It is about 4:00 AM. I just fed Bentley, and find myself restless. My thoughts are too loud. What's on your mind you ask? Well, nobody asked, but I am going to share it anyhow. Yesterday I overheard someone make this comment: "I could care less." For some reason I cannot stop thinking about what she meant by that sentence. She was speaking about a topic that she no longer wanted to give any thought. She was tired of dealing with it and wanted it known that she was done and COULDN'T care less. I wanted to lean over to her and say, "you mean, you couldn't care less, right? Saying that she could care less does in fact mean that she could going on caring about the subject more than she did right at that moment. For some reason I seem to notice when people use the word 'could' instead of 'couldn't' in that phrase. I always have to restrain myself from correcting them. Why? Why do I care? I know what was meant by the phrase. Get over it and GO TO SLEEP!
Hunter went on his first deer hunt.
My brother's girlfriend had a baby girl. He always has beautiful dark haired babies.
Remi also discovered that he loves the margarine. I know that this picture looks strangely familiar. I haven't learned my lesson of not leaving him unattended.
Our family photo
Okay folks, it is all over. The end of the world is near. I made waffles from scratch this morning and my children have officially become obsessed with Johnny Cash. Hunter walks around saying, "Hello, I"m Johnny Cash." "My name is Sue, how do you do? Now your gonna die!" Does anyone think this could potentially be a problem?This is hilarious. I have always wanted to do
something like this.
When you occasionally have a really bad day, and you
just need to take it out on someone, don't take it out
on someone you know, take it out on someone you don't
know.
I was sitting at my desk when I remembered a phone
call I'd forgotten to make. I found the number and
dialed it. A man answered saying, "Hello." I
politely said, "This is Chris. Could I please speak
with Robyn Carter?" Suddenly a manic voice yelled out
in my ear, "Get the right stupid number!" and the
phone was slammed down on me. I couldn't believe that
anyone could be so rude. When I tracked down Robyn's
correct number to call her. I found that I had
accidentally transposed that last two digits.
After hanging up with her, I decided the call the
'wrong' number again. When the same guy answered the
phone, I yelled, "You're an asshole!" and hung up. I
wrote his number down with the word asshole next to
it, and put it in my desk drawer.
Every couple of weeks, when I was paying bills or had
a really bad day, I'd call him up and yell, "You're an
asshole!"
It always cheered me up.
When Caller ID was introduced, I thought my
therapeutic "asshole calling" would have to stop. So,
I called his number and said, "Hi, this is John Smith
from Verizon, I'm calling to see if you're familiar
with our Caller ID Program?" He yelled "NO!" and
slammed down the phone. I quickly called him back and
said, "That's because you're an asshole!"
One day I was at the store, getting ready to pull into
a parking spot. Some guy in a black BMW cut me off
and pulled in to the spot I had patiently waited for.
I hit the horn and yelled that I'd been waiting for
that spot, but the asshole ignored me. I noticed a "For
Sale" sign in his back window which included his phone
number, so I wrote down the number.
A couple of days later right after calling the first
asshole (I had is number on speed dial) I thought that
I'd better call the BMW idiot, too. I said, "Is
this the man with the black BMW for sale?"
"Yes, it is," he said.
"Can you tell me where I can see it?" I asked.
"Yes, I live at 34 Mowbray, Blvd. in Vaucluse. It's a
yellow house, and the car's parked right out front."
"What's your name?" I asked.
"My name is Don Hansen," he said.
"When is a good time to catch you, Don?"
"I'm home every evening after five."
"Listen, Don, can I tell you something?"
"Yes?"
"Don, you're and asshole!" Then I hung up, and added
his number to my speed dial, too. Now, when I had a
problem I had two assholes to call.
Then I came up with an idea. I called Asshole #1
"Hello. You're and asshole!" (But, I didn't hang up.)
"Are you still there?" he asked.
"Yeah," I said.
"Stop calling me," he screamed.
"Make me," I said.
"Who are you? " He asked.
"My name is Don Hansen."
"Where do you live?"
"Idiot, I live at 34 Mowbray Blvd, Vaucluse in a
yellow house. My black beamer is parked in front."
He said, "I'm coming over right now, Don. And you had
better start saying your prayers."
I said, "Yeah, like I'm really scared, asshole." and
hung up.
Then I called Asshole #2.
"Hello?" he asked.
"Hello asshole," I said.
He yelled, "If I ever find out who you are...."
"You'll what?" I asked.
"I'll kick your butt," he exclaimed.
I answered, "Well asshole, here's your chance. I'm
coming over right now." Then I hung up and
immediately called the police saying that I lived at
34 Mowbray Blvd, Vaucluse, and that I was on my way
over there to kill my gay lover.
Then I called Channel 9 News about the gang war going
down in Mowbray Blvd, Vaucluse.
I quickly got into my car and headed over to Mowbray.
I got there just in time to watch two assholes beating
the crap out of each other in from of six cop cars, an
overhead police helicopter and a news crew.
NOW I feel much better.
Anger management really works.....
Well, I finally have internet! I have been having some serious withdrawals. In fact, I have had a cold for about a week. That is a long time for me. I am certain that my body is punishing me.
Well it is official. Stephen's last day to be employed with Wal-Mart Stores Inc. will be August 25th, 2006. I am so excited! Stephen got offered a job with Provo College today. We will be leaving at the end of the month. Can I get a hell ya?
Since I first met my husband, he as been pumping me full of useless information. Little known facts that will get a person no where. It is kind of a weird thing he does, but none the less it continues through the years. I want to share some of that randomness today.
Women are an interesting phenomena. Last night I observed two adult women screaming over a controversial call the umpire made at our softball game last night. Yeah, yeah, yeah, laugh if you will, yes I do play softball. This is not my point. I know both of the women quite well, both are nice, self-reserved women. Why is it that competition brings out the inner bitch in some woman that hasn't previously been seen?
Right now I am sitting here listening to Remi cry himself to sleep. I have tried so hard this year to keep him on a good schedule like good moms do yada yada yada. He takes a nap every day at 11 AM. It is so nice, except on Sundays. Our church starts at 11 AM. Bad time, no question. Most of the kids there are not happy. I never notice because I can't hear them over Remi's screams of frustration. Today is Father's Day. Everyone at church is trying to have a nice day and we bring Remi, what a joke!
