Fun Monday #46: the funny joke edition

Peter is our host with the most this week. He is a funny guy ... and wants us to laugh our way into 2008. Here is his mission for us:

I want you to tell us your favorite joke and/or show us your favorite cartoon, don’t worry if there is some duplication that just means more than one person found it funny. So come on and regale us with your best joke and/or cartoon, remember its New Years Eve and we feel like a good laugh, before 2008 comes along and does its thing on us.

Well, well, well (a deep subject).

I'm a funny gal too, but if you ask me to come up with a joke, I freeze up like a broken Frigidaire. (And I'm showing my age, too.) So I'm going to see what everyone else thinks is funny by visiting all the Fun Monday folks today.

Anyway, there is a family joke that we tell over and over again. I don't know how FUNNY it is, but it amuses us.

A duck walked into a bar and asked the bartender: "Got any grapes?" (except for reasons I can't explain we always say "gwapes" ... adds to the humor? Or not.)

ANYWAY...

A duck walked into a bar and asked the bartender: "Got any grapes?"

The bartender said, "No." And the duck left.

The next day, the duck walked into the bar and asked the bartender: "Got any grapes?"

The bartender gave the duck a dirty look, but answered: "No." And the duck left.

The next day, the duck walked into the bar and asked the bartender: "Got any grapes?"

The bartender leaned over the bar and hollered: "Every day you come in here asking for grapes. Every day I tell you NO, we don't have any grapes. What is it with you anyway? If you come in here once more, I'm going to nail your beak to this bar!!!!"

The duck apologized and left the bar.

The next day, the duck came into the bar and asked the bartender: "Got any nails?"

The bartender looked at the duck and said, "No."

"Good," said the duck. "Got any grapes?"

You're welcome.

Guess what I got!

Happy Hanukkah to me!

Haiku Friday: the say-it-ain't-so edition (plus a mild pout)

Oh no, it can't be!
But NaBloPoMo's over ...
Blog three-sixty-five?????

OK, I survived NaBloPoMo 2007, but seriously, people. A challenge to blog every day for a year??? Are they crazy?

Is anyone actually doing this?

Just checking.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
< pout >

Yesterday I posted my Whore My Loot thingy. And while I was putting it together, I came to the crashing realization that I DID NOT GET A HANUKKAH PRESENT!!

I did get birthday presents, and to be fair, my family made my birthday special in the midst of a holiday season.

But.

Everyone else's birthday was special this year too.

And then they got Hanukkah presents.

*insert whine here*

So I think the only thing to do is buy myself something that I really really want. Right?

Like this:


or even (oooh oooh oooh!) this:


Yeah, baby!

< /pout >

Oh yeah, I can be a whore too

Wha?

Oh, I can't wait to see the Google hits on this one.

Well. OK. The whore thing.

That Chick Over There is having her second annual Whore Your Loot post, in which she shamelessly shows everything she got for Christmas.

She is allowing Hanukkah gifts we already got -- or even birthday gifts for us poor, deprived December birthday babies.

So with no further ado, my loot (received well before Dec. 25, just for the sake of full disclosure):

From my parents: an unbelievably beautiful pair of earrings



From the Wonderhubby: a gift certificate for a 90-minute massage!!! (oh the decadence!!)

From the Drummer Man and his girlfriend: a gift certificate to a delish Italian restaurant (large enough, by the way, to have them come with us!)

From Z-man: Stephen Colbert's book "I Am an American and You Can Too" and a dvd of the first season of "Desperate Housewives"!

From J-bear: a gift card for iTunes (yay for some new music!!)

From the Drama King: one of my favorite gifts ... a design-your-own Starbucks card. This is how I designed it:


Please note it "orders" my favorite crack (after the eggnog season is over): a half-caf cinnamon dolce latte with whip!

And from my Roo-girl, a project she has worked on for several months, an extra-credit project that she selected and worked on when her regular art class projects were complete. A stained-glass nightlight she "paid for" both in dollars and small cuts and injuries.


Beautiful, huh? I am a lucky mommy.

Please note, these were all birthday presents. Hanukkah? Not so much. In my whore'ish moments, I pout because everyone else in the family gets a birthday present AND a Hanukkah present. But ...

I am a big girl. And I will not pout.

Much.

Christmas Day, or the day they really SHOULD have called Child Protective Services

On our way to our traditional Christmas Day morning movie:

Wonderhubby: Wow, the wind is really blowing. This is a two-hands-on-the-wheel trip.

Evil Mother: Huh. No wonder Santa didn't come to our house last night. He was probably blown off course.

The Roo-Girl: Um. I thought we were Jewish?

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

Non-revelationary revelations:

Z-man: What are you drinking?

Drama King: Some strawberry creme thing with soy.

Z-man: *eye roll* Oh brother.

Drama King: Hey, I'm gay. I'm allowed to drink soy.

Evil Mother: *knows she's going to hell for outing her son on the internet*

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

I can get it for you wholesale:

Evil Mother: Oh yeah, we got the movie tickets for $6 apiece. I don't know why, though. Nothing on the marquee says $6 as a price.

Wonderhubby: The movie theater is catering to the Jews today. You know you never pay retail.

Evil Mother: Oh, I'm so blogging that!

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

My bid for mother of the year:

Drama King: *snort sniffle gag cough*

2 seconds later:
Drama King: *hork cough throat-clear*

4 seconds later:
Drama King: *cough gag gurgle snort*

Evil Mother: Maybe you should go home? *instead of making me want to puke from non-stop mucus production*

Drama King: Oh no. *gurgle snorffle sniff* I'll be OK.

Evil Mother: Oh. *will I????*

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

In which we review our Christmas Day movie, "Sweeney Todd":

Drama King: I thought Joanna's face looked funny.

Wonderhubby: Yeah, she was a little off. But her boobs were quite prominent.

Drummer Man: They were all pushed up and stuff.

Z-man: It was a corset.

Drama King: I know someone who's into corsets.

*Wait for it*

Drama King: On guys.

*Unison groaning ensued*

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

The only joke told that day I can actually repeat in public (I think):

Z-man: What gets louder as it gets smaller?

Drummer Man: Um. I don't know.

Z-man: A baby in a trash compactor.

Evil Mother: *wonders where she went wrong*

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

We here on Janet's Planet hope your Christmas Day was as much fun as ours was!!

Merry Christmas ...

... from all of us to all of you.

Z is for zatisfied

His royal highness, the king of Z, has graced us with his presence this week.

School is on winter break, and my little family is complete once again (well, until J-bear goes off tomorrow to spend Christmas with her mother).

What I find so odd is that while Z-man is off in faraway collegeland, I am slightly on edge.

It's something that I don't really even notice while he is gone. But as soon as he steps foot off the airplane, I can feel the difference. I'm calmer. I'm more serene. I am happier.

And no, I'm not just inventing some weird mumbo-jumbo thing here. My BFF knew without me saying that he was home. He doesn't even have to be in the house. The Z-man effect was still at work while he was hanging at his friend's house all day Friday.

What the hell?

Seriously, this is "Twilight Zone" weird in my opinion.

I explained the "boy who never left" in his birthday post last August. Check it out. I'll wait.

OK, so anyway, he and I seem to be connected in ways that my other boys and I are not. (My daughter is a different situation totally.) I don't know why he and I are like that. It just is that way. There's a piece missing in my heart when he's gone. And a feeling of "whole" when he comes back.

Wow.

This is NOT the story I intended to tell today. Funny how, when I start writing, a post sometimes takes on a life of its own.

I was going to write about the funny thing I got him for Hanukkah. It is really funny. But right now, I'm not feeling funny.

I'm just feeling complete.

Haiku Friday: the vitamin edition

This week's haiku is brought to you by the Roo-girl, who really spoke these words after our vitamin expedition:

Mom, these pills are HUGE.
It's no dramatization ...
It's actual size!!

Vitameatavegamin regimen

The Roo-girl and I made very important purchases this week.

We bought multi-vitamins.

Yeah, I know. I'm a derelict mother for not providing this healthful support to my child's well-being in the past. So sue me. And call Child Protective Services. It wouldn't be the first time.

Anyway.

We bought vitamins, and we each got our own bottle. It was really an exciting moment, but difficult at the same time.

You see, Missy Roo is very petite for her age. At 13, she barely tops 4-foot-8, towering under all her friends, and only recently was excited to discover that she had reached 80 pounds.

She also is an athlete (her cheer coach tells me she is nationally ranked, but I haven't a clue how she figures that) and therefore very fit with an eight-pack (yes, she counts them).

Anyway (again).

Is she physically an adult? No. But she r.e.f.u.s.e.s. to take any kind of medicine she has to chew (she learned to swallow pills at a very early age), so children's vitamins are kinda out. Which left me reading all kinds of vitaminly labels and scratching my head.

Aw, screw it. We finally just picked one. And a generic one at that.

Then there was me. Why, yes, we could have bought one kind for the two of us. Why do you ask?

But no.

I am a woman "of a certain age."

And that "certain age" means there are "certain things" that don't work quite as well as they used to.

So I got this:



There was a reason for it.

But I forgot what it was.

Ain't no valley high enough

My BFF's son, the Skateboard King, had major surgery this week to correct a congenital deformity. His rib cage was concave, and they inserted a metal bar into his chest to force the ribs to pop out rather than in.

So let me take part of that back. The surgery itself was not all that major (in the sense that the incisions are small and the procedure is relatively simple), but the recovery? Oh. My. Gawd.

My friend's poor little boy has had pain that no 14-year-old (or any-year-old) should have to endure. Yes, he is medicated up the ying-yang, but you can watch it wear off.

Anyway, I spent a lot of time at the hospital with him and BFF during his six-day stay. On Sunday, I took the Roo-girl with me.

Roo is a year younger than SK, but they are in the same grade (he did an extra year of nursery school for good measure). They have grown up together. They are also cousins in a complicated family tree that has them sharing great-great-grandparents. (One day, I will tell the story of how I met my BFF -- and found out way later that we were related!)

Over the years, they have tolerated or ignored each other, but recently, they have become fast, fast friends, and she ached to go see him.

And so we did.

I tried to prepare her for what she would see, but she was shocked anyway. And I should mention that he looked really good by this point and was going home the next day.

She did really well, though, and played video games with him and chattered away in her Roo-like manner.

But the pain of this procedure has its peaks and valleys. She watched her cousin/friend go through both. And pretty soon, I found her sitting in my lap.

I knew we were at our limit. I gave SK a last kiss on the head, hugged my BFF and her husband, and we were on our way.

Roo was very quiet on the ride home.

Until she turned to me and said this:

"If you could live on the moon or under the ocean, which one would you pick?"

"Wow," I answered. "I think it would depend on how safe it was. Would they be leak-free?" (I'm such a Practical Pig.)

"Yes, totally safe," she answered.

"Hmmm, I think the ocean. No, wait. I think the moon. Then I could always watch the stars."

I was kinda proud of this answer, thinking that I was thinking all Roo'ishly.

"Where would you want to be?" I asked her.

She looked at me. Her eyes were an intense green.

"I want to be wherever you are."

And then my heart burst.

Sporky pig

The Roo-girl: Oooh. A cake!

Carpool Girl: Yes, it's my friend's birthday today, and I'm bringing her a cake for lunch. I wonder if a plastic knife will cut this?

TRG: They have plastic knives in the cafeteria.

CPG: Oh, right! They do. *laughs* Or I could use a spork.

TRG: *shudders* Sporks! I hate sporks.

CPG: Why?

TRG: They always had sporks with hot lunch in elementary school. Now I associate sporks with bad food.

Evil Mother here. OK, so, my child hates sporks. (Sorry, Tink!)

TRG: Hmmm, what if you combined a spoon and a knife? You could call that a spife ...

A spife? Nah. But guess what?


I don't make this stuff up. I swear!

Fun Monday #45: the old homestead edition

Kitten is our hostess for this pre-holiday Fun Monday. She says this:

I think it would be neat to hear about the story behind your home and the road you live on. It doesn't have to be historical, maybe just something that stands out to you. It would be nice to have pictures to go with your little story.

Well, honestly, I am going to pull a Swampy and break the rules a bit. Instead of telling you about where I live now, I want to tell a little bit of how I got here.

So here is my tale:

Once upon a time, a married couple lived in a big, big house. It had many bedrooms and a beautiful back yard and a beautiful front yard, too. What it did not have was warmth and love. It was very cold inside, even though the thermostat was always set on high.

The beautiful house was filled with beautiful things.

But "things" do not a happy home make. And this was not a happy place.

And it came to pass that the marriage that kept this unhappy home together came to an end, and the woman had to sell the big, cold house and find something more suitable. Even though the sale of the house brought a pretty penny, there were debts to settle and money was tight.

The answer was a rental house. Significantly smaller. Not nearly as many bedrooms. Not as nice a neighborhood, though certainly not shabby. The children could stay in the same schools and keep their friends, and that was what mattered.

And the smaller house was filled with laughter, and love, and warmth, and happiness.

After several years, a knight in shining armor rode by ... and joined the now-happier family, bringing his love and enthusiasm and his daughter to the smaller house.

And the house burst at the seams with laughter, and love, and warmth, and happiness.

But it wasn't long before the landlord called. The smaller house was now for sale, and the family had to move. Quickly.

And lo, the now thoroughly blended family found a place of their own. A place to continue their new life together. A cozy home with a turret and a rose garden.



And they lived very happily ever after.

The end

A 2pac or a six-pack?

The Wonderhubby is notorious for telling some of the worst and corniest jokes known to man.

If there is a bad pun to be made, he will surely make it. Even if it's so obvious that no one needed to really say it out loud, he will.

The kids long ago took to charging him 25 cents for every groaner. He never actually pays up. If he did, though, let us just say that they could all retire to the Bahamas and live comfortably forever. But I digress.

Fast forward to tonight's dinner at the lovely IHOP.

There is totally nothing like having breakfast for dinner. It's even better when you have a coupon. But again, I digress.

Wonderhubby is regaling the Roo-girl and me with some bad story or three -- and throws in something that left both of us groaning. (I couldn't repeat it now if I tried, and it really would be better if I didn't.)

"That's a quarter," Roo announces sternly. "In fact, that was so bad, I'm going to charge you 50 cents."

"Ha," I say. "Maybe you should charge him 'P. Diddy' instead."

Insert teenage eyeroll here.

"Yeah, or Jay-Z," snickers Wonderhubby.

"Or Tupac Shakur," I giggle.

The Roo sits bold upright in her seat and gapes at me.

"Tupac SHAPIRO?"

Bwahahahahahahaha.

I choke on my Swedish pancake. Wonderhubby snorts his scrambled egg.

Tupac Shapiro, the Jewish rap star.

Hold me.

Haiku Friday: the official 100th post edition

July was the start
Blogging is like breathing now
I could never stop.

Laptop keys sound off
Who knew I could talk so much:
My one-hundredth post!

In honor of my 100th post, you can see my list of 100 things about me here. Hurry up already! I'm waiting for you over there.

Animal riots

Yesterday's poll remains open. Check it out, and weigh in on the subject of whether I should admit to my daughter that I blog (therefore I am).

In the meantime, she's so earnest that sometimes? it just hurts my face:

The Roo-girl: Is that the new bag from Victoria's Secret?

Carpool girl: Yes, I got it yesterday. It's like $30 when you buy their cosmetics.

TRG: They test on animals.

CPG: So?

Evil Mother: *supresses a smile*

TRG: They test on animals. It hurts the animals.

CPG: What's the big deal? People put perfume on their dogs all the time to make them smell good.

EM: *bites lip to keep from laughing*

TRG: Oh, CPG, that's so BAD for them. You can't even use human shampoo on dogs. It's bad for their skin.

CPG: How do you even know they test on animals?

TRG: My friend told me. That's Victoria's secret!

EM: *crams entire fist into mouth*

CPG: Do they test their bras and underwear on animals too?

TRG: OH MY GOD. THIS ISN'T ABOUT UNDERWEAR!!!!!! *pause* Although that would make a great fashion show...

EM: Bwahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!

No lies were told in the writing of this post

The place: Parental bedroom

The participants: Roo-girl and her Evil Mother.

The scene: Really pleasant snuggly evening with EM being the Roo's very very best friend in the world.

The Roo-girl: You need to have a blog, Mom.

Evil Mother: Uh ... well, um, why do you think I need one?

TRG: Cuz you DO!

EM: What would I do with a blog?

TRG: We're really funny, ya know. You could write about the funny stuff we do.

EM: Oh, Roo, you can't stand it if I tell my friends your funny stuff. What would you say if it was posted on the internet?

TRG: Oh, pooh, Mom, no one would know who I am! Come on ... you need a blog!

EM: ...

TRG: Come on, we'll set one up right now! I'll help you!

EM: I don't think that's something we need to do right now. Look! Something shiny!!

OK, bloggy friends, here's the deal. Obviously, I already have a blog. Also obviously, the Roo-girl knows nothing about it. In fact, no one in real life knows anything about it except the Wonderhubby (who reads it if I send him a link to a particular post, but not otherwise). Not even my BFF knows.

Roo already has seen the From the Planet of Janet linky love on Melodyann's blog. She thought the name was funny but didn't seem to make the connection.

Not telling her has involved some interesting maneuverings on my laptop when she bursts unannounced into my room. Especially when my mailbox clearly states email subject lines like this: [from the planet of janet] New comment on Post-birthday stress disorder.

But there is no force on this earth like the Roo on a mission. She will bug me until the end of time.

So now I'm all conflicted. Do I tell? Or do I continue to write freely in my anonymity?

At the risk of damaging my fragile ego by having no one respond, I am going out on a limb to ask your opinion. I have created (clever me) a poll.

If you know and love me (or even just tolerate me a little), vote!

If you are a lurker, please delurk long enough to give me your input.

And the people who got here by googling "dog poop floor diarrhea" or "how to make your WeeMee like Hannah Montana"? You should vote as well.

I await your decision.

Post-birthday stress disorder

Yup. I don't know what is wrong with me today, but I am totally in a funk.

Could it be that I am suffering from the aftermath of having dinner with my children again?

Could it be that I'm worn out from holiday cheer?

Could it be that I am just freakin' old?

Hmmph. I dunno. I just know that my butt is draggin' on the ground today.

And dinner? My children?

Oh.

My.

Gawd.

There are times I am afraid to write about them because I really am concerned that Child Protective Services will come a-knockin' and take my Roo-girl away from this ... ahem ... strange crew and their clearly out-of-her-mind mother.

But I just can't stay away from a story that involves roasted ears of corn, butter and nasty boys.

Birthday dinner was at a local barbecue place that I am particularly fond of. In fact, leftovers are awaiting this very minute! Mmmmmmmm.

The Drama King had a full ear of corn. He took a foil-wrapped pat of butter, opened the foil ... and proceeded to rhythmically rub it on the cob.

His older brother promptly fell on the floor. Then that same older brother carefully pulled back the remaining husk on his ear of corn and began to systematically gnaw on it.

"Oh, really," the Drama King snorted. "Don't you think you should buy it dinner first?"

I don't think I can ever ever ever look at an ear of corn again.

Nor can I go back to that restaurant after spewing barbecue sauce out of my nose.

Fun Monday #44: the ornamental edition

Yes, I totally swiped Swampy's new Fun Monday logo. Yes, I know, it's HER, but I like it and I want it and it's my birthday week and I took it. Ya wanna make something of it? Right, I didn't think so!! (Besides, after I stole it, she totally gave it to me as a birthday present, so HMMMMPH!)


Anyway, Katyabug is our hostess with the mostest this week and here is her mandate:

In the spirit of the season I would like to see your favorite Christmas tree ornament. Not to be confused with the WHOLE tree. I want you to zoom in and show me one or a few(you know I can't choose just one!) of your favorite ornaments. If you don't decorate a tree, show me your menorah or dreidel, Kinara, or Yule Log. I want to see your favorite decoration for this holiday season.

Well, well, well. As you may know, we don't celebrate Christmas in our home, but since Lady K left me the perfect out, I will show you my fully lit menorah. Yes, I posted this photo before, but it was good the first time, so I figured it would be good again.

This is how it will look Tuesday night when it is full of candles and flickering flames:



The only real requirement for a Hanukkah menorah is that it should have nine candles (one for each night and a "helper" candle to light the others). Additionally, the "helper" candle position should be higher than the other eight.

My menorah is very traditional looking, but when I was thinking about my Fun Monday post, I started poking around. Gotta love the internet, ya know? You can find ANYTHING there.

Like this:


(Shoes! Who doesn't like shoes!)

or this:


(Perfect for my coffee addiction)

or this:


(I have nothing to say about this. It's a moose. Sheesh)

But my official Interplanetary Janet Weird Menorah Award for 2007 goes to:



The Goldfish Menorah! Seriously, who would ... oh never mind.

Now go here for the other Fun Monday participants. That's where I'll be if you're looking for me.

Happy birthday to ME!

I borrowed the image from Robinella, whose birthday is in two days herself.

But in the meantime ... I'm officially older today.

And I'm shameless. So leave me some birthday lovin'!!

Old Spice

The Roo-girl's take on the resurrection of the Spice Girls:

"I watched them on the 'Victoria's Secret' fashion show. It was disgusting. They looked like a bunch of middle-aged women dancing around."

God help me. All of these women are in their early 30s.

Haiku Friday: the holiday edition

I can't help but be obvious today:

Hanukkah candles
Judaism still burns bright
And we pray for peace.

Fall Out Boy fallout

The Roo-girl is celebrating the acquisition of a new phone. It is not exactly new, seeing as she bought it used on eBay, but it has the feature du jour: a full qwerty keyboard.

It's perfect for the textaholic.

Fortunately for all of us, we have an unlimited texting plan. It is just too convenient for Wonderhubby to text me his whereabouts, instead of calling (wicked witch boss has a thing about phone use). Or for Z-man to shoot me a few words about his day. Or for J-Bear to type out good news about her history grade.

Or for the cheer coach to let me know that practice is canceled.

Or for my co-worker to tell me she's caught in traffic.

Anyway, I digress. We are a texting family, and the Roo-girl is no different. But she believed she was texting-challenged on a regular phone pad and begged begged begged begged for a new qwerty phone. If you check this stuff out, you can see that most of these phones are PDAs and multiple hundreds of dollars.

SO not happening.

But with a few grandparental Hanukkah dollars burning a hole in her pocket, she did the research, found a phone that met her needs and her budget, and bought it.

Happiness ensued.

And much texting.

The sad part of this new phone is that she leaves behind some of the oh-so-fabulous photos she has taken with the old phone. Please don't tell me that she can email the photos to herself. We do not advocate use of the internet on cell phones. I do have my standards after all.

(Unless you're me and are still yearning for an iPhone that you know you won't get for your birthday on Sunday.)

Wow, ya know, I had a point I was going to make, but I seem to be on some wild tangent here.

Anyway, she also leaves behind her oh-so-special ringtone, which, if memory serves me, was some Fall Out Boy crappola.

The Roo-girl luuuuurves her some Fall Out Boy.

In fact, her two friends went to a concert recently (not in our hometown -- it was an overnight trip) and texted her repeatedly during the concert, called her so she could listen over the phone and bought her a concert t-shirt. She was in hog heaven.

So when she asked me if she could please download a ringtone for her new phone, I shrugged. I knew it would be Fall Out Boy.

But what I didn't know was it would be a song called "Thanks for the Memories."

You know this song? Anyone? Bueller? (If you clicky the linky, though, ignore the monkeys. I don't get it either.)

Here is the snippet she sings for me, the part that is on her phone:

One night and one more time
Thanks for the memories
Even though they weren't so great
He tastes like you only sweeter

HUH???????

Her Roo-ness explained that this song is talking about a one-night stand. (My baby knows what a one-night stand is. Please kill me now.)

But I have tried to get her to explain the last line of the chorus: He tastes like you only sweeter.

She insists it has something to do with the boyfriend of the girl being sung about. I am trying to figure out how the boy singer thinks that a HE tastes sweeter than YOU (who is presumably female).

The Evil Mother in me poked out her head and could not be denied. So I told Roo I thought the singer was gay or possibly bisexual, based on the lyric. Her head nearly swiveled off her neck to gape at me, horrified.

"Oh, MOM!!!!!"

Clearly, I'm stupid. But seriously, does anyone have the answer to this? How can Pete Wentz sing about how HE tastes like her -- only sweeter? What does this mean?

The fate of the free world obviously hangs in the balance.

Wordless Wednesday: The universal sign for "Don't go there!"

This is my first Wordless Wednesday. There just seemed to be nothing to add to this photo!

For more WW, go here.

Growing up

Oh, my little girl. Where has she gone?

This morning the Roo-girl poked her head into my room and said this:

"I can't believe I already had my bat mitzvah."

Why? It was almost four months ago ...

"Well, because I just can't believe it. Because I watched my brothers all do it, and I remember being there for Z-man's ... and I really was up there reading from the Torah."

Yes, you were, my Roo.

"I'm considered a woman in the Jewish community."

Yes, you are, my Roo.

"It's just so amazing that I did that."

Yes, it is, my Roo.

"Because I'm the baby of the family, and it's so weird to see myself do all the things I watched my brothers do."

Yes, I know, my Roo.

"Wow. Just wow."

Yes, wow.

Excuse me while I cry a little now.

Fun Monday #43: the post revisted edition

The very lovely and fellow Sagitarrian Robinella is our hostess for this week's Fun Monday. And she had a great idea for those of us still recovering from NaBloPoMoFoDeeOhDoh:

I want you to dig through your blog files and show us your best effort. Why you consider it your best is up to you. C’mon, you know you have a favorite - show it to me one more time.

Hmm, I said to myself, hmmmm. I've only been blogging since July, so there isn't a huge archive to choose from. If I felt like being self-important, I would resurrect this old chestnut (which I have linked back to more times than I really should have).

But I don't ... feel self-important, anyway. So I'm off to read everyone else's best-of post, while I leave you, my Fun Monday pals, checking out something you probably never saw because it was a early-Janet guest post for my friend Melodyann.

Here's how it ran on Sept. 4, 2007:

Well, how the hell are ya? (Mel said I could swear.) I’m from another planet entirely. I’m still pretty new in town, but this is already my SECOND guest post. Impressive? Oh yeah.

In my first, I talked about thongs. So it seems only fair that in the second, I should talk about vibrators.

I have one. Do you?

He’s just a little thing but pretty powerful, and his name is Buzz (you know … to infinity and beyond …?)

He has no need to be concerned about his petite stature because, as you know, size doesn’t matter.

Anyway, I keep him in my nightstand drawer, close to my person. But once, he escaped.

I don’t know how this happened, truly. I believe Buzz has always been true to me (although he DOES enjoy a threesome with the hubster every now and again).

Anyhow, one day many years ago, I was walking my then-10-year-old son to his religious school classroom and I felt a familiar jolt in an unfamiliar location – the small of my back.

WTF? (See, Mel? I can swear!)

I whirled around to see Buzz staring me right in the eye – FROM MY SON’S CLENCHED FIST.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Buzz! How could you betray me like that?

Wait a second. Z-man? WHERE THE HELL DID YOU GET THAT?

“I found it,” he said.

Found it, my ass! I KNOW the kid took Buzz out of my drawer, but what the hell? Has he been walking around with my little friend ALL DAY? At school? How many fifth-graders have been introduced to my Buzz-man? Has my lover betrayed me? Can I ever forgive him? Will my son be scarred for life? Will I?

“Yeah, Mom. See? I can give you a massage …”

Um. I think NOT.