When today really means tomorrow, or maybe the day after that

Things have been super hectic at home and work. And in true “me” fashion, I ordered a new workout program to add to the chaos that is my life right now. But since I can’t stand another second of my too-tight clothes and my carb-binging frenzies, I figured It. Is. Time. And it is too. But apparently Amazon doesn’t think I’m quite ready to start my new better self.

I’ve been tracking my package since I got the “Your package is on its way!” email, and the tracking info revealed it was supposed to get here by 8pm today. TODAY. Apparently, Amazon’s today is not really TODAY. The package did not come today. And I’m pretty sure I’m not going to find it on my doorstep at 11:59pm tonight. (Not that I’m actually going to set my alarm to go check at my front door at 11:59 tonight. That would be ridiculous. Huh hum…).

What’s REALLY ridiculous is that even though it is now WAY past 8pm (TODAY), Amazon is still telling me I will receive my package by 8pm (Today). And there’s this nifty little progress bar that tells me “It’s on the way.” Lies, all lies, Amazon! I’m hoping Amazon’s “today” will at least be “tomorrow.” You’d think they’d have the decency to tell me “tomorrow.”

Even though I am totally disappointed in Amazon at the moment, I have to admit this is better than the times when I log in to Amazon to track a package that has been delivered, only to discover the damn thing wasn’t delivered to me. I still wonder what happened to my WEN shampoo. Surely someone out there enjoyed my 32 ounce bottle of pomegranate bliss. You’re welcome!

There was this one time when I ordered a twin-sized mattress race car bed from Walmart and it got lost. How do you lose a giant box? Engagement ring sized package, I get that, but you should’ve seen the size of this thing! After a few weeks of runaround, we FINALLY got Walmart to send another bed. Can you guess what happened next? The look on Gerald’s face when we had the chance to fib to the truck driver that we hadn’t already received one of the bed deliveries was priceless. Um no, we don’t need two giant race car beds in the house, Gerald.

Whoops, I see I’ve slipped into rambling mode. I’m positive there are plenty of “package delivery gone wrong” stories out there. Do share in the comments. I gotta run. Gotta set my alarm for 11:59.


All My Barbies

Barbie RV
Oh yeah, this was the stuff!

My youngest is at that age where he’s sort of caught between still wanting to play with his Lego toys and figuring it’s time to be more “grownup.” His wild imagination is obvious when he is in the throws of whatever story he happens to invent. I remember being like this with my Barbies. When my imagined Barbie storylines started playing out more like a soap opera, however, I figured it was probably time to put the For Sale signs up on Barbie’s townhouse and RV. I mean, when Barbie’s Ken started sleeping with her sister AND her bestie, that’s just not right. And not to mention, how many soap stories could I play out with these dolls? I had no two Barbies that looked exactly alike, so the whole “evil twin” storyline wouldn’t have worked.

I had learned (the truth) about the birds and the bees around this time, and apparently I embraced this knowledge by playing out different “dramatic” stories with my dolls. Hmm… hopefully my son is not playing out similar stories with his Lego figures but one cannot be so sure. He will hole himself up in his room for hours and won’t discuss/share any of it. I’m pretty sure any dialogue spoken with his characters stays in his head, never out loud. This is how I would play with my Barbie dolls.

My son gets a little embarrassed when someone sees his make-believe world setup. I didn’t like it when someone would happen upon me while playing with Barbie either, especially when Barbie and the no good two-timing Ken had a date. Yeah, Barbie could be so stupid, not unlike some females in the real world and especially not unlike pretty much every female character on every possible daytime TV drama that has ever existed.

Beyond the Barbies, I have played out dramatic dialogue in my mind, probably since this described time of taking the Barbie playing to a whole different level. The majority of this fantasy speak has been “romance.” I loved reading all the cheesy novels, often referred to as “chick-lit” nowadays. I even wrote a book, titled “Camp Crush” after my first real “flirting” experience. I couldn’t get enough boy/girl romance. Even today, I love love LOVE a good romcom or super ridiculously sappy love story. These are commonly known as “chick flicks” nowadays. I love the escape. It’s fun to pretend, or maybe even believe for just a few hours, that a man can be so completely head over heals for a woman that he will go to whatever lengths to win the girl. I really should watch these movies with other women though, and NOT my husband. Gerald doesn’t waste a second to tell me one of my favorite movies is total horse shit. Oh that’s such a chick flick, he’ll say Well, I don’t care, I’ll say. I LIKE it. I believe I’ve always been in love with the idea of being in love.

Okay, this post has gone all over the place. Not sure where I’m going (that’s so unlike me, I know!). I just find it funny how watching my son with this “maturity” struggle triggered memories of a similar time in my life.

Hmm… I’m betting if my parents had known what was going on with Barbie and friends in our house, the decision to stop playing with the dolls wouldn’t have been mine. Here’s hoping the Lego play is a little more innocent.


TP for my bunghole

Our house got wrapped Friday night. I know, jealous much? You know having your house wrapped is a sign of popularity. Or a sign of being a total loser, but even then, someone spent good money (do you realize how expensive toilet paper is these days??) and you’ve been in someone’s scheming mind, so either way, having your house TP’d is a win-win all the way around. And besides, I’m pretty sure if the wrapping job was due to “loserdome,” eggs and dog poo would have been included in the hijinx. Not that I speak from experience from back in my high school days or anything. Huh hum.

We are unsure of the culprits at this time; however, it’s hard to keep a good toilet papering under wraps (I know, my wordplay is awesome here), so we’re pretty sure someone will eventually be singing like a canary.

Funny thing is, we were still awake when the prank occurred. The dog was a little barky around 10ish but it’s not unheard of, her woofing around for nothing, so we just blew it off. We didn’t think to go look out front. We’re guessing the pranksters got spooked by the barking because there was quite a bit of leftover toilet paper still on the rolls. I think I counted seven (!) rolls with a decent amount left on them.

The TPing of our house came at a perfect time actually. We were running quite low on toilet paper in the house come Saturday morning, so we had my oldest gather up all the paper and voila! we have toilet paper to last us at least the rest of the weekend. Sweet! I told you it was a win-win.

The aftermath
The aftermath


The unmannered

As my boys get a little older with each passing year, I guess I’ve automatically assumed they will help their poor mom out when: A) there is something heavy to carry; and B) when I could use someone to hold the door open for me. I suppose I’ve come to expect a helping hand from the male species, and since my boys are now of able size, I expect them to offer their assistance.

Oh what a funny world in which we live. I come home with a car full of groceries to unload, and of course this is the moment when one or both of the kids will disappear, unfound until they feel it’s safe to come out and forage for whatever snacks their mom just scored at the store.

And I especially like to go to the mall with them. They’re great at holding the door open, yeah, for themselves. Then I find the door almost shut on my face. We went to dinner the other night and Gerald went into the restaurant first, the boys trailing behind him, and I was bringing up the rear. Again, mom is left to grab the closing door.

The bad manners don’t stop there, unfortunately. You should hear my boys when they’re talking on the phone. I know, who actually TALKS on a phone anymore? Well, for sure my boys don’t since they don’t seem to know what to do when there’s an actual (live!) voice on the other end of the line. To make matters worse, we still have a LANDLINE! I know, who actually has a LANDLINE anymore?

Son: Hello. <Translation: What do you want!?? I’m very busy doing nothing and your call is distracting!>

Caller: Can I talk to your dad? <Note no one ever calls me to chat anymore, except for my mom of course, her calls are required>

Son: Umm…. <Translation: Oh no! What do I do? What did the caller just ask me? What am I supposed to be doing? I wasn’t paying attention!>

Caller: Is your dad around?

Son: Uhhh…. <Translation: Oh wait, I think they said something about Dad. I’ll go get Dad, he’ll know what to do.>

Son: Yeah. <Son hands phone to Gerald.>

But my absolute favorite has got to be when I instruct my boys to load/unload the dishwasher. You know, after I’ve been in the kitchen for hours, I feel I shouldn’t have to mess with the dishwasher. But Oh. My. God. You would think I told them to walk across hot coals or something else totally absurd. My oldest does cross country and track, and oh my, would his coaches be impressed at how fast that boy can run when I request dishwasher assistance. I’m convinced the coaches should threaten the kids with dishwasher duty. The school would for sure come in first place every time at the meets.

Hello? I'm not going to just load/unload myself
Hello? I’m not going to just load/unload myself


It’s goodbye summer (again)

Things have been HECTIC in my house the last couple weeks. We are in full “get ready for back-to-school” mode, and I’m hating it. I thought it would be an appropriate time to republish my goodbye ode to summer post from last year, originally published August 21, 2014.

My kids are back to school in a mere number of days and… I’m not ready!  Over the years, when I’ve been asked to answer one of those get-to-know-you surveys, I never really had a particular favored season (the old “What is your favorite time of year?” question).  I always figured it should be Christmas, because of the meaning of the season and time spent with family, but after my children started school, and I’m talking after they got past the cute kindergarten and 1st grade years, with like maybe five minutes of homework tops, I have realized my favorite time of year is definitely summer.

Ah summer, the carefree days of summer.  Light traffic, longer days, bike rides, swimming, watermelon, yummy berries, microwaved hot-dogs (who wants to stand near that hot grill??), no homework<–this one is huge.  Kids can stay up later, we have many no-stress days.  And every year since summertime has become my ultimate favorite, it goes by so fast.  One minute I’m packing for a family trip, only to shop for back-to-school the next.

So a goodbye ode to summer is in order —

Goodbye, summer
You’ve been great
You allow the boys to stay up real late

Goodbye, summer
Our time went so fast
The memories made are now memories past

Goodbye, summer
Hot and humid though you may be
You’re a true blessing to my family and me

Goodbye, summer
Same time next year?
We look forward to it with much cheer

A poet, I am not (buy hey, at least it rhymes!).

Happy back to school, dear friends! Have a blessed school year!


The most beautiful girl in the world

The funniest thing – my blog posts don’t write themselves. Hmph. I mean, you would think with all the technological advances out there in the world today, I could just feed my random deep thoughts into some super duper writings generator. I’ll call it my SDWG. Every lazy and/or unmotivated writer will want one! Well since my SDWG is still stuck in my fantasy world, guess I’ll have to just write this post myself. Lame.

Some days I feel good. It all pulls together. I feel like I look good, and then, I work it, baby! I believe if you feel good, this exudes into your outer beauty as well. There are some days when I have the uglies, but that’s another post (and hopefully I’ll have my SDWG by then).

Like the time when I was still in my twenties (sigh) working at one of the local newspapers when a (cute!) ladder located maintenance guy about broke his neck to watch me walk down the hall. I heard his older protege playfully reprimand him. Oh yeah, I looked good.

And then there was the time at the dry cleaners when a guy out of nowhere complimented my hair, and asked about my headband (it was true 90’s stylin, I’m sure of it). He wasn’t gay, I don’t think anyway. I think he was looking for a conversation starter, any conversation starter. I gotta admit, my hair was really rockin’ that day. Oh yeah, I looked good.

That time in high school when this idiot Shane was standing outside the classroom and winking at me and blowing kisses. At first, I had no idea this was directed at me. I mean, what in the hell??? But then I realized it was at me and I just wanted to sink into my seat and disappear. I’m sure I looked smokin’ that day, probably in my super duper shoulder padded sweater dress (SDSPSD) or some other similar 80’s style whatnot. Oh yeah, I looked good.

The time at a College Station night club when I had some guy attach to me like a puppy. I danced (and I use the term “danced” loosely here as my form of dance mimics Elaine’s moves on Seinfeld) with him once and then he wouldn’t leave our table. He sat there staring at me like I was the most beautiful girl in the world. I suppose I should have been flattered, but I was more creeped out than anything. And I’m pretty sure the guy was on X or something. It’s not so great to get all that attention from someone on drugs when they’d just assume attach themselves to whatever happens to walk by. Guess I shouldn’t complain though. I had my bffs do my hair that night. So, oh yeah, I looked good.

Funny how such attention garnering experiences are fewer and far between now that I’m in my <gulp> forties. I’m positive the decrease has something to do with my getting older. But it may also have something to do with me not really giving a flip anymore if my hair and makeup aren’t perfect; my clothes and shoe selections have become more about comfort than appearance; and I’ve slacked off on my exercise. Don’t get me wrong, I still care about my appearance, for the most part, and I still try to look my best, for the most part. But am I out to grab the attention of the opposite sex? No. Well, most of the time, no. Sometimes, yes. Maybe. I think as you do age, as you do (hopefully?) mature, you’re no longer looking for that kind of attention.

Gerald provides me all the attention I need (most of the time). Back when Gerald and I used to ride to work together, work in the same office together, eat lunch together, drive home together, sleep together, etc, I told Gerald he was required, every day, to tell me I looked like a princess. I admit to having to give a few nudges on most some mornings. A little cough, a little knowing look would usually do the trick. I needed wanted that affirmation. Now… I’m not looking for it as much. Although I’m still known to give Gerald a little nudge.


The downward tumble

There’s an elderly couple who live next door to us. They moved in a few years ago. The husband is in some stage of Alzheimer’s and it can be so heart wrenching to watch what I’m positive used to be a strong and healthy husband and father, struggle to walk and talk. He used to at least make it to the mailboxes down the street using a cane. Then it became one of those scooter things. Then I’ve noticed he hasn’t been getting the mail at all anymore. Not sure if it’s because he is no longer physically able to walk or scooter that far, or if maybe his family is concerned that he goes to get the mail but then ends up in some other state because he got confused, forgot where he lived, forgot everything.

It was a while back but his grown son came over and was doing some serious landscaping work in the front yard. I believe the plan was to completely remove the two tall narrow trees that framed the doorway, stumps and all. The old man was in and out of the house, I’m positive he was overseeing the project. Towards the end, when all was left but cleanup of a few stray branches and such, the sky let loose. It was a hard Texas rainfall. However, this rain didn’t stop the cleanup effort going on next door. I noticed my neighbor was working right alongside his son. The old man had one of those sturdy outdoor brooms and was pushing at debris and water in the street. It was at this moment when I felt I got a glimpse of our elderly neighbor in his younger days. He had strength I hadn’t noticed before, and he walked tall and with confidence. Having the broom there for support probably didn’t hurt, but I could just picture him outside when his son was still a child, working on house projects together. Dad leading the way, showing his son how things were done.

The other evening, Gerald and I were relaxing in the pool and I shared with him my thoughts. When we were first married, we had the whole world in front of us, we had all the time to be this married couple, to grow a family. We were still on the “upswing” of our lives, the uphill part of the curve. The boys came along, and we still felt so young and vibrant and couldn’t wait to watch them grow. Well, the boys are definitely busy growing up. In fact, they won’t stop. Our oldest has already surpassed the height of yours truly, which is a really easy feat by the way, and he is tied with Gerald.

While seeing our boys grow and mature is a true blessing, it has come with mixed feelings for me. I’m starting to feel my track is on the downward slope. I’ve come to realize that Gerald and I really don’t have our whole lives ahead of us anymore. We have more like half our lives ahead. And this is, of course, assuming something else besides old age doesn’t get to us first.

What a weird day when seventy no longer looks old to me, and I find AARP magazine articles riveting. Seventy is sure to come in a heartbeat. And hell yeah I want to read financial tips and what Steve Martin has been up to! Strange to realize I’m looking down the other side of life’s hill.

Back to our elderly neighbors – I believe what gets me the most is that being that old has become palpable. It’s real. When you’re young, it’s hard to imagine ever becoming the old feeble couple from next door. It’s likely the farthest thing from your mind. But you get older, your children get older, those around you get older, you can see it. I can see Gerald and me being the old couple, while we, and the younger ones around us, recall or imagine our strength, our vitality, we possessed once upon a time in our youthful days, the days before the top of the curve.

(Not a boob)
(Not a boob)


Not another graphic blog post

My last post set Crankoutloud stat records. I’m pretty sure I can attribute this attention to the word “boob” being in the title. Apparently, boobs sell. I figured I’d keep this gravy train rolling. I figured I’d tell some more stories about skanky bartenders, apparently Gerald has quite a stash (of stories, not bartenders), and throw in some more body part words, and maybe the word “sex” “naked,” or “porn.”

But then I realized I missed the observation of an important anniversary. August 3rd marked my one year blogiversary! I know, I’m excited too! Yep, we’ve come a long way, me and you, dear reader. I started off not knowing what the hell I was doing, and now, look at my site a whole year later. The progress is staggering. The beautiful default WordPress settings, the same consistent font, post after post, the same Facebook profile picture. You can depend on me, dear reader, no crazy aesthetic changes for this site!

I went back to take a look at a to-do list I included in my third post. Looks like I can check most of the items off. But now I’m in desperate need of a new blog “to do” list.

Let’s see…

  • Figure out why I am still unable to see ALL the search strings that hit my site. Stupid Google Analytics. Something about SSL and security and privacy and blah blah blah. I say hogwash. There are plenty of other bloggers who see all the funny and sometimes grotesquely perverted search strings. I mean, can you imagine the search hits on my last “boob” post? Come on! I’m dying to know what words landed the Hong Kong and Philippine guys on my site!
  • Take a more professional looking picture for my site instead of using the same FB pic from three years ago. But… but… it’s such a good picture and I rarely take such a good picture! I’m usually unhappy about my hair, or my eyelids are sure to close mid-snap and I end up looking like I should be hosting some smoke & toke site instead. Hey man…
  • Figure out how to submit posts to the big sites. I’m talkin’ Scary Mommy, Blunt Moms, and hell yeah, I’m talkin’ Huffington Post, baby! Hmm… but then I I have to actually write something first to submit for consideration. One of these days, one of these days…
  • Figure out how to add a little advertising to my site, and I mean a little. Maybe a banner or two. Then I could watch the cents roll in. Cha-ching.

So anyway, Happy Blogiversary to Crankoutloud! I’m sure there are years and years more of exciting posts just waiting to be written by yours truly.

I know, I don't know why I'm not hit up for my Paint abilities either!
I know, I don’t know why I’m not hit up for my Paint abilities either!


A side boob distraction

Several years ago, Gerald and several (guy) co-workers attended an after work happy hour at a bar near their office. One of the female bartenders was showing the guys bikini shots (of her) on her phone. Heaven only knows what led to this special “viewing,” but it was noticed in the pictures that she had a large tattoo that went all the way up her side (on the top). The guys asked the bartender what the tattoo was (picture/symbol of ??) since it couldn’t clearly be seen on the phone (I guess not even z@@ming in did the trick). She pulled the side of her shirt up right there in the bar so they could get a good look (at the tattoo?). Gerald said she told them what the ink was a picture/symbol of, but the guys were so distracted by the woman’s flash of side boob, they didn’t actually catch what she had said. Gerald said she wasn’t even wearing a bra so as soon as the shirt went up and a little side boob was exposed, well, all bets were off. The gawking males probably couldn’t even remember their names.

Me: So you got side boob distracted, huh?

Gerald: Yeah.

I suppose a side boob exposure could be distracting to anyone. So I started wondering, what are my side boob distractions?

Let’s see, you got electronics. Yeah, electronics are definitely a big distraction for me. My phone, my Kindle, gotta have them near me at all times. I gotta check my blog stats and I like being able to surf the internet at the drop of a dime. But it’s come at a cost at times. Gerald or the kids may be trying to talk to me, and I find myself drawn to whatever device, and not paying attention to what’s going on around me. I can tell when I’ve annoyed them or hurt some feelings because of the perception of my choice between electronic vs. human.

Pretty sure my obsession over trying to keep our house picked up and looking presentable could be considered a distraction to me as well. My recent decluttering quest has been intense. I’ve spent entire weekends engrossed in getting rid of so much crap. And I’ll be working on one area of the house, only to be distracted by a mess in a different area, and the next thing you know, I’m all over the place. I am hoping though that my house management distraction will soon lessen as I get closer to my goal of a totally clutter-free house. We shall see… Hmm…

My youngest just came in here and is trying to talk to me as I’m typing up this post. I wonder what he is saying. Oh, so that reminds me – my KIDS can be a distraction. There are so many times when I try to carry on a conversation with my boys. I ask how their day went and I try to get the scoop on what’s going on with their friends or whatever, and it’s like I hit a brick wall. They answer in short little fine/okay/yeah quips. But I stumbled upon the key to having them open up and start a dialog with me. All I have to do is try to engage in something that doesn’t involve them. It works like a charm. Like the example I just gave of my youngest popping in while I’m in the middle of writing a post. Then there’s anytime I’m attempting to get into the latest novel in my hands / on my Kindle. I wonder if there’s a name for this phenomena. But usually I forget to use this as a tactic and am really wanting to get something done and then I will for sure get distracted by the latest household drama.

So there you have it, some of my biggest distractions in a nutshell. So let’s look deep into what I’ve learned from such reflection. Let’s examine how… Oh look, side boob!

A really badly drawn side boob picture. You didn't think I'd actually include a real side boob pic, did you? Just do a google search.
A really badly drawn side boob pic


A TBT / flashback Friday kind of post

Well, kiddies, since my internet connection is acting all wonky like and I’m in a totally lazy kind of mood, I thought I’d post a previous post. It’s pretty ingenious of me, I know.

I liked this post, and I’m pretty sure 99.9% of you have not read it yet. And if you have, it’s such an awesome repeat, I just KNOW you’ll love reading it again. See? It’s a win-win for everyone!

FIRST STEP — originally posted October 23, 2014


Gerald often times goes around the house singing bits of his favorite songs or songs that have gotten stuck in his head.  For some reason, Eddie Rabbitt’s “Step by Step” was on the rotation for the day and I heard Gerald sing some of it wrong, and I’m talking specifically about the lyrics, we won’t go into actual singing capabilities/talent/ability.  Huh hum… So anyway, I pointed out Gerald’s faux pas to him, like I like to do, and he said I was the one who was wrong!  Excusee?  Oh, it’s on!  To the internet we go!

The particular line is “…take that first step, ask her out and treat her like a lady…”  Gerald was insistent it goes, “…take that first step, take her out and treat her like a lady…” (he was replacing “ask” with “take”).  Gerald was so insistent, in fact, he had his bare behind out and ready for me to kiss, just knowing I was wrong.  Oh, such joy to be right yet again!  And he sure was quick to move his backside out of the line of fire.

Gerald says the lyrics don’t make sense, it makes more sense that the guy takes her out and then treats her like a lady.  I say the whole “take her out” is implied, because he has to ask her out first before he can actually take her out.  Gerald says if she says “No,” then the guy wouldn’t have to bother treating her like a lady so you can’t miss that step of taking her out first.

Well, whether or not either of our arguments hold, I was right about the actual lyrics and that’s all that matters.  This isn’t our first go-round with disagreements over lyrics and I can guarantee it won’t be our last.

Now, here are some other song lyrics that have been butchered by either Gerald or me.  See if y’all can guess the song and who got it wrong.  I can admit I’ve been wrong on like one or two occasions.  And I nitpick!  I figure if you’re gonna sing the song out loud, you should at least do so within any copyright boundaries or whatever that’s called.

  • Come down from your fences, oh but then again…
  • Tin roof!  Rusty!
  • I got a calico cat and a tin roof flat…
  • This coat and tie is choking me, In your high society, you play all day
  • No I don’t know the name of the band but they’re good, pardon me, would you like to dance…
  • I can feel it calling in the air tonight, hold on…
  • I try to say goodbye but I choke, I try to walk away but I stumble


A (sometimes) cranky blog