flightless hag

A chronicle of the adventures of birdwoman: a lonely, talentless freak who wanders the internet in search of entertainment.

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Location: Philly

I'm a 40-something married white female, survivor of weight watchers, avid reader of pulp. Dogs (not cats), extreme right (handed, not politics), ENTJ, alto, wanna-be knitter.

July 30, 2006

The Fair Rachel

It's been an almost daily ritual this summer - John takes the boys to the pool. (No, no, I'm not talking about dropping the boys off at the pool, though I assume he does that regularly, too...) Stinky has the doggy paddle thing going, and the Moth loves to give one a heart attack by jumping in wherever he can.

We even have pictures... though since I post my pictures on John's blog, I can't share them with all of you.

So, anyway, the boys are making all sorts of new friends and rivals at the pool. One in the former category is a little girl named Rachel. Sean is quite enamored. She's SIX and a half (he's 5.5 - a younger man and a bolder woman!!), she can swim already, she's pretty, and, icing on the cake here, she has the same goggles that Sean has. If this isn't a sign, I don't know what is.

So, now, not terribly often, but often enough to pique my interest, Sean talks about seeing Rachel at the pool. She blows him off regularly, which makes him all the more interested. Go figure.

I'm sure this is the first of many unrequited interests that Stinky will have. It's probably one of the last I will hear about!



Hacked Correction!!

John's password wasn't taken... his entire userid was changed. I.E. John's page wasn't hacked, blogger was.

Makes me glad this isn't important, in the scheme of things!



July 07, 2006

I Am… Batman

Don’t you love that Snickers’ commercial? Anyway.

My kids, after watching Spiderman and His Amazing Friends (Firestar and Iceman, a.k.a. cameltoe and loser, according to John) for the last few weeks, my kids have been going around pretending to be superheroes.

One of the games John and I used to play while we were getting to know each other was “strange superhero powers.”

One of his was the ability to wish uncontrolled, loud flatulence on people. Especially people talking in meetings that he was forced to attend.

One of mine was the ability to make all trash on the street go to the bed of the persons who threw it out into the street. (brought to mind while blog surfing and seeing
this picture. Yukk. Imagine finding pieces of this in your bed, especially if you’re a person who litters. )

What’s your weird superhero power?


Ad Sense

I gotta stop listening to talk radio. I heard two commercials today which completely “took my goat”, as Stinky would say.

The first was a commercial for food stamps. “Do you like food? Do you get hungry? You might qualify for Food Stamps!!” Now, don’t get me wrong, I understand the value of this program. But if someone is hungry and poor, they know these programs exist. There is no reason on earth to spend taxpayers dollars to ADVERTISE this, for goodness sake.

The second one was something by the ACLU. They wanted me to call Curt Weldon and tell him to stop the southern Republicans from *not* voting to renew the Voting Rights Act. Now, I don’t know what is going on here, but I don’t like it when someone tells me to call my Representative, based on their say so. Tell me to get informed, yes. Tell me to do what you say and “trust you”? I don’t think so. I don’t trust HIM and he’s been voted in!



Why I Hate Cars

First, it was an ornery ox censor.

Then it was
bad cats.

Now, it’s a car gone MAD. Mad, I tell you.

The fuel gauge reads full, or almost full, slowly descending to ½ tank, until about 9 gallons are consumed. Then all hell breaks loose. The fuel gauge drops to empty, the check engine light comes on, and there are still like 4 gallons in the tank.

The first time this happened, I was flying down the turnpike (at a legal 65 MPH, I swear, officer) and it scared the Shiite out of me.

My car is 6 years old and it’s like Outback Behaving Badly. Maybe it just wants a vacation. What do you think?



July 03, 2006

My Son The Perv

Stinky is going through a bad phase. He keeps trying to look up my skirt or down my shirt. I'm feeling all Jocasta* like - and skeevy with it. So I keep telling him to cut it out. Tonight was the last straw. I was playing with the boyz, and Stinky started with the skirt jerks, so I said, "Come on, Moth Man, let's go play. I don't want to play with a little boy who won't listen."

So Stinky says, "I never wanna see you again."

Stinky is also going through a phase of ultimatums. I'm sick of it.

me: "Go upstairs then. And don't come down til supper."

Stinky: "I hate supper."

me: "Ok, then go upstairs and wait for Daddy to come get you ready for bed."

First he started with the "Supper Supper I want Supper" screams. Then it was cries that he was starving. Then it was heart-broken cries. I kept saying to John "He'll be ok, right?" How is it that I can be such a hard-ass and then completely want to cave when he really sounds like he's hurt? He ought to bottle that cry.

John convinced me to stand firm.

Stinky got a slice of bread, a sippy-cup of water (a SIPPY cup. What an insult.) and a lecture from dad that: "Words have Power. And stop looking up your mother's skirt."

We'll see if he caught on tomorrow.


* - I had to look it up, too. That's Oedipus's mommy.