More Good, Bad and Ugly

GOOD: My long-lost step brother whom I've never had the pleasure of meeting called.

BAD: He was just released from prison in Oklahoma. I broke the news of my mother's death and he sobbed for a very awkward 5 minutes on the phone.

UGLY: After first inquiring about where his money might be (? - I don't even know where my own money is), he asked me what I was wearing.

Disarmament

No talk of the dangers of nuclear weapons here. Instead, my own personal definition of the term disarmament:

This term refers to what occurs when 10 year old son decides to practice his clarinet while Mommy has her arm wrapped around Bridie the wonder lab.

Apparently the combination below:

Results in this:

Sons reaction (while I am still on the floor along with two toppled dining room chairs):

"Do you want to hear my G note?"

Freaky Friday

One of the first calls that I received at the station today was from the local funeral home director (let's call him FD, shall we). FD informs me that he needs to cut a new ad and will be in this afternoon. Okey Dokey says I. Enter my boss. Bossy lets me in on the fact that she is going out of town and doesn't have time to write the ad copy, so she needs me to do that.

ME: What direction should I be going with this?

BOSS: Well, FD really wants to lighten it up, so he is bringing his kids in to record the ad.

ME: The 2 and 4 year olds?

BOSS: I think they are 3 & 5 - so you will want to write the ad copy for the kids.

ME: (blink.....blink)

BOSS: Problem?

ME: You want me to write ad copy for the funeral home that is light/fun for a 3 and 5 year old to record?

BOSS: You can use the corporate website and see if they already have something written that can be re-recorded.

ME: I'm pretty sure I won't find anything in there that is adaptable to this particular situation.

BOSS: FD will be there to help tweak it when he gets here this afternoon.

ME: Is he bringing wine?

I am looking around for hidden cameras right now and actually praying that I find one. Maybe I will use carnival music as the background or I could have the kids sing a rousing rendition of "Ring Around the Rosie". I am super fucking creeped out right now. It's gonna be a long day.

Things you always wanted to know but were afraid to ask

Woo hoo....a Kreative Blogger award from Frannie at Frannie Fires Back - Divorce, Finances and Fabu..., which came in super handy 'cause I didn't have much to say today. However, in order to collect ,I must give credit where it is due, let my blogging buddies in on 7 things they may not know about me, and pay it forward to 7 others.

1) I was a stockbroker on Black Monday during the stock market crash of 1987. I sought a new line of work after that.

2) I attended 5 colleges (with at least 4 different majors) before I graduated on the 7 year Bachelor's degree plan.

3) I had to go to court for "drunk walking" in college.

4) I suffer from coulrophobia and it's caused some issues for me over the years.

5) I was once detained by the FBI and Coast Guard off the coast of San Fransisco near Fisherman' Wharf.

6) I am "directionly impaired" which has also caused some issues.

7) I've never been in rehab or therapy. (I know - that is a shocker, isn't it)

Paying it forward is a bit more difficult as there are too many of you that I love to read, so I will put everyone's name in a hat and the winners are:

the tired one

growth spurt

Happy Hour...Somewhere

Diamond Pewpin' Carnivore

a mouthy irish woman? ridiculous.

I don't care for your tone

The Vegetable Assassin

Fire and Ice

Well, I made it back from my little "mini" college reunion this weekend. We laughed so hard that it feels like I have TMJ now. Here is a recap of one of the many bizarre conversations that took place (some of the details are a bit hazy...damn you Grey Goose):

Roomie: Hey Buzzy (my nickname from college for reasons will become readily apparent) - what ever happened to Greg W.?

Me: who the hell is Greg W.?

Roomie: the guy you dated that summer we worked at the bar

TD (to Roomie): you probably need to be more specific

Me: who the hell is Greg W.?

TD: remember - we all went to a party near the quarry and Berman passed out too close to the fire and his sleeping bag was smoking and instead of rolling him around to put the fire out we stacked small sticks on him.

Me: I don't think that I was there

Roomie: Buzzy, what the hell...you drove!

Me: What does that have to do with Greg W?

TD: You got pissed at him for something, and we left him out there. He had to walk back to town.

Me: Why did we stack sticks on Berman?

Roomie: You were cold

Me: Was he okay?

TD: which one - Berman or Greg W.?

Me: Who is Berman?

There is also a possibility that I drunk dialed some folks from my contact list. Um...sorry, and if you could give me a call back to let me know what I said that would be awesome.

The Good, the Bad and the Ugly

I haven't been able to post for awhile as my boss has kept me much too busy at the Lunatic Asylum. Numerous things to mention.....some good, some not:

Good: Meeting up with 2 of my best friends (roomie & TD) from college (ahh - the eighties)

Bad: Old college roommate is already irritated with TD because he keeps calling her to suggest that she clean her house before we get there.

Ugly: I lived with her and am pretty sure that TD is justified in his suggestions. It's likely to be a hell hole.

Good: We held a radio auction yesterday and sold enough to meet budget/revenue goals.

Bad: I have to get all of these people to come in and pay for their items before I leave today at 1:.30 pm.

Ugly: It's 1:00 pm.

Good: The kennel finally called me back and agreed to keep Bridie the wonder dog.

Bad: Bridie hates to be kenneled and will completely freak out until I pick her up on Sunday.

Ugly: My front room looks like it has a carpet of fur because of her incessant shedding. I don't see that problem improving any time soon.

Good: The young one got through the second week of school without any problems.

Bad: He came home yesterday and asked to borrow a lighter.

Ugly: I will be searching his room for illegal fireworks, pipe bombs and crack pipes when I get home today.

Ashes and Asses

I'd forgotten what a pain in the ass picking up a child from elementary school can be. There is a process to be followed. A one-way street with two lanes runs directly in front of the school's entrance. Cars wait in line in the lane closest to the school. When the child is picked up, you may veer left into the other lane in order to get around the line of cars still waiting for children. It sounds pretty simple, but apparently not.
*To the blue intrepid that insists on getting in line with the waiting cars only to put your car in park and exit the vehicle to enter the building to find your child: Consider this a warning.....there are people that want to put a hit out on you. Stop it.
*To the white escalade behind above mentioned vehicle: Why the fuck do you keep honking? There is no one in the vehicle.
*To the black Dodge Ram that uses the left lane to wait for your their child thereby cutting off any means of escape for those of us who have our children loaded and ready to go......you are a "jackhole"...'nuff said.

On a less homicidal note: The ash spreading went well. Mom's golf buddies were there with us and no police were involved. You will notice that my youngest is wearing two different shirts in the pictures below. He donned an Iowa hawkeye jersey for the actual ash spreading as my Mom was a huge hawkeye fan. He got a little carried away running and spreading at the same time. Not a good idea. And no, that is not beer in those cans, so no need to call DHS.

Be careful where you golf

Big goings-on tonight. Family and friends will be gathering at the house for cocktails and appetizers before embarking on a super secret mission to the golf course. In order to prepare for this shindig, we will be attempting to transfer the contents of this:

into approximately 9 or 10 of these:

Confused? Allow me to explain. We are pouring my mother's ashes into empty beer cans (the tops have been removed). Next, we will belly up to the bar (kitchen counter) for booze and appetizers. When dark is upon us we will don irish sweatshirts from Mom's large collection and make our way out to the golf course to spread her ashes just off of number #1 green per my mother's instructions. Why #1? Because that is the hole that always kicked her ass and apparently this is her revenge. For those of you that are thinking "my, that doesn't seem like a very dignified or solemn way to spread a loved one's ashes" you haven't been following along, have you? Wish us luck and pray for no wind.

(it has been storming here all morning, with severe thunderstorms rolling in this evening....yeah)

I may need a personality transplant

A big thank you to CatLadyLarew at How to Become a Cat Lady...... for this Premiere Meme award. Now for the hard part; before I can display the award, I must share with you seven personality traits and then pay it forward to seven others. So here goes.

1) I procrastinate - anyone that knows me deals with this on some level and it drives them batty.

2) My sarcasm has been known to bite people in the ass.

3) I am not an organizational freak, I'm a stasher.

4) I can be pretty funny in person too.

5) I see dead people. Okay, I don't always see them, but I sure as hell know they are there.

6) I have incredibly bad taste in men. I will go into the specifics at a later date.

7) I may or may not exaggerate. It depends on who you talk to.

Now for the fun part - paying it forward..........

Yo Mama's Blog

Reclaiming My Future

I Shoulda Been a Stripper

f8hasit

Yellow Trash Diaries

scallywags times - you probably aren't familiar with this one yet. He's my oldest son and I adore him...and I hope he changes the picture on his blog, cause he looks like he's in drag.

47 And Starting Over





Just a quick note to my sister (BadTwin) - could you be so kind as to explain why there is dog poop in plastic bags in the garage freezer? Any insight would be appreciated. It was not fun finding those bags. At all.

I can afford to move after I sue the makers of Binaca

So, I go to register Ryan for 5th grade yesterday afternoon thinking that it will only take 15 minutes. When I arrive at the school there is a line (2:00 in the afternoon people - doesn't anyone work?), and about a gabillion kids. I ask Principle Booker what the hold up is and he points to a large group of folk and says "new family". "Are there like 17 kids?" "No, 8 or 9, but they are really loud." And, of course, I end up in line behind them. The woman is holding a toddler who appears to be covered in mud and another small child is hanging on to one of her legs, while yet another child of 5 or 6 sits on the floor next to where she is standing. This child is screaming. Loudly. The woman introduces herself as Cheyenne and tells me they just moved from southern Missouri. Really.

Me: What brings you to Humboldt?

Cheyenne: Bud has a cousin here, and we thought it would be a nice place for the kids. (She nods her head in the direction of the hairiest guy I have ever seen. He has tufts of hair on his shoulders and back and is wearing a muscle shirt that is way too small. About this time, I am almost knocked over by three boys running full on through the line intent upon killing each other.) "Boys, stop running....(turning again to me)...they are excited about going to a public school". It is at this point that I realize that these boys look very much alike.

Me: How far apart are your boys in age?

Cheyenne: Oh, they're triplets. they are going to be in the 5th grade.

Me: (gulp).....oh, so is my son. So, they have been in private school until now?

Cheyenne: No, we just homeschooled them at the compound.

Me: (mind racing....they don't act like "compound kids".....compound kids are usually well-behaved as evidenced from the David Koresh and Jim Jones documentaries I have seen)

"Compound??"

Cheyenne: Yeah - more like a family ranch.

Me: Hmmm....(trying to buy time and work through information logically while trying to ignore the fact that the toddler has managed to unbutton his mother's blouse and appears to be trying to breast feed)

Right about then, I begin to notice a vile stench coming from the direction of the girl on the floor. The odor is horrendous and I want to retch. I begin to frantically look for something in my purse to distract me from the odor....anything. I find Binaca breath spray....hooray. I will just use it like an air freshener. Oh God....not working.....I'll just spray a small amount on my finger and place under my nose like Vicks VaporRub. Ah there, much bett....wait......what's that stinging my nose and lip. Holy Mother....it hurts.....fuck...........

Cheyenne: (to smelly girl on floor) Did you do what I think you did? You know they won't let you get away with that in 1st grade. (turning attention back to me) We should get our boys together sometime.

Me: (garbled words due to Binaca burning my skin off)

Mr. Booker approaches me at that point to let me know that I am in the wrong line, and that I should move over to the returning student's line.

It's going to be a great school year......I can feel it.

Cross BMX off the "things I wanna do when I grow up" list

My youngest was out and about yesterday enjoying summer like any 10 year old when I received a panicky call from his friend saying that Ryan was sun stroked. I asked the friend if he was vomiting or unconcious. No, he says, just sun stroked. Hmm.....tell him to sit in the shade and ride his bike home when he feels better, and to call me if he doesn't feel better. Thirty minutes later, Ryan comes in and and we have the following conversation:

Ryan: Mom, I wasn't really sun stroked. I was doing tricks on my bike, went up in the air, and when I came down, the bike seat went up my butt.

Me: ..................................(no talk, just open mouth staring)

Ryan: Did you hear me? Up. My. Butt.

Me: I heard you, I just needed to process the information. Do we need to seek medical attention?

Ryan: No, not until I have to poop.

Me: Alrighty then.

So far so good.....I think. Oh, and we are going back to this.

How do some people manage to stay employed?

So the phone rings today, and it is Jennifer from American Network asking to speak to Michael Carlin, our news director. There are multiple problems with this request. Michael has been gone for a year.....1 year...and Eric took his place. Jennifer calls at least twice a week and has, for the past year, continued to ask to speak to Michael. She also insists on calling at around noon, while we are on the air doing the news. I have kindly explained to Jennifer that Michael is no longer here about 100 times (give or take). I take this call as an opportunity to advise young Jennifer on the art of updating her records.

Me: Jennifer, do you have a computer?

Jennifer: yes.....why?

Me: Well, I need you to do something for me. I need you to update your records to show that Michael is no longer your contact. Take Michael's name off and replace it with Eric.

Jennifer: What is Eric's title?

Me: (are you friggin kidding me Jen?)...sigh....that would be News Director.

Jennifer: my record show Michael Carlin as the news director.

Tick....tick.....tick......Jennifer, I am terrified of you.

Chocolate Fountains are always a bad idea

My oldest called today and made me laugh my ass off. Apparently, he met some new friends in parking lot of his complex because they thought he was parking in their spot. It wasn't his car but he offered to slash the tires for them and then invited them over for beer and whiskey. Glad he's getting out there and socializing. I didn't get around to sending George and Nikki an anniversary card yet, so "Happy 2nd Anniversary" you cuties. I am posting some pictures from their wedding to celebrate.

(The happy couple plus Amelia)

(1.Bad Twin, Mom, George and Good Twin - me; 2. Karaoke with ex brother in law)

(1.Ryan after getting into the friggin chocolate fountain which I knew was just a bad idea;

2. Ryan & Nikki)

Our New Bundle of Joy

Our family expanded by one this weekend. Her name is Bridie and she is 75 pounds of fun. Bad Twin talked me into to taking her and we met in Minnesota to take official custody. I was told that she was a very sweet, 4 year old Black Lab. Imagine my surprise when Bad Twin drove in with this:

What's that you say? This isn't a Black Lab? I brought this very thing up to my sister, whereupon she says she thought she told me that it was a yellow lab. Huh....One of us has killed a few brain cells too many. Anyway, Bridie is sweet and I think we love her. On the way back to Iowa, she kept putting her huge paw on my arm as if to say, "thank you for opening your home and heart to me". In actuality, she was probably thinking "bitch, turn this car around right now and take me back to my people or I will cut you". I'm sure she will learn to love us.

We had another killer storm last night, and when I woke up I had the 10 year old and the 75 pounder in my bed. Good times.

One more reason that people drop me from their call lists

I got a phone call from a friend yesterday (actually, more of an aquaintance as you will see from the following exchange). Cindy: Hey, I haven't seen you in awhile and I'm calling to ask you if you might be interested in attending one of our Suicide Survivor's meetings next Tuesday.

Me: Huh.....well, I'm not a suicide survivor Cindy.

Cindy: Didn't your husband commit suicide?

Me: Yes he did, but the term "Suicide Survivor" suggests to me that I am the one who attempted suicide, failed miserably, and now need to attend meetings.

Cindy: .................................(awkward silence)

Me: maybe I'm being too literal?


(While I do realize that suicide is no laughing matter, the part about my husband is true so I feel that I can comment without being judged too harshly)

My First Award

My first order of business is to thank CHRISSY over at http://www.ishouldabeenastripper.com/ for this award. It's my first and I thank her for thinking that I deserve it.

Next on my list:

To the asshole that keeps texting in a request for Captain & Tenille's "Muskrat Love":

What the hell is wrong with you? That has got to be the worst song ever recorded by the worst duo ever. It's fact. I'm pretty sure that I know who you are. You are the same moron that kept calling in requesting Andy Gibb. The one that got a verbal lashing from me for your abhorrent musical taste. Listen up - Muskrat Love will not be happening. Ever. I know where you live.


Muskrat, muskrat, candle light, Doing the town and doing it right in the evenin', It's pretty pleasin'. Muskrat Suzie, Muskrat Sam, Do the jitterbug out in muskrat land. And they shimmy. Sam is so skinny. And they whirl and they twirl and they tango, Singin' and jingin'-a-jango........

You get the picture. Never.

Tornadoes in the Mist

Driving to Madison Wisconsin for cousin Meghan's wedding in my red car ended up being effing dangerous. The picture below was what was north of me:

This was directly west of me (chasing me, actually):

And this is what I was driving into:

Super fun roadtrip!!! Thank god for wine ,vodka, beer and my daughter-in-law's parents who reside in Dubuque and gave me shelter from the storm.

A Death at the Fair

Tonight is the big night....the night of our county fair grandstand event. The station is hosting our version of "Deal or No Deal" and I was informed upon my return to work that I would be playing the part of Vanna White. WTF people - Vanna is on Wheel of Fortune, not Deal or No Deal. Apparently we do not have the correct equipment to take things off the board when a case is revealed, so that will be my job. Grrrrrrr!!! How did this happen? It was decided when I was gone for my Mother's illness and funeral. And now I'm being punished. I am terrified to go on vacation. Who knows what they will come up with in my absence. In the meantime, Big T (on air psycho bitch) decides to leave early and didn't really understand why she needed to be at the fairgrounds for the event. This is the same crazy bitch that showed up at the party we held in my Mom's honor after her memorial and proceeded to smoke up our garage where people are eating, come in sunglasses that can only be described as 70's acid-trip shades, plop down near my friends and family and loudly profess that she met a girl while gambling and she could have totally taken her to bed, and kept interrupting conversations with inane comments that had nothing to do with the subject at hand. Big T, I am going to be forced to have you assassinated at this point. And by the by, you are not a hippy or a lesbian, so knock it the fuck off. See you at the fair....I will be the one with the machete behind my back looking like Vanna White's homely cousin!

My mother, my friend

My mother passed away on July 14, 2009 at 3:00 am at home in the loving care of her twins. We loved you dearly Mom. Until we meet again.......

(My mom will be the one with the Bud Light in one hand and a cigarette in the other)

Ebb and Flow

Our family spent the fourth at awesome Lake Okoboji - unfortunately without Mom as she was busy being transferred to Mayo after another bout of dreaded C diff infection. It is not likely at this point that she will be recovering, but I keep reminding myself that this woman lived through Pancreatic cancer 20 years ago and she is a scrappy woman. My elder son George just called and was offered a job in Ames, Iowa with a bio-agronomic company (I know - I don't know what the hell it means either, but very happy for him all the same).

I guess this would be an example of the ebb and flow of everyday life. One person in my family is starting his adult life while another is nearing the end of hers. I am smiling and crying at the same time.

Baseball is not for wimps

We spent all day Saturday at the ballpark for my son Ryan's baseball minor league tournament. It was cloudy, windy and rainy, and I still managed to get fried (skin - not brain). Playing out a scene that happens everytime Ryan meets up with friends, he ran over to me between games asking if his friend CJ could spend the night. Before I could answer, he also informs me that CJ's 4 year old little brother would need to come with him. Say what???

ME: Are you referring to BJ (beelzebub junior), the little maniac that spilled blue rasberry snowcone all over my white shorts; the little angel that deliberately threw his baseball into the field during play causing much confusion and stoppage of the game; the sweet boy that was using the water fountain to fill up the front of his pants and then sat so close to me that I am now blue and wet; the child that walked up to a stroller of a sleeping baby and started shaking it violently so the baby would wake up and play with him; the same boy who was in very close proximity to a dog that was whimpering and yelping whereupon boy claims to not know why dog is acting so wierd; the little monster who has both parents here somewhere that have neither scolded him or kept track of him - are you referring to that little brother?

RYAN: I guess.......so can they stay?

ME: ARE YOU COMPLETELY OUT OF YOUR MIND?......curious, why does CJ have to bring his little brother?

RYAN: 'cause his parents want to go out and they can't find a babysitter for BJ

ME: shocking

RYAN: Mom, so why can't they (in whiny,pathetic tone)

ME: ...................................................(incredulous silence)

I better get my own "Death Day" because I never got my own "birthday"

Okay, so yesterday was a big news day with regard to celebrity death. First, we hear about Farah Fawcett, which did sadden me because I watched her documentary a few weeks ago and thought it sad that someone so beautiful was dying like that. Not that ugly people dying isn't sad, but you get my drift here. Then I'm at my youngest son's baseball game in frigging 100+ degrees and I overheard a woman say that Michael Jackson died and at that point I thought that heat exhaustion was kicking in, but noooooo.....the King of Pop....gone.....for good. I was sad about that too. When I say sad, I mean that there was a moment of reflection and remebrance for these folks. There was not tears, hysterics, statements like: "it feels like I lost a member of my family (sob)", or "I can't believe it, I keep hoping it's not true" (in sobby, hysterical voice). What the fuck is wrong with these people? How do they react if an actual member of their family dies or someone they know - or are acquainted with - or even met? I'm actually a little scared of these folks and their over-the-top emotional state.

Speaking of Michael Jackson and Farah Fawcett dying on the same day: isn't it just like Michael Jackson to fuck up Farah's death day? All of the sudden, Farah dying is on the back burner, and it's all about Michael. She should have at least had her own day for everyone to be sad just about her. If when I die, some really famous icon has the audacity to die on the same day thereby fucking up my "day" for everyone to be sad about "me", I am going to be really pissed.


During Highschool, my goal was to have hair like Farah Fawcett. The fact that I was a brunette with naturally curly hair did not deter me......unfortunately.....as you could tell from my senoir picture if I was stupid enough to include...which I'm not.

Bad Twin is now Good Twin but only for a day

My sister rocks! She prepared 4 pages of notes for the "meeting" with the nursing home staff and not only managed to discuss all issues in a professional and non-bossy/caring manner, but actually ended up looking like she was running the joint. I keep telling her that she missed her calling and truly needs to become a nurse. Presently, she is a Speech Pathologist and has been for many years. She has helped countless children and families strugglling with issues like hearing impairments, autism, and Down's, but to see her with the sick and elderly leaves me awestruck. That is why, for the next 24 hours, she will be known as Good Twin. It's the least I can do. I am fashioning a crown out of scrap paper and out dated birthday cake certificates from the radio station for the occasion. Your welcome Kim!


Sisters annoy, interfere, criticize. Indulge in monumental sulks, in huffs, in snide remarks. Borrow. Break. Monopolize the bathroom. Are always underfoot. But if catastrophe should strike, sisters are there. Defending you against all comers. ~Pam Brown

Don't make me go all Jack Nicholson on your ass

Sinister goings on at the nursing home, people. They contacted me yesterday to inform me that they are changing my mother's status from "skilled care" to "custodial care", which results in us paying the full costs of nursing home care, as insurance would no longer pay any $$$. I met with the director of nursing to discuss the issue. They feel that she is not improving and at times, refusing to get out of bed. I went down to scold my mother for not cooperating and, thusly, putting our financial future in jeopardy when she says "hard to refuse to get out of bed when no one tries to get me out of bed!!!!". I go back to head nurse to report conversation with Mom, and suggest that she look over documentation regarding the incidents in question, and she replies that they need to do a better job of documenting those issues. WTF!!! Your plan is to wipe us out financially and you have no documentation....that sounds like a horrible plan to me. I sweetly suggest that they may be a bit premature in their decision and nicely urge them to work harder at helping my mother improve her condition. Shortly after that discussion, I see head nurse at the nursing station discussing the situation with nursing staff which is accompanied by rollling of eyes, sighs and guilty looking silence when I approach the station. Bad idea on their part....bad, bad idea. Now I'm pissed, my mother is pissed and my sister(Bad Twin) is pissed. It isn't often that the Twins "K" are on the same page, or agree on how to handle a situation, but when we are, we are a force to be reckoned with. Nobody fucks with our mother, or our money....NOBODY! We have a slight reprieve in the time frame in order to work these "issues" out, and have a Care Plan meeting scheduled for tomorrow. There will be blood....or at least harsh words and veiled verbal assaults. Prepare for battle Nurse Ratcheds- you have been warned!!

I am fairly certain that my sister, after reading this post, will suggest that she do the talking in the Care Plan meeting. Fine Kim - but I get to be in charge of sound effects.

Staring Death in the Face

Years ago, some people began to have dreams about me. Bad Dreams. Dreams that led them to believe that my life was in eminent danger and I would probably die in a car accident. In a RED car. My mother was the first to have this dream, and upon waking, began calling me and everyone I know. Unfortunately for her, I was in college at the time and drunk - and unavailable to take a phone call....cause I was drunk. Over the next few years, I would learn that others had the same dream or variations of that dream, with the one constant being the RED car. At that point, I took it as a serious sign from God (?) not to own a red car, which morphed into my refusal to even ride in a red car which really pissed my husband (RIP) off when he brought cute little Mazda Miata covertible home and I made him take it back. That fear has stayed with me for years, and recently I have found myself driving my son's reddish Intrepid and my mother's reddish Lincoln because my stupid little silver car BLEW UP!! I have been telling myself that these vehicles are not really RED, but a variation of red, and therefore, somewhat safe..ish. Today, I am officially trading reddish Intrepid, reddish Lincoln and red golf cart in for my new vehicle - a Dodge Caliber.
And it's red. And I am a fucking moron (or brave warrior princess who laughs at death).

I bet God is Hilarious

Last week, my co-worker/arch nemesis Tanya suggests that I join a writing group in the area that she heard about through a friend of a friend. She told me to submit a sample (which I did), so the leader of this group could get a feel for my writing style and content. Turns out, Tanya (our on-air "personality") doesn't have friends under the age of 70, and wasn't aware that this was a "Christian" based writing forum, and now I'm going to have to kick her ass, and by kick her ass I mean verbally assault her 'cause she is way bigger than me and it would probably be a blood bath. So, at this point, it is clear to me that the "prose" that I submitted for this writing group's perusal will not be well received....at all. At this point in the story, anyone reading this should be able to ascertain, with a large degree of accuracy, how this is going to turn out..........and the telephone rings:

ME: KHBT Radio - this is KC, how may I help you?

CALLER: May I speak with Kathleen Courtney please

ME: Oh, this is Kathleen Courtney

CALLER: Oh, I thought you said your name was KC

ME: I did - that is my radio persona

CALLER: Oh.......(pause)....OK(?)...., well I am calling to discuss your submission to our Christian Writing Forum

ME: I see - and with whom am I speaking?

CALLER: This is Pastor Mike and I lead the Forum

ME: fuck.....(thought it - didn't say it).

CALLER: Kathleen, after reading your submission and looking at your blog on line, we have decided that our little group may not be the ideal venue for you

ME: So, you're kicking me out?!

CALLER: Well no, you aren't actually a member - I am just suggesting that your "style of writing" may be more appropriate for a different group.

ME: Could you be more specific Pastor - what part of my submission do you have issues with?

CALLER: Well, for one, your tendency to use the "F bomb"

ME: I could probably clean that up a bit and use the Christian version of the "F bomb"

CALLER: There is no Christian version of the "F bomb"

ME: Oh.......wait, what about "frig"?

CALLER: Um......Our group is really for creative writing about Our Lord Jesus Christ and how his presence in our lives affects us. I didn't really see any reference to God or church in your writings.

ME: Well, that is because God isn't really funny. I might be able to throw a couple of Jesus Christ's in there to replace my "F bombs". Oh, and I could probably put some funny stuff together about parochial school and mean nuns; or wait, maybe something like the Church Lady from SNL - I could totally do something like that..

CALLER: Uh, no, that won't be necessary - but thank you for your submission. We will pray for you Kathleen. Click........

OH, IT'S ON PASTOR MIKE!!!!!

My ears are bleeding

Why is it that people that are the hardest to understand go into broadcasting? Why, why, why, why? Why? People with speech impediments, enunciation issues, inability to pronounce even the simplest word - flock to broadcasting. Case in point, our new intern Natan. That is not his real name. I am trying to illustrate my point by mispronouncing his name in writing. We are all praying that he plans to work more "behind the scenes" upon graduation, as he is entering his senior year in college and it seems a bit late to switch majors. I cannot BEGIN to describe to you how incredibly painful this morning's broadcast was, not to mention the numerous phone calls to our station immediately following that consisted of the overall "are you recruiting your new broadcasters from the local group home? What in hell is going on with that station of yours?" Blah, blah, blah - you get the picture.....painful. I want Paul Harvey and I want him now! Wait - is Paul Harvey still alive? Either way, it would be totally awesome to have Paul Harvey do our news.

So much for my great idea - Paul Harvey did indeed pass away this year, so I guess that is "the rest of the story". I wonder what Dan Rather is doing these days?

Good Day!