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.

October 14, 2012

Dancing Machine

The dusty aviary is located on the Main Line of Philadelphia. Grace Kelley graced our streets once upon a time. There are those who hold on to that history with grasping, pinching, manicured fingers, even when it doesn't make much sense anymore.

Case in point, we got a postcard inviting our boys to join a Cotillion. A Cotillion. Isn't that some anachronistic dancing thing for rich kids who want to land a good mate?

{checks watch, clock, computer, yes, it is 2012}

And even if it still exists, you want MY HOBOS to attend? My boys, who wouldn't dance if you paid them in chocolate?

Case in point:

We were at a wedding this summer. There was the usual collection of frolicsome melodies (and some weird choices like Billy Idol...).  The boys sat, sipping Shirley Temples, glumly staring at the strange girls all dancing in the middle of the floor, glaring askance at me every once in a while. They still hold it against me, you see, that I made them dance with me when they wanted me to take them to the sock-hop party at their school. Anyhow, there was this little girl who was bound and determined to garner a dance partner. The first little boy she found was firmly plugged into his DS and making no eye contact. (side note, who lets their kid play a DS at a wedding?)

The next little boy was Stinky. As she looked at him, calculation in her eye, he gave her the full on Grumpy McStormcloud visage. She jumped a bit and moved on, quickly. Mothman also had a look of disgusted amazement on his face - kind of like the one I have when I see those people who eat like 70 hot dogs in a sitting. And his hair was pointing in all directions at once, while his shirt was half-tucked. I could see the shudder of revulsion on her face.

And then she saw Spaz. This kid was twirling and fingerpointing more than John Travolta during Saturday Night Fever.

It was a match made in heaven that made my boys both relieved and horrified. Someone had, after all, broken the dude-code.

It takes me back to 17 years ago, and change. We were planning our wedding, and our dj (my fabulous friend Jen) told us we needed to have an opening dance so others would dance. John was HORRIFIED. That ALMOST got him to agree with me that we would be better off just going to the courthouse. But his fear of my brothers put the dancing shoes on his feet. Not. We picked a slow song, and we stood, swaying.

Even though we didn't dance, it's stuck. We still don't dance, and we still have a good time.

Happy anniversary, a week late, birdman.


We're in the middle of autumn soccer season, and my little mothy smurf (the team color is blue, so they're the smurfs - better than the Brown Bombers of the spring season) scored a goal today. This is after he was playing defense last week, and when two kids were running up on the goal, he came up on them (out of nowhere!) and said, "Hello Boys!" as he stole the ball.

He's such an athlete.

But he's a bigger smart alec.

This morning, he started out the day dressing Stinky's dog, Loki, in a Michael Vick jersey. This is because Stinky hates Michael Vick because he abused dogs. Mothy made sure I got a picture up on facebook, too, commemorating Loki's turn to the dark side.

Gotta love that timmy. (Lest you think he is the best player on the team, he is not. He simply is a spaz. He is also the  biggest dirt-eater - he gets so dirt-crusted every day that showers don't clean him. It's rather disgusting, actually.)

Meanwhile, in Grumpy Mc-Stormcloud land, (That is stinky's nickname in the house. He's such a ray of sunshine!), the stinks has a new job. Mowing the lawn. I cannot mow it because of my hurt paw. We pay him pretty well ($30 for the lawn), but he swears it's a ripoff. He swears that if he worked at Wawa (think 7-11), he'd make at least $20 an hour. He's got it all planned out.

He is going to save money up, see, because his friend John knows of this place where they sell new Porsches for $20,000. He figures he can save up that much by the time he turns 16, especially if he can get a job at Wawa. And he'll need it, because all men need cars, and he's turning into a man. He has hairs under his arms now (he swears) and that means he's a man now. "The Movie" they made him watch in school last year told him so.

Moth must have heard one of the Stink's diatribes on this man-mobile stuff, because last week, as we were going to church, he asked his dad what kind of sports car he would get if he could get any sports car. Dad's answer was the most expensive one, so he could sell it.

"But you need to drive a cooler car, Dad. All dudes need a cool car. You need a cooler car so you can pick up chicks! You don't pick up hardly any girls, now"

Hardly any? Somebody's in TROUBLE.

Ah, well, time to go finish this weeks lessons.


October 13, 2012

The frost is on the punkin...

Yes, I know it's pumpkin. But I like punkin better.

My sister (in law but at this point she's sister) made the BEST punkin cheesecake last week. Even my kids, who hate pumpkin, loved it. I will NOT ask for the recipe since my diet is going quite well, thank you.

It's going so well that I've had three former students who saw me for the first time ask if I'm sick! I think it must be sick if that pleases me.

Scary part? I'm still supposedly about 15 pounds "overweight". Sigh.

So I made cake this morning. It smells DELICIOUS. It's carrot cake.

I hate carrot cake.

Not even a big fan of carrots, though I eat them daily. I eat them all afternoon, because I never get through my lunch during my lunch break. My students think it's hysterical that I eat carrots every day. They now call me Roger Rabbit.

Better than many things I've been called, I'm sure.


Speaking of school, Stinky is doing really well in school this year. Something's kicked in, and he's enjoying it. Unbelievably, his fave class is music. Music. That he's ALWAYS hated.

I guess a teacher can really make a difference!

Mothy, on the other hand, has dropped in performance. He's in every sport his little legs can carry him to, and he's enjoying them. But he's not a fan of school anymore. He has this thing - if he can't get something right the first time, he has no patience for it. If we make him sit and figure it out, then he loves it.

He loves being successful, and has no time to deal if he's not.

I guess he's human, after all. :)


The frost is on the pumpkin. Fall is upon us, and it is beautiful, and I am thankful for it. John? Not so much. He's always hated the cold. Funny he married me. Doesn't get much colder :)

Have a good day, and pass it on!