes to prove "if something sounds too good to be true... it probably is."

We had been renting for the past two years, and were quite happy doing so. Sadly due to a chain of events we were actually being evicted.

1. We have incredibly smart children.
2. Incredibly smart children like to experiment with science.
3. Mad Science.
4. I deal with a series of plumbing issues I think have to do with paper in the toilet and/or possibly the tub in the children's bathroom.
5. I call property manager to have someone sent over to investigate.
6. Property Manager/real estate agent sends husband instead of a professional.
7. Upon snaking the toilet in the children's bathroom, Manager's Hubby finds a science experiment gone horribly wrong.
8. Experiment has the head of Barbie, body of a squeaky dog, and Bioncle arms...
9. Real-estate-hubby is not impressed and uses a string of colorful words
10. thus exciting one three-legged dog (Seven likes to protect the ears of the innocent)
11. Which we were not suppose to have in the terms of our lease
12. Ta Da!!! Eviction Notice!

It's not all a bad thing really. We bought a house, bigger than what we were renting, for about $500 less a month. Holy Crap, right? The mad scientists can perform their experiments outside in our hugeASS backyard, and the doggy poop can sit a day or two before it's scooped (maybe less... if the scientist start getting wise ideas).

THE BEST PART OF MOVING THOUGH HAS TO BE... No Willoughby. Thank you, Thank you,and Thank you!!

There is a woman a couple of houses down that might be a relative. She has the same pinched face and flowery Mumu. Once I am settled and the last box is sent off to recycling, I might brave a meeting... no promises.
~NM

Resolutions

noreply@blogger.com (Neurotic Mary) — Wed, 07 Jan 2009 16:43:00 +0000

A few years ago, I actually sought the help of a medical professional to deal with certain... neurotic behaviors. While she insisted I was not OCD, I did have OCD tendencies that she requested I keep an eye on; for instance, excessive hand washing and counting. She convinced me I did this for comfort and not because I was obsessive or compulsive. I didn't mention redoing certain household chores that my dearest husband attempted, because they were completely wrong (ie. secretly refolding his poor attempts at folding laundry)

I decided my New Year's resolution would be to perfect this obsessive compulsive behavior. Mommy always said "perfect practice makes perfect".

I like the idea of being obsessive about things. Right now I am obsessively lazy. I know there is dust on my baseboards, but I was too distracted watching videos on YouTube to take care of it... until today.

I will not put off until tomorrow what I can obsess over today.

What's your New Year's Resolution?

Where's my 5 Bucks?

noreply@blogger.com (Neurotic Mary) — Mon, 05 Jan 2009 16:57:00 +0000

HA! I told you! I told you that Marv was going to get out of celebrating our Anniversary.

This year, he pulled an imaginary cold out of his ass and lay in bed whimpering all evening. He was miraculously cured the next day. How convenient!

I am just going to let it go... and bring it up in arguments the rest of the year. He guilted me into marrying him, and I am going to guilt him into LOTS of stuff all year long.

How you like them apples, Marv?

I will set up a PayPal account tomorrow, so you can send me my $5.00.

Happy Anniversary to Me!

noreply@blogger.com (Neurotic Mary) — Fri, 02 Jan 2009 23:00:00 +0000

Today is our 12 year anniversary. Marvin wanted to get married after the first of the year as close as we could to the 1st for tax reasons, and to give him a way of getting out of celebrating. His family has always been like that. His Aunt Rita's birthday was on Christmas, and every year she always got the birthday/Christmas combo gifts. On her thirty-third birthday she made a huge scene (so the story goes) and declared that "this is my last birthday". The whole family freaked out and had her committed.

They were afraid she was sucidal; apparently it was just a midlife crisis. Every year most of his family loads up to go see her the week or so before her birthday/Christmas. Their smiling faces and the presents trigger some kind of weird flashback that ensures her stay at the hospital for at least another year. Poor, poor Aunt Rita.

Weird family and Marvin is no different. We both grew up in a town where all the kids were named after old people. I was named after my great grandmother and Marvin was named after is father, who was named after his father, and so on. My only other boyfriend's name was Stuart. I am not sure who he was named after but "Stuart" sounds like an old man's name.

Basically, Marvin guilted me into dating him by bringing up an incident I might have caused in grade school. I did feel bad about it... then.

I was bored one day, and I wrote a lovely little note to this girl in my class. She was a rude, hateful little thing, and I thought I would tell her so on the behalf of the "entire universe". I signed Marvin's name. I wish I would have kept a copy it. It was eloquent.

Marvin got into a world of trouble. Not only with the school and his parents, but the little girl's boyfriend who was in 7th grade beat him up pretty bad. I felt awful about it. The guilt consumed me, so I emptied my piggy bank and gave him all the money I had and told him what I had done. He was really pissed, and now he will occassionally bring it up when we are arguing about other things.

Oh man, look I am rambling and I just intended to write about my anniversary. 5 bucks says Marvin says we "celebrated" our anniversary last night :-(.
~NM

Tis the Season...

noreply@blogger.com (Neurotic Mary) — Tue, 23 Dec 2008 21:18:00 +0000

It's that time of the year to put aside petty differences. To stop thinking about ways to piss off your extremely annoying neighbors, and remember what the season is all about... cookies.

I love the holidays. I love cookies and cakes and all other things sweet. Yesterday I put on my apron and my bakers hat and basked in a confectioners glow.

I sent Marvin and the kids out of the house. To be honest I didn't care where they went, as long as it was away. I think he spent half of the day driving around the mall parking lot, and half sleeping in the car at the library.

With them out of my hair, I was able to make fudge and peanut brittle. I painted happy faces of tiny gingerbread men and I rolled up cream filled pumpkin rolls. It was wonderful. I turned the music up (non holiday I assure you) and sang and danced, whilst sipping my wine. All was definitely well with the world.

Seven had the couches all to himself and he occasionally looked up, grinned and approved of my happiness. Yes, dogs can grin.

When the family finally returned home, we ate cookies until we all felt ill. Gotta love the holidays.

What's your favorite thing about this time of year?
~NM

Mrs. Willoughby has Lost Her Mind

noreply@blogger.com (Neurotic Mary) — Wed, 17 Dec 2008 02:22:00 +0000

Today, I was out walking Seven around the block. Encase you are new to this delightful blog, Seven is our new dog. He is a cute little fuzzy thing sans one back leg. My wonderful husband, Marvin, thought he would be the perfect Christmas gift for our children (ages 3 and 10).... long story.

I decide to walk around the block with Seven, because he was making eyes at me all morning. I knew he needed to get out of the house and stretch all three of those cute little legs, so I thought I would be nice and take him for a walk.

All was well and good until we got in front of the Willoughbys' house. Seven thought it was a great place to mark, so I let him. I didn't know crazy Mrs. Willoughby would run out of her house with a fire extinguisher and try to put out my dog.

SO...

I might have been wearing my Snuggie. The exact same one I was wearing with my entire family the evening she and her shifty eyed husband decided to call the cops on us... and I did pelt the back of her house with some rotten apples left on my porch. I might have been asking for it, but not poor Seven.

I said some ugly things, but then being sprayed down with a fire extinguisher probably didn't help. I definitely said some things I am glad my children didn't overhear. She ran back into her house about as fast as she appeared with her fire prevention technique.

Defeated, Seven and I dragged our butts home whining the whole way.

Poor Seven; I gave him a nice warm bath and scrambled him an egg. I feel completely rotten. Mrs. Willoughby hasn't heard the last from me.
~NM

Welcome Home... Seven

noreply@blogger.com (Neurotic Mary) — Sat, 13 Dec 2008 03:07:00 +0000

Marvin and I have been talking about getting the kids a puppy for Christmas. He thought he would stop by and see what was up for adoption at the local pound on the way home from work today.

I didn't think he would bring anything home. I thought it was just a "look and see" trip. I was wrong.

Marv brought home a dog today; a small brown, fuzzy mutt with huge chocolate eyes. Marvin was so proud of himself when he showed me Seven, the three-legged dog he brought home for the kids for Christmas. He told me they named him Seven because that was the number of toes he had on his remaining feet???

"I thought you were getting a puppy?" I asked while I just shook my head, confused.

"He's little like a puppy..."

"How old is he?" I interrupted.

"Eight or nine... they think." He was running his hands all through Seven's fluffy curls with a childlike twinkle in his eyes.

"Eight or nine? Marv, what were you thinking? He's old and OBVIOUSLY impaired. We have kids who are going to be rough with him. Oh my gosh, Marv," I gasped, "What if they kill him?"

"God, Mary," he rushed in, "he's a tough little guy, the kids can't hurt him. He's a good dog, they even told me how great he is with kids"

I could see all the ways this could go horribly wrong in my head, but I tried to shake it off. "Alright, Marv..." He had the biggest, dorkiest smile (which was seriously making me sick to my stomach) plastered all over his face when he called the kids into the room.

They ran in at top speed. They didn't know Marvin was home, so they were excited to see him. They both came to a screaching halt when they saw the dog in their father's arms.

"Merry Christmas," Marv sat the little dog on the kitchen floor. Both of his front feet touched the tile simultaneously and then clinked the nails of his single hind leg.

The kids' eyes widened.

Sweet Pea began to scream, and Seven began to run in small circles. Baby Boy just stood there staring, while Marv tried to get Pea to settle down. I just stood there wishing I was somewhere else and crossing my fingers that the dog didn't pee all over my floor.

"That dog has three legs," B.Boy said flately still staring at the mini circus act/freak show that was playing out before our very eyes. Pea stopped screaming just long enough to catch her breath, and began again. Seven started to run throughout the living room/dining area in large figure eight patterns, obviously freaked by Pea's vocal chords (aren't we all).

I could just stand there with my mouth wide open/head shaking frantically. I think I was in shock. I had to get out of there. I excused myself, although I am sure it wasn't audible, and hid out in my bathroom... the sanctuary that is my bathtub.

I let them work out the ordeal.

Sometimes, I have to pat myself on the back for my quick thinking. When I finally decided I was brave enough to go back into the other room, I was shocked to find the three of them and our new three-legged dog, Seven, sitting on the couch eating cookies. Seven licking their smiling faces inbetween bites.

I was on my own for dinner.
They had cookies.... I had ice cream :-)
~NM

I Believe in Chistmas Miracles, Do you?

noreply@blogger.com (Neurotic Mary) — Thu, 11 Dec 2008 02:53:00 +0000

I have recently experienced these little pieces of heaven called Nilla Cakesters. They are these magnificently yummy cookies filled with soft billowy clouds of sugar. They are supposed to be like over sized Nilla Wafers filled with the wondermous filling that makes up the best part of a Twinkie. They are so incredibly delicious.

If they taste good, they have to be good for you, right?

Well today, while I sipped on my favorite diet beverage (I don't want to drink my calories), I sit down and visited with my best friend (my computer). To my right was this sparkly package of Strawberry Creme Nilla Cakesters, and I knew it was going to be the best part of my day.

I took the delicately pink package into my eager hands and opened it, and what did I find?

THREE CAKESTERS!!! IT'S A CHRISTMAS MIRACLE!!

Obviously to be filled with only 2 cakes, my package had been blessed with a wonderful defect. While they were oddly shaped and rather smooshed, it has still been a joyous day worth celebrating!

~NM

Freaking out the Neighbors

noreply@blogger.com (Neurotic Mary) — Wed, 10 Dec 2008 02:53:00 +0000

Since the incident with the police last week, my neighbors have been on high alert.

The Willoughbys have never been overly friendly. I am guessing it's because they are old. I mean I am old, but they are older. Their kids are grown and occasionally they keep their grandkids on the weekend.

Their house is directly behind ours. We don't have a real fence; it's more like iron (prison) bars that allow us to see directly into their home. It may be a builder's flaw. The iron fence is suppose to look out onto a grassy field, but due to the field's bizarre shape our houses sit at the very tip of the point of this large doggie toilet.

Mrs. Willoughby likes to look out her windows at our house a lot. I think it's Marv adjusting the sprinklers in his boxers that does it for her. She wasn't too happy about my family traipsing around in Snuggies last week. She called the cops on us.

I know they look rather bizarre, but they are quite comfortable. The police man was very nice, and laughed the whole incident off, but I am still rather disturbed by it. It doesn't help that she keeps walking back in forth in front of my house.

Yesterday Sweet Pea and I walked to the corner to get our mail. As we came around from our side of the block, Mrs. Willoughby rounded her corner. When she saw us she immediately turned on her heels and went the other way. She had her mailbox arm and key extended, so I am pretty sure she was going to get her mail... or she might be trying to intimidate the other neighbors.

Man, she's old. I hope when I get OLD my hair doesn't get all wiry and stand on end... or my eyes don't cross when I am confused. I hope that I don't twitch and get overly gassy when engaged in stimulating conversation. What would be stimulating conversation?

I don't even want to think about it; makes my brain hurt

~NM

Christmas Came Early

noreply@blogger.com (Neurotic Mary) — Sat, 06 Dec 2008 02:52:00 +0000

Marvin (my shifty-eyed husband) received a package in the mail yesterday. I didn't open it, although I really wanted to.

When he got home from work, he took the package into the bedroom and closed the door. A few minutes later he rushed into the kitchen and said, "Mary, I got something in the mail today. I ordered you and the kids, and well, myself something... I just can't wait until Christmas. Come on!" He grabs my hand, led me into the bedroom, and yelled for the kids.

Baby Boy and Sweet Pea came running into our room very excited, and honestly, I was excited too. We stood around the opposite side of the bed as Marvin reached into the box, and started pulling out these individually packed "blankets".

"Ooooh blankets," Sweet Pea chimes.

While B.Boy has ripped his package open, he lifted it up and looked puzzled. "You got me a dress?" he asked as he made a disgusted face. By this time, we had all ripped ours out of the package, and they were all the same. They did resemble some weird long sleeve burgundy dress made out of fleece.

"NO! These are Snuggies," he said. We all looked at him puzzled, "They are blankets that you wear like when you watch TV or go to a football game, and your arms don't get trapped inside like if you need to change the channel or answer the phone."

I continued to look at him weird. We live in the desert, the football games are over before it even gets chilly here, and we never go anyway. I was confused as to why we would need these blanket/dresses. The children didn't seem to mind and both had put on theirs, both swallowed whole by their enormous dresses.

"I look like a Jedi!" B.Boy yelled.

"I look like a beautiful princess." Sweet Pea smiled.

What did Marv and I look like... weird, but he insisted we wear them around the house. They weren't too bad actually. There was a bit of a chill that evenings, so we decided to have dinner on the back patio.

It was nice. Sweet Pea and B.Boy sat next to me and we were snuggly and warm while Marvin fiddled with the sprinklers. I kept noticing the neighbors glancing out their back blinds. I tried to ignore them. I pointed out their nosey asses to Marv, but he said they were probably envious that we were spending time on our patio while their backyard had not been landscaped.

A few minutes later I heard the doorbell ring, and I scooted the kids over and ran into the front room. I looked thru the peephole and saw the officer immediately. I opened the door.

Our neighbors had called the police. He told me that they thought we were performing some sort of satanic ritual, and that our smocks had scared them out their minds. I tried my best to explain the gifts my husband had bought, and he laughed. He said he saw them on TV, and asked if he could feel mine. He mentioned he had thought about getting one for his wife, but after this incident that he was going to rethink it.

After he left, I called the family in and closed and locked the back door. Before I closed the blinds I saw two pairs of eyes peering out the back window of my neighbor's house.

Great.

~NM

Aliens Scare the Crap Out of Me

noreply@blogger.com (Neurotic Mary) — Thu, 04 Dec 2008 02:51:00 +0000

I have been having some difficulty sleeping, so lately I have been rotating sleep aids. One night I might take a Tylenol PM then another I might take a Benadryl.

The problem with the sleep aids is that they make me very paranoid, and if I don't go to sleep immediately after taking them I will lay there in bed with eyes wide open thinking about alien abduction and listening to noises in my big empty house.

I have never been abducted by aliens. In fact, I don't think I even know a single person that has claimed to have been abducted.

My thinking is, that since I have yet to be abducted that the statistics are greater that I will be abducted. I know that's a weird way of thinking but laying wide awake in the dark in the middle of the night with my covers pulled up over my head... it makes perfect sense.

I wonder if I would remember if I were abducted. If maybe aliens used some sort of brainwashing to erase my memories of the event. In that case, maybe I have already been abducted, and that is why I am so worried about it in the wee hours of the morning.

I don't know; it just freaks me out sometimes. I should blame the media and television. They have given the alien a bad name. You never hear about abductions where the alien just wanted to chat over a bit of tea; there's always this dissecting and probing business.

Poor guys, they scare the crap out of all of us, and those who say they aren't scared are probably lying so their friends will think they are cool or something. Maybe they like anal probes.

~NM

Marvin is Up to No Good

noreply@blogger.com (Neurotic Mary) — Tue, 02 Dec 2008 02:50:00 +0000

My dearest husband, Marvin, is trying to kill me. He won't come out and say it, but he's been acting strange lately. He has always been rather shifty eyed, but recently he's been very secretive.

I know you may be thinking, "Mary this is holiday season. Maybe Marvin is buying you something special for Christmas."

To you I would answer, No. Marvin is not much into the holidays, and usually he finds a website dedicated to choosing gifts for him. The site where you answer certain questions about that special someone, and it finds gifts catered directly to your needs.

On my birthday, I got a singing fish. One of those wall mounted ones that belts Elvis tunes.

No, No he is not trying to buy me a gift. Let me list the exhibits for you:

A. I woke up in the middle of the night to make one of my many trips to the bathroom, and tripped over books strategically placed in my path. I do not recall them being there when I turned out the light. I hit my head on a metal tool box. It, too, wasn't there when I went to sleep. Death by decapitation?

B. After Marvin left for work this morning, I burned my arm on a super hot iron. He had left it plugged in and turned on and sat it next to my special morning coffee coaster. Maybe he was hoping I would spill my coffee and electrocute myself or maybe just BURN MYSELF TO DEATH?

C. He forgot to flush the toilet, and when I flushed it, it immediately overflowed. Drowning?

D. Yesterday, he opened the window that is strategically placed on my side of the bed. When I woke up in the morning my tongue was glued to the top of my mouth. I am not sure what he was trying there, but he is a schemer. He's trying to kill me.

I am really hoping this won't be the last time you hear from me.

Manic Moustache

noreply@blogger.com (Neurotic Mary) — Tue, 18 Nov 2008 02:50:00 +0000

Baby Boy is ten. While being ten doesn't make him a baby, he was my first born; therefore he will always be a baby to me.

We have a weird nightly ritual. After B. Boy has brushed his teeth and is ready for bed, he has me check his underarms for hair. I haven't seen any, but I know one day I will go to look and there they will be. I am still calling him Baby Boy regardless.

He has become fascinated with body hair lately, and it's starting to worry me. He wants a moustache and asked me to wax his upper lip so the hair would grow in faster. He thinks if he has a moustache he can make it into the Guinness Book of World Records.

I am pretty sure there are younger kids with moustaches out there running around. I doubted any of the other fifth graders at his school would be impressed.

While he is very eager for a lip full of fur, it's not quite growing in as planned. He's starting to vaguely resemble Adolf Hitler, and I am afraid that the school is already talking. I noticed some kids pointing when I picked him up the other day. That can't be a good sign.

Tonight while B. Boy is asleep... I'm shaving it off.
~NM

Sweet Pea Has a Potty Mouth

noreply@blogger.com (Neurotic Mary) — Sat, 15 Nov 2008 02:48:00 +0000

In the 3+ years of her existence, we (well me) have introduced Sweet Pea to a vast array of skid marked vocabulary. Some of her favorite words include: poop, turd, turdburger, poopcake, poobbles, and crap.

She likes to use them in sentences like:

You stinkin' turdburger!
or
You smelly poopcake!
and
That's crap!

While I am impressed with her sentence structure, I am worried about her starting school. I don't think they would find it nearly as humorous as I do.

We had the chance to discuss this situation not too long ago. I am always surprised by her maturity. "You know Sweet Pea,” I said, “we really shouldn't be talking like that."

"I won't talk about poop at school," she replies. She really wants to go to school.

"I know you won't. I was thinking we should probably stop talking like that around here too... to make it easier. Maybe we should just say something else instead of turdburger..."

"We can say sparkles." she said.

She's brilliant.
Princess on the outside; poop flinging butt-monkey on the inside.

Having kids is pretty cool.
~NM

Lazy People

noreply@blogger.com (Neurotic Mary) — Thu, 13 Nov 2008 02:46:00 +0000

Dear Looking Constipated,

I have never been one to worry about fiber in my diet. Until recently, I really didn't think that all this stuff about regularity, etc, was really worth losing sleep over or going out and buying expensive tablets.

Everyone poops! Don't act like you're offended.

In my old age, I am becoming more aware, and it is possible that I could probably poop more. I still am not going to lose sleep over it.

I have come to an eye opening conclusion though, and it might shock you. I don't really think there is such a thing as constipation. I think that lazy people just choose not to put out the effort to squeeze out a turd.

Now there comes a time when that urge to go actually leaves you, and you've gone past the point of no return. You've screwed up buddy. You should have went when that brown baby was calling your name. Since your lazy ASS didn't want to leave in the middle of Heroes, you've developed a bit of problem...

If you weren't prepared to birth that stinker, it just swells and grows and hardens... requiring more effort on your end. You're lazy, so screw that. Take a pill, tablet, chocolate, or orange drink and let it run down your leg like a river. Don't come complaining to me, you should have got off your lazy ass and went when you needed to in the first place.

Happily regular,
~NM