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December 28, 2005
please kill me
Someone in the family decided it would be a great idea to get Little Bear a Tumbling Tigger doll for Christmas. It was cute for the first 30 seconds. Now, I think Tigger may have to have "an accident" while the kid is sleeping. Little Bear loves this stupid doll so it has been tumbling and singing it's way around the living room non-stop. It sings a cutesy and highly annoying song about Tiggers to the tune of MC Hammer's, Hammer Time or if you like Rick James' Super Freak. Either way - it's disturbing.
I'll be back after the New Year, I am enjoying being a sloth in my pajamas this week.
Posted by bugg at 07:46 PM | Comments (6)
December 15, 2005
highway to hell
I have too much time on my hands apparently because I think that i have put way too much thought into this subject. When someone says oh you're going to hell for that, I always joke that I have reserved seats. But the more I have thought about it the more I am convinced that really hell will be more of a trip than a destination.
You will be forced to suppply your own mode of transportation to get there and the whole road trip will be endless and full unspeakable tortures. For me this would mean something close to the following:
In my case I would choose to drive to hell because I hate/fear flying. I won't get a cool car or anything, it will be bright white (I hate white cars) Ford Aspire or something comparable. The car will not have power anything and a donut tire forcing me to drive unbearably slow. The car will only receive am radio stations that play country music. Only the heat will work and I will be too warm and on the verge of being car sick the whole time. I will have to pee but there are no rest stops anywhere - and if you know me, I have never and will never pee in the great outdoors.
There will be only warm Mountain Dew or Doctor Pepper to drink. And finally if I smoked I would have plenty of smokes and no lighter or a lighter and no smokes.
Oh yes, I forgot to mention that i will surely hit every stinking red light along the way.
Sounds just like hell to me.
Anyone need a lift?
Posted by bugg at 07:57 PM | Comments (7)
December 08, 2005
seems like old times
I've recently discovered that the city my parents grew up in has a historical photos archive on line through the public library. I found pictures of the houses my parents grew up in as well as the homes of other relatives that I've only heard stories about because they died before I came onto the scene. I love old photos and history and I am pretty sure I was born in the wrong time period.
This photo is of my Dedo's barbershop, probably around the late 30's or early 40's. Everyone called Dedo, "Bill the barber", (even the sign in the window says that) but his real name was Vasil. He also owned the bar next door. Look close and you can see the sign that says haircuts were a quarter. Also if you look in the window, you can the barber. It is either my Dedo, or his brother, my great uncle Chi-Chi (Carl). I don't know why exactly, but everyone in my family has some weird nickname.
Posted by bugg at 12:32 PM | Comments (5)
December 01, 2005
snow boots
In honor of the snow falling in Seattle today, I have decided to share with you the story of my snow boots.
As a child in small town Wisconsin we were used to snow, and lots of it. Our house was on a dead-end street butting up to roughly 6 acres of field, the remnants of a former farm. It wasn't a cul-de-sac either. It was a dead-end. The road ended where the field started.
The snow plow would barrel down our street and crunch all the snow into a mound, basically at the foot of our driveway where the field began.
On occasion we would have a wall of snow sometimes over ten feet tall right there in front of our house. As a kid you can imagine how exciting this was, my very own Mt. Everest to climb. In actuality, I had an over protective mother and I was not allowed to go near the wall of snow, let alone climb on it.
During nice weather everyone cut through the field on a couple of well worn paths, instead of walking all the way around the block. We had a neighbor, a dentist, who had his office one block over. Instead of walking around the block in the winter, he would use his snow blower to cut a path through the field. It was a wonderful thing, but also forbidden to me as you still had to climb over the mound to get to said path.
At this point I feel I should mention that my mother, on top of being extremely overprotective, was not so much interested in things being cute as much as they are convenient, utilitarian or sturdy. Remember, this is the woman who made me wear tough skins until I was like 11. This same woman also decided that instead of buying me Moon Boots like every other kid in the free world had, she would buy me ugly, white, plastic boots that slid on over my shoes. This way I wouldn't have to carry my shoes to school and change out of my boots when I arrived. See, convenient. Of course she also made me wear a flippin' snow suit too. I looked like Randy.
Anyway, we lived within walking distance of our schools and I always enjoyed the freedom of being released from parental control even if it was fleeting. One especially brutal winter I was walking home from school with my friend and neighbor, Eric. He didn't want to walk all the way round the block in the cold and he begged me to cut through the field with him. He convinced me my mother would be none the wiser. It didn't take much convincing and we made the right turn off the main road and crunched our way down the snow blown path. When we got to the mountain of snow keeping me from my driveway Eric clambered on up the side disappearing over the top. He yelled that the coast was clear and then it was my turn. I wisely stepped into the shoe prints he had left in the snow as I followed his trail up to the top of the mound. That's where I made my first mistake by putting my foot down in uncharted territory. The minute I applied pressure to that leg there was a distinct shunking sound as the snow collapsed and I sunk in knee deep. Second mistake, I panicked. I was afraid not only because my leg was stuck but also that my mother could look out the window any moment and see my dumb ass stuck in the snow mound I wasn't allowed to go near, an ideal I told you so, your mother is always right moment for sure.
Eric decided it was safer for him to stay on the ground. And I think for a moment he almost decided to leave me there, clearly wanting to avoid my mother's wrath. Finally, as I started to cry he was jolted into action. He told me to wiggle my foot to the left then the right. Then point my toe down so I could try to gently pull my leg straight up and out of the hole. It seemed like I was in the clear, until I tugged a little too hard and my leg popped out free at last, knocking my on my butt. I was overjoyed until I realized that I was missing my boot. And my shoe.
Eric ran home. I can't say as I blame him. I slid down the side of Mt. Boot stealer and limped, head hanging into the house to tell my mother my story of woe. Not the first or last time I've had to do that for sure!
She was very mad and I have since blocked the memory of her punishment out of my head. She probably just yelled at me but I got in trouble so much I really can't recall what she did anymore.
My brother was also quite mad because he had to take a shovel out to the mound to retrieve my shoe and boot for me before it got dark.
I was never allowed to walk home with Eric again unless it was summer.
I had to wear those stupid boots until I outgrew them.
I never did get moon boots.
I hate snow.
Posted by bugg at 01:55 PM | Comments (5)