Thursday, December 22, 2011

Look! Samples!

Yesterday I found myself battling grocery store crowds.  The aisles were jammed full of shoppers...half of which would park their grocery cart in the middle of the aisle so they could eat samples.

The grocery store equivalent of double parking.  I can't maneuver around because these morons are just dying to know what pound cake tastes like.  Or cheese.  Or a new deli meat...something commonplace.

You want to know what I think of samples?  I find them repulsive, that's what.  The idea that anyone would place their mitt inside a plastic dome to sample from a mound of whatever.

I think of where all those hands have been prior to reaching in.  Toilets.  Noses.  Restroom door handles.  And then that same hand reaches in and fondles three samples before deciding on the perfect bite.

Because I'm stuck behind these people I can't help but notice what most look like from behind.  I've found that most have deflated looking asses with pants hanging like draperies.  Usually thinning hair, gray.  Lots are in the late stage of menopause where they walk like Yoda all hunched over and crap.

Have you really observed these people?  I mean, they're pretty non animated during sample time.  Kind of just stand there as though they're some goddamn sommelier trying to pick up fruity notes or something as they chew on beef salami.  Or as though tasting a piece of Hormel pepperoni takes them back to Florence, Italy.  Hypnotized...Oblivious to my glare as my cart is parked 3" from their ass.

And what exactly is their takeaway from the sample experience?  Do they talk about it on the ride home?  "Jesus Mildred!  Did you try that piece of Sara Lee Eclair?  You'd never know it was frozen!"

Oh, and check out the so-called samples in my picture above...Since when is a 6" sub a sample? Christ!

Maybe I'm just in a huff today...

See ya...

Tuesday, December 20, 2011

The Year I Really Stressed Out on Christmas Eve...

I was in 3rd grade.  There was this new doll out called Baby Holly Hobbie.  She looked nothing like the cloth Holly Hobbie I was used to.  She was what I'd now call the Mack Daddy of Holly Hobbie dolls.

I prayed to Santa for it.  Swore I'd never punch my brother between the shoulder blades.  Promised I'd never again fight my sister over the Apple Jack cereal prize.  I apologized for snacking on Communion wafers this one time in when my brother and I found some in the church kitchen. I even volunteered to pick up dog poo because I wanted it so badly.

I busted my little ass to get on Santa's good side.  She HAD to show up under my tree or I'd be ruined.

Then my mom springs some news on me.  We were driving to Ohio to visit relatives that year...We'd stay at my grandmother's Christmas Eve.

My first thought was, "That's nice Mom, but how is Santa going to find me so he can drop off Holly?"
I had no choice.  Had I been more versed in the adult way of saying things I probably would have said, "You outta your gourd ma?  How in the shit is that fat ass gonna deliver my goods?  I've been busting my ass and Trina's gotta get paid homes!"

Fast forward to Christmas Eve and I'm in Ohio.  I'm thinking Santa is going to arrive at my house in Colorado and say, "I spent all this time making Trina this doll and the little brat couldn't be home for the delivery?  Forget her!  I'll give it to Cheri Mahan (my neighbor)!  She has a better bedroom for it anyway."

I prayed one last time to Santa and let him know I indeed was NOT in Colorado.  To please please pretty please come find me in Ohio.  I barely slept...due to stress mostly.

Imagine my surprise when Santa came through for me that year.  I got my baby Holly Hobbie.  I was so excited about it I slid on my grandmother's hardwood floors in my socks and got a piece of wood not much smaller than a pencil stuck in my heel.  But that's another story for another time.

Outta here!!!

Thursday, December 15, 2011

Crappy Wedding Pictures...Total Crap.

Maybe it's this time of year and I can mentally hear "Oh my god, (insert man name here)!  Yes I'll marry you!" as women get their new engagement ring for Christmas.

So ladies, congratulations and crap.  Enjoy your moment.  For what it's worth, here are some of my thoughts on wedding photography.  Namely, pictures I really fucking hate.  I mean, just don't do these poses:

I look at this and think, "Morgue".  Why would you want to stare at your bloated mitt?  Case closed.

Nice cans girlfriend!

Why would any woman do this pose?  Is he guiding her hand to his nad-ular region or something?  GET A ROOM!

Sorry but I never want a shot of the underside of my pits.  I mean, really.  Ew.

Somebody get me a valium and a spit up bucket...This is just repulsive.  Something tells me they had a Hello Kitty themed wedding...because of the 'cute' factor.  Not because they're Japanese...

Thanks for showing us the back of some old guy's head.  He'll love knowing he had male pattern baldness for her big day.  I'm assuming this dude's her dad and not her husband...or the caterer.  Or the DJ because she's three sheets...

Pictures that rock!

Class AND Sass!  Way to go statistically-likely-to-divorce couple!!!

And I've saved the best for last....Totally dig that guy in the lower left corner.  Not that I needed to point him out...Classic!

Outta here.....

Wednesday, December 7, 2011

Here's a fun Christmas tradition!

Maybe I'm jumping the gun a bit by even writing about taking down my tree when I haven't even scoured a tree lot yet this season....

I just can't help but remember how my dad used to dispose of our family Christmas trees.

After carefully removing all our ornaments and lights, he'd stroll into our family room with a tooth saw and start hacking away at the branches.  One by one he'd stack the dried kindling in a pile.  Then he'd go to work on the Christmas tree trunk.  Usually sawed it into 5 little logs...

Then he'd build a small fire in our fireplace....He'd sit on the hearth and patiently wait for the fire to really get roaring...Cozy.  Almost sentimental...

All of us kids sat in wonderment...Taking this entire post-Christmas ritual in...Maybe we'd learn a new tradition we could, in turn, share with our own children...A nice way to close out the holiday season...

That is until we realized why Dad built the fire.  One by one he'd pick up the dried Christmas tree branches, dried pine needles and all, and throw them into the fire.  A giant "WHOOOSH!" sound followed by searing heat and intense light would fill the room.

Our eyes formerly filled with wonderment now wide with terror...

The scariest part was those pine needles...They'd catch fire and fly around like tiny firey embers.  One year my sister's security blanket even caught fire.  True.  Or maybe Dad used it to put out a side fire from the main bonfire...can't remember.

Regardless, the only thing I learned from watching Dad burn our Christmas tree was that I would be dragging my dead tree to the curb January 2nd...

Good god that was terrifying...

See ya...

Tuesday, December 6, 2011

My Christmas Sweater...

You know those Christmas sweaters...the super tacky ones.  Maybe a wintery scene with a Snowman and his 'family'.  Or a red one with cascading embroidered presents and snowflakes.

I was thinking I'd like a Christmas sweater.  In fact, I might even be inclined to wear one on the condition I get to design it myself.

Let's start with the overall design.  I think the cardigans tend to be a bit slutty with their open front.  So I'd like mine in a bulky baggy turtleneck style.  Will show fellow holiday revelers that I may enjoy Christmas but that I'm not a whore.  Kinda says, "Hey pal, this ain't no traditional Christmas cardi...I know I look hot...back the eff off."

Around the neck I think I want those big ass lightbulbs from the 70's....but in an embroidered replica. But they'd have to kinda hang off the bottom of the folded down turtle neck part.  Underneath would be concealed wiring so the tiny LED's installed in each faux 'bulb' could light.  I'd do the traditional green and red lighting for that part.

Let's move on.

In keeping with the Christmas lightbulb theme I'd have a giant embroidered LED lit Christmas tree on the front.  Under a plastic snow globe...Yeah baby...It'll be "Dry Clean Only" but imagine the kid's faces when they see Aunt Trina's chest snowing.  Priceless, don't you think?

Oh, an additional detail...since carrying the approximately 2 cups of liquid in the snow globe would weigh down the front, (that would look just ridiculous) I'd install a tube not unlike a blood pressure do hicky that would feed into the interior of the sweater and down my right sleeve.  Pump the bulb to create a blast of air that would in turn blow the white confetti around the tree.  Sweet...

The back of the sweater I'd keep pretty simple because as much as I'd like a snow globe there, it would be nearly impossible to sit back in a chair.  So I think I'd just do more strands of Christmas light bulbs.  Like the ones around the collar.  Lit up...LED style.

I know what you're thinking, "Lots of wiring and gadgetry in this sweater Trina but sounds way festive!"

I knew you'd agree.

See ya...

Thursday, December 1, 2011

I was an asshole at Christmas..

Really.  I was.  An asshole...Want my siblings' phone numbers?  They'll tell you.

I fancied myself a Christmas choreographer.  Around October I'd begin making age appropriate musical selections for my brothers and sisters to sing to my parents on Christmas Eve.  After we performed them at church.  An hour earlier.  But that didn't matter now, did it?

Oh and you know that whole "Silent Night" spiel with the candles at the end of the Christmas Eve service?  I'd make my sibs bring their candles home.  Sure there was only 1/2" left to burn, but we just sang the Silent Night finale fast as shit...minus a few choruses and verses...watching in terror.  Helplessly singing "Sleep in heavenly peace" as the flame disappeared between our thumb and index finger.  Ouch...

Participation in my Christmas program wasn't optional either.  Ask my brothers and sisters.  The ones who still speak to me, that is.  They'll fill you in...

Outta here...

Thursday, November 17, 2011

I'm intrigued by this episode of Fantasy Island...

Do you guys remember this episode of Fantasy Island?  The Mermaid one?

Being the naive kid I was when I initially saw this episode, I was all, "Aw, sweet.  He's in love with the mermaid."

Now as a learned adult, I have some general observations as well as questions regarding this story.

First, I want to say I so know he saw some serious mermaid boobage right?  I mean, they were frolicking amongst the coral and all in the beginning.  Her hair had to have swished away from her chest, right?  And that embrace as they kissed?  Come on...Her nips had to have been as hard as diamonds from all that swimming.  I also noticed his cheeks were puffed as he held his breath under water.  Aren't you supposed to be able to breathe?  Kind of far as swimming with mermaid scenes go...

How did they get to that rock they were leaning against?  Did he drag her there?  I guess she isn't one of those "Develop a fin when my legs get wet" types.  Or maybe I'm confusing Daryl Hannah.  He seems pretty chivalrous so I'm going with the "Dragging the fish" theory...

And his breathless, "That was an incredible experience! Unbelievable!" Who describes a date as an "experience"?  He sounds as though he just test drove a sports car don't you think?

And I want to knock that phony "tortured mind" look off his cranium...I found myself thinking, "Dude!  She wants to put out!  Why so glum?  What's a little skin pruning?  Catch some tail!  Literally!  Go!!!"

She's a bit of a whorish mermaid too I think.  Did you see how she said, "When we become 'one', you will be a merman..." I didn't catch a wink after she said that...Would have been cute and flirty I think..Like, she wanted to keep him guessing whether she meant "after coitus".  I guess his swim trunks were too tight to remove for this jaunt, and maybe she's reminding him, "Hey if I'm swimming nude, so should you you freaking nincompoop..."

And that cheap kiss at the end.  She's a total tease.  If I were his friend, I'd just advise him to double check on the "Return Policy" so to speak.

I don't remember how this ends...Maybe I'll check out Part II....

Outta here!!!

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Tilt A Whirl

Ok, not a lot of time for a lengthy post today...but it popped into my head that I really loved the Tilt A Whirl.

Like, I thought I was a master at making it spin at maximum torque-isity.  Is that a word?  It is now.  It's the only way I can describe the physics behind this ride.

The key was shift your weight left or right...but wait!  You have to do it just as the Tilt Whirl chair thingy ascends or descends.

And if you got it just right?  You'd spin so quickly your passenger would look a bit dazed...maybe even a little green behind the gills so to speak.

I've never vomited on this ride either.  Those people should just retire to the Scrambler in my opinion.

Get out of my way and let me work this thing already...I'm a Tilt A Whirl aficionado.

See ya...

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

"Can I clarify her remarks?"

Yesterday I had to haul both of my young children to a doctor's appointment.  The office was especially busy and we wound up sitting for awhile in the exam room.  

After about 30 minutes of telling my kids "Don't touch that!  Yuck!" my 4 year old decided he needed to pee.  All three of us came out of the exam room and asked a receptionist where the restroom was.  She pointed to a door right across from where she sat.  

The bathroom was a single "Family" restroom.  As my son sat to do his business my daughter noticed an emergency pull cord.  She was extremely curious about it.  

"What's this mom?" she asked pointing to the red "PULL FOR HELP" cord.  "It's a thing you pull if you need help."  Naturally she wouldn't drop the subject and prodded further, "Well, what kind of help?  Why would you need help in the bathroom."  I said, "Because some people may not be feeling well and if they need help, they pull the cord and a nurse will come."  "Well, what will the nurse do?" she asked...

By this time I was getting annoyed and decided to close the discussion by telling her pulling the cord would cause fire sirens to go off, lights would start flashing, and a giant nurse would come tearing down the hall, kick down the bathroom door and run out with her over her shoulder...her bare butt showing to fellow patients in the waiting room. 

This of course prompted laughter from her.  Funny until I decided I needed to pee, that is.  

As I sat she proceeded to pretend she was pulling the "HELP" cord and yelled at the top of her lungs, "WE HAVE AN EMERGENCY HERE!  MOM HAS DIARRHEA AND LOTS OF GAS!  PLEASE HELP US GET OUT OF HERE!!!!"

I mean, so loud there was no way the receptionist didn't hear it.  And of course now we spent enough time in there waiting for my son to finish his business that it was quite plausible for people to believe I was the cause of the restroom hold up.  

Oh, and I couldn't find the receptionist to clarify what really went down.  You know, to kinda smile and say, "Kids and their 'poop' humor."  or "I just pee'd I don't have diarrhea and flatulence as you probably heard."  Or maybe I should have come out and announced, "Dang kid!  Took long enough didn't ya'?"

But then that sounds a little defensive right?

Outta here...

Monday, November 7, 2011

Herding Cats

So the other day I was pondering life and remembered when I saw this ad.  I thought it was hysterical..

Behold....and enjoy

Tuesday, October 25, 2011

Believe in Yourself!

I was cleaning this morning and came across this diary...And I stopped for a moment and really stared at it.  Took it all in..studied it closely.

So check it out...Look at the panda.  Do pandas have pupils that big?  I don't know.  I am glad they kept it real with the pink plastic bow.  I also like how the panda is kind of draped over the corner of the book so as to create the impression of "SURPRISE!  You really SHOULD believe in yourself!"

Maybe the panda is meant to inspire.  Aren't they from China?  I think one panda name I can recall is "Ling Ling"..or maybe "Chi Chong Walla Walla Ding Dong"..No, that may get a little long winded for the zoo keeper but admittedly fun to say.  I digress...

Anyway, maybe the writer in this diary will get dreamy eyed and think of Pandas delicately picking bamboo and eating it...Or a Panda getting all cute and clumsy as it does little somersaults in captivity.  These thoughts, in turn would inspire the writer to really get "pen to paper", so to speak.

Texture is key too.  With the exception of the plastic "Believe in Yourself!" lettering, the exterior is covered in soft fuzz.  Maybe unused carnival prizes are stripped down and used as the cover.  Perhaps picking up a regular hard bound book is too jarring to the mind vs. the fluffy exterior that conjures up creative thoughts.

I really am all for inspiring people to believe in themselves.  Still trying to figure out what Pandas have to do with it.  I'm going to keep thinking...

See ya...

Wednesday, October 19, 2011

My Bionic Woman Doll

I'm not gonna lie.  I was a huge fan of Barbies.  Even had a plastic wardrobe box to store my dolls and their clothing.  I had Skipper too...the pre-pubescent Barbie...for some reason the manufacturers felt Skipper was also too young for bendable legs too.  Never got that...

Anyway, one of my favorite shows to watch in the 70's was the Bionic Woman.  That "Da na-na-na-na-" sound when she ran or jumped.  So imagine my excitement when they came out with a Bionic Woman doll...sweet!

I think I got my Bionic Woman doll for my birthday...I don't remember exactly...But I do recall opening the packaging and pulling her out.  Immediately I pulled up her shirt sleeve so I could roll back the rubber "skin" that revealed the 'bionics' behind her strength.  She was extra flexible too.  I mean just not at the knees like Barbie...ankles, elbows, hands...the works...she was, in my young mind, the Cadillac of Barbies...

Except for one noticeable flaw...I had shit loads of Barbie clothes and Bionic Woman was huge.  Apparently the marketing geniuses at Bionic Woman Doll Inc. thought way ahead on how they'd upsell that broad...make her big.  Giant feet, giant body relative to Barbie.  Even bigger than Ken in case those moronic girls think they can substitute anything.

So my Bionic Woman had one change of clothing.  I remember she had these big ugly yellow espadrilles with a kinda pilgrimish dress.  Dumb.  I soon got bored of her and only used her in reserve to 'rescue' my Barbies as their Malibu Jeep plummeted into a canyon....

"Da na-na-na-na"....

See ya...

Tuesday, October 18, 2011

I flunked sex ed. Not kidding.

You read that right.  10th grade...Goddamn bitch of a gym teacher who taught "Human Sexuality" as it was called.

Initially I was happy about learning about sexual things related to males and females because it meant I got a 6 week reprieve from gym class.  Sit there and smirk to my friends as the teacher explained menstruation...ejaculation...Male penises...and (shhhh!) "vaginas"....

I pictured myself raising my hand as she used scientifically correct language to describe sex stuff...Maybe I'd ask questions like, "You mean a boner?" or "I don't know what menstruation is...perhaps you mean 'Riding the cotton pony'?"..."Would you say those breasts are A or B cup?  You know, if you were to hypothesize for scientific reasons."   Funny material like that.  The class would break into uproarious laughter as the teacher stood faced...

Anyway, imagine my surprise when the class was less about sexual genitalia and how it was used...and more about biology and crap.

I sat at my desk pissed off as she pulled out anatomical models of our pieces parts...then said we needed to remember how to label parts aside from the sexual parts.  Like, the bladder for instance.  Uh, what the fuck is that?  I thought it was supposed to be a sex class...not biology...

Added to the workload was a 3 ring binder we were to keep organized with all assignments, tests, and labeled diagrams.  Perhaps my teacher thought it would come in handy when we were ready for sex.  As though we'd 'cram' the night before we thought we'd get lucky with a date.  Sitting with my "Human Sexuality" binder...doing anatomical drills while pointing to the sex parts..."Goddamn it Trina!  You'll never get a date in college!  That's the gall bladder dumbass!"

Anyway, we were instructed to keep it organized to turn in at the end of the unit.  Which I did...Keep it organized...or so I thought.

I missed a couple days of class because I was violently ill.  Apparently forgot to include those makeup assignments in my notebook...and that dumb bitch gave me an "F"...I mean, it was just a part of my total "Physical Education" grade, but still...I was mortified.

"Trina flunked Sex Ed."  My mom called my relatives to share a good laugh.  Thank God word didn't get out to my social circle at school...

Actually kept it a secret until now...So there you go.

Outta here!

Friday, October 14, 2011

Did you hear that?!

My grandparents are pretty hysterical.  They've been married 65 years.  And for as loving as they are, they can both dish out the sass...

One day I was sitting in my grandparents' living room when my grandmother excused herself, got up from the couch and strolled over to the bathroom.  A minute later we heard a loud, "DAAAAD! DAD!!!!!" from my grandma as she hollered in a panicked tone from behind the bathroom door.  

Grandpa was visibly annoyed and yelled back, "What is it Dorothy?"  

Grandma:  "The toilet squeaks when I sit down!!!!"

Grandpa kinda broke into a smile, looks at me and yells back "I would too!..."

Needless to say he caught hell for that...but we had a pretty good laugh...

Enough said....

Outta here!

Wednesday, October 12, 2011

My best Halloween Costumes...(in my own mind)

This year I decided to make my kid's Halloween costumes. in...with a machine...a pattern.  The works.  Dinosaurs...Mac Daddy costumes...Seriously looking good.

Anyway, as I've worked on this project I of course begin reminiscing about costumes I've had as a kid.  And I can honestly say most were so fucking dumb I'm a little embarassed to talk about it.

But here we go...

Pumpkin - A giant pumpkin...went from my neck down to my calves.  As though having a giant pumpkin costume doubled my Halloween fun.  My mother gave the pumpkin extra volume by stuffing it with newspaper.  Looked nice as long as you didn't plan to walk door to door for trick or the rain...and wind.  I lost a ton of candy inventory that year because I couldn't run as fast as everyone else...all the while, wet newspapers falling out the bottom of the costume.

Included in the get up was the 'stem' part.  It looked kind of like a ski mask...but was made the fabric equivalent of Brillo pads.  Exfoliated the entire upper epidermis of my face and neck...Come to think of it, my face could use it now...

Pumpkin with cowboy hat -  Yeah, so I wasn't on board with the stem from the pumpkin costume as described above, so the next year I decided to omit the stem and leave the pumpkin unstuffed...then wore a brown plaid flannel shirt and a cowboy hat.  You've seen plenty of cowboy pumpkins, right?  I know, "Dumb. As. Dirt."

Witch with her Frog - This festive costume included a super scary rubber witch mask.   It could only be worn in 10 minute intervals before you gagged on your pulmonary exhaust that began coagulating in the non breathable interior.

Somehow I thought my brother's Kermit the Frog with its velcro hands and feet would make the perfect accessory.  He rode on my shoulders...arms and legs velcro'd around my neck.  What the fuck, right?  Yeah....

Black Cat - I think I may have looked hotter than shit in this costume.  I made my sister wear the pumpkin costume that year.  I felt like a sleek glamorous starlet trick-or-treating with Willy Wonka's Oompa Loompa.  I'll always appreciate my sister for helping me stand out that year...

Cheerleader (7th grade) - Ohio State Cheerleading outfit.  First time I was asked to slow dance by a that was cool...or something...

I'm sure there are more costumes I could think of, but those are the ones I remember the most....

See ya...

Thursday, October 6, 2011

"You're IS hot in here!"

I shared a room with my younger sister.  She was seven years old...Because I considered her an invader of MY personal space, I often relished torturing her.

One summer night in Colorado, we were getting ready for bed when I remembered to bring an extra pair of underwear under the covers with me.  I know...sounds weird, but bear with me gets better I promise...

I snuggled in my bed as I watched and waited for her to climb into hers.  As she got herself settled under the covers I casually said, "Man, it's really hot in here!  Think I'll sleep naked tonight."  I saw her turn over in her bed and face me...then she asked, "Are you really going to sleep naked, Trina?"

"Yeah, why not?  I'm burning up!"  I replied...she then said what I had anticipated, "I don't believe you.  Show me your underwear and throw them on the floor."

See?  Am I a genius or what?  Bringing the extra underwear to bed?  Get it?  Good...Let me finish the story here...


So I acted as though I was stripping beneath the covers, pulled the blankets up to my neck and proceeded to stick my arm from the side of the covers.  On the tip of my index finger dangled the extra pair of underwear....bait if you will...and did she ever bite.

She almost sounded relieved as she started stripping and said, "Whew!  Man it is hot!  I've never slept naked before!"

Then we went to sleep.  What she didn't know was I had hired my brother...a "hit man" so to speak to come into our bedroom first thing...paid him with part of my Easter candy stash...

The following morning, he walked into our bedroom, made his way to my sister's bed and we both watched her sleeping soundly under her covers.  I gave the signal, and a split second later, my brother tore off her covers.

She woke up startled and naked...screaming...scrambling for clothing that wasn't there...As my brother and I stood there laughing...clothed.

Man, that was kind of mean...funny as hell though...

See ya.

Tuesday, October 4, 2011

"So you're not good at that, huh?"

So a few years ago I was on a house hunting tour of Boston with a husband/wife realtor team.  The wife was especially prim and proper...almost prudish in her demeanor.  Kind of uptight...maybe she went to church a lot...I dunno.

Anyway, after touring a bunch of towns, she and her husband were kind enough to treat me to an impromptu lunch they brought in a cooler in the back of their SUV.

It was an impressive spread actually...Grapes, good bread, cold cuts, cheese...and homemade brownies.  Light snacky stuff to tide us over until dinner...

The wife had artfully fanned a bunch of sliced cheddar cheese on a board.  As I reached for a slice of cheese and a cracker she remarked, "Have you seen this?" as she held up a package of Cracker Barrel extra sharp, pre-sliced cheddar cheese...I actually had not and asked where she found it...

She replied excitedly, with her husband standing next to her, "Just at the grocery!  I love that it's pre-sliced for crackers because I'm really terrible at cutting cheese."

(***vinyl record scratch as awkward silence hits us as all of us realize what she just said**)

I felt the corners of my mouth nearly spasm from trying to keep myself from smiling...amused at this prima donna's little fart faux pas statement.  I needed to laugh.  I couldn't control it.

So I pointed to a random robin...maybe it was a crow...some kind of bird...pointed and laughed as it stood still in the street.  As though this bird thinking about the next place it was going to shit was the funniest most animated creature nature had bestowed on the street that day...

I'm sure the husband knew what I was really laughing at.  He probably just didn't want to catch hell.

Outta here....

Monday, October 3, 2011

My plea to fellow restroom patrons...

This ALWAYS happens to me.  I'm out somewhere in public...and I have to use the bathroom.  I stroll into the Ladies Room, and all the stalls happen to be occupied...except one.

Thinking I've scored by not having to wait, I eagerly walk over to the stall and latch the door...then I turn around and see what I refer to as "Sprinkles."  Dots of pee.  All over the goddamn seat.  And now the shit of it is now I'm stuck.

"Why?" you ask? Because in the few seconds it took me to notice this ......several women have now flushed their johns and exited the stalls.  So if someone sees me leave, they'll think I pissed on the pot.  And I do mean that literally...On the pot.  Not in.

And how the fuck does a woman get sprinkles on the seat anyway?  Does she hover over the john balancing herself as she holds up her skirt?  Does she pose like a downhill skier?

Then I get to thinking what I'd like to say to the previous (sprinkling) perpetrator who left me with this mess..."What the hell is your deal?  Do you have an aversion to paper seat covers?  Huh?  HUH?  Why not take a moment for the rest of us and use it?  What, got a problem with that? HUH?  Need a tutorial?  Better yet, I'd be happy if you just improved your aim you goddamn ingrate!!!  I'll bet there's pee all over you legs too.  You're gross!  Who ARE you?  Did you just sell me an Auntie Anne's pretzel?  Are you super dressy so no one suspects you?  I'll bet that's what your strategy is, isn't?  Yeah...YEAH...Miss 'Don't look at me, I'm all fancy and therefore I don't wiz generously on toilet seats.'"

Anyway...I digress.

So please.  To the women making sprinkles on johns...Please remember this simple phrase, will you for fuck's sake?  Ready?

"If you like to hover, please clean the cover."

Do it.  I don't enjoy making the equivalent of a toilet paper boxing glove around my hand so I can clean your pee.

See ya....

Friday, September 30, 2011

My Butterfly Shirt was fly.

I'm about 11 years old.  Family getting ready for a drive in the mountains with some friends.  I'm getting dressed...look down and thought, "Jesus Christ!  What is THAT?"

Two small lumps...One of each side of my chest.  A tumor?  What the hell was it...I screamed for my mom who came running into my bedroom...I stood there pointing to my chest and asked, "Does this look strange? "  She looks at me like I'm a complete moron and says, "Trina, your chest* is growing.  It's natural.  Oh, and your sister needs her hair done.  Can you help out?"

Nice of her to keep me in the puberty loop....

She walked out of my room and my emotions went from panic to exuberance over my new 'boobs'...Boobs so tiny they counted really as marbles.  But whatever.  I knew just what I needed to wear to show them off.

I searched my drawers for a tired looking 'hand me down' shirt.  Navy blue..crew neck..long sleeved...with a gold stitched monarch butterfly on front.  Why I thought this shirt was grade A for showing off my boobs is beyond me.  For some reason as I glanced in the mirror puffing out my chest, I was convinced my new assets were showing through...

Not in a naked way, mind you.  Just in  "Look at these small lumps" kind of way.

Maybe I felt the shirt captured my transformation...formerly a boobless caterpillar who overnight morphed into a beautifully developed butterfly.  Fancy.  Free.

I walked through the Rocky Mountains that day keeping my posture extra straight.  You people could see my boobs.

A butterfly shirt.  What the fuck...

See ya!

(*Chest = 'Boobs' in my mother's lexicon.)

Wednesday, September 28, 2011

Bulk Shopping Can Bite My Ass...Hard.

So I'm making it official.  I fucking despise going to warehouse clubs to do my shopping.  It all starts with trying to park....dodging and weaving between people hauling a year's supply of canned tomatoes and toilet paper in carts.

Then you have to get a cart...Carts that are I'm guess double the size of a standard grocery cart...Oh, let's not forget to tack on a plastic goddamn car on the front so the kids can have a sweet ride while their mother...(me) hauls ass pushing the cart equivalent of a city bus.

Then you go the check out and it's like the super duper deluxe stealthy transaction...The cashier...sizing you up...then continue with their, "Do you have your club card?"  I want to scream, "Fuck yeah I do!  What?  You think I'm hauling shit in this behemoth cart to work my upper arms?  Fuck off and scan my 10 lb bag of flour you douche bag. Oh, here's my card..."

I even had a cashier tell me she wouldn't lift my 40 lb bag of dog food.  So I had to lift it.  Fuck that!  There should be a weight lifting requirement for people checking me out.  Right?  I mean like in the interview that woman should have done 10 push ups...or carried a huge ass bag of dog food.  Then if she appeared weak, a trap door would open sending her down a swirly slide back to the parking lot....

So I'm really worked up today because after pushing a double wide, locating my club card, paying...oh, wait one other thing...I had to dig out my license too because they'll card you no matter what...Not kidding.  I could show up with a walker waving a colostomy bag and they'd still ask me to keep my balance while digging in my pocketbook (isn't that what old farts call bags?)...and then I'd slip on a bulk grape someone dropped and I'd end up breaking my hip anyway...and because the parking lot is so difficult to navigate the ambulance would have a hard time making it to the....

Wait....I'm rambling...back to complaining...

Anyway, you know how after you pay?  They'll say "Keep your receipt out for check out at the door"...Why not just say what they're really thinking?  "We're on to fucking cheap ass thieving thief!  Can't pull a fast one on US by God!  No siree!"....

Back to today...I'm pushing my huge cart that now weighs 200 lbs (this includes weight of attached goddamn plastic car and 80 lbs worth of children), I hear this as I approach the receipt checker patrol..."UH-UH-UHUH!"...and this posy of foreign men totally cut me off and held out his receipt.  Then looked OVER his shoulder at me as he walked out....What a dick!!!!!

I'll give the receipt checker credit though...he agreed that guy was rude...we both kind of looked at each other like we were both thinking, "Asswipe."  Or at least I'd like to think he was thinking that and I'm not a rage-aholic.

The nerve of that guy.....

Whew, that felt good!

Outta here...

Tuesday, September 27, 2011


On one of our visits to Ohio, my family went to my grandparent's house for dinner.  My grandfather was actually a really great cook.  Had a delicious meal of pork tenderloin, homemade mashed potatoes...and for dessert?  Homemade apple pie.  Did I mention he even grew the apples?  He did.

Anyway, that's not the story.  After dinner my grandma always enjoyed sitting to relax in her favorite recliner.  Kind of a 1970's style poop brown tweed fabric.  I have to admit it was pretty cozy.  Until I sat in it once and realized she stuffed dirty kleenex between the chair and cushion.  But I digress.  It was obviously her 'spot'.

We're all sitting in the living room watching television when all of a sudden we hear..."OH MY GOD!  QUICK SOMEONE DO SOMETHING!  GRANDMA'S TURNING BLUE!!!!"  Startled, we turned around to see my mom scrambling to figure how to administer first aid to my grandma.  My grandma, likely confused from a lack of oxygen was just sitting in her chair...blankly staring at my mom...saying nothing.

Indeed the scene was frightening.  Her lips were blue....she was speechless....and my mom got everyone into panic mode...until grandma did something to let us know she was going to be ok....

She lifted a blue toothpick to her lips and continued to pick her teeth.

Funny old bird.  Bet she loved sending my mom into a tizzy...No, I know she did...

See ya!

Monday, September 26, 2011

Random Names Bestowed Upon Yours Truly....

Is Trina an odd name?  Maybe...I don't know.  All my siblings have what I'd call "normal" or "mainstream" names....not me.  Mom got creative.

So on this fine Monday I decided I'd give you some insight on some names people have used in lieu of Trina.  You name....Read on.   I'm sure this was high on your to do list today:

"Trini" - (pronounced, "Treenee") Courtesy of Mrs. Reinking, 7th grade algebra.  Back when scan trons were used, my last name was so long that I couldn't fit the "a" at the end of "Trina".  This big brazen broad took it upon herself to assume it ended in "i".  She was so big and intimidating, I never corrected her.  She also gave me my first and only "C" in math.  Wench.

"La Trine" - (french for Toilet)  This name was ingeniously created by none other than our Pastor's son, Jimmy Cantrel.  Asshole.  He'd wait until the entire classroom was full before he'd yell across, "Hey!  Laaaaaaa Triiiiiiiiine!" followed by uproarious laughter.  Dickhead turned into a loser...What goes around is what I say....

"Katrina" - Everybody.  Just about.  Except my family who knows I'm just "Trina".  It usually goes like this, "Is Trina short for Katrina?"  Me: (for the billionth time) "Oh...No, it's just 'Trina'" as though it's kind of a disappointment.  Or they'll just assume I don't know how to spell my name and call me Katrina anyway....

"Janelle" - I was often called Janelle from 3rd through 6th grade because my classmate named Janelle Souply and I looked a lot alike.  Never asked her if she was ever called Trina.  People stopped mixing us up when I decided to get the dorky Dorothy Hamill haircut.  Janelle wisely opted out of that hair trend and became more popular.

"Pirate Dream" - The cutest boy I (secretly) had a crush on called me "Pirate Dream"...I was flattered until I realized it was a precursor to the punch line I unwittingly heard him say to his friend as he gave him an elbow nudge..."Sunken Chest"...Get it?  I was a pirate's dream...because I had a sunken boobs.  Yeah, that name stuck for awhile.  Also quelled my crush on that little pecker head.

"Tina and/or Teresa" - I'm called these names...a lot.  But I'm not at all resentful...really...I likely won't even correct you.  I just don't care.

Isn't this post so enlightening?

Outta here!....

Friday, September 23, 2011

That's a GOOOOD ONE!!!

Ever know someone who isn't terribly funny but likes to crack lame jokes anyway?  That's my dad.  He fancied himself a comedian...

Don't get me wrong.  He could be funny when he didn't try too hard at it.  Subtle jokes like changing into a formerly red Ohio State sweatshirt that was now ratty and faded to pink to sit for Easter dinner for example.  I found that funny.

Or the time he told me he applied a deodorant label on a can of spray paint because he knew his roommate from college was using it...Gold spray paint on the armpit...."Classic."

He also acted serious one time when he gave my uncle a coffee cup for a Christmas exchange.  It had the planet Uranus on it.

So when he tried to crack dumb jokes I didn't find funny I liked to laugh along...but fake.  So it would go something like this:

Dad:  "Trina, did you hear the joke about the elephant named 'Nuts'?"

Me:  "Uh, no, Dad, can't say I have."

Dad:  "He was a circus elephant."

Me:  "You don't say."

Dad:  "He got fired by the ringmaster."

Me:  "Uh-huh..."

Dad:  "Because the guy in the stands was selling peanuts.  Get it?  "Peeeee-NUTS!"

Me:  *totally think the joke is super dumb but decide I'd humor dad by laughing.

Dad:  (Hears me laughing and starts laughing harder)

Me:  (Sees Dad thinking I'm really laughing at his jokes, so I begin to hold my sides and ramp up the laughter as though this joke is hilarious....)

Dad:  (Begins to laugh even harder...eyes watering with tears)

Me:  (Begins a blatantly exaggerated "HAAA HAAAAA HAAA!" to begin to clue in Dad that he's been had)

Dad:  *Confused*


Dad: (stops laughing...)  "Jesus Christ Trina that's annoying."

I think he was more mad and annoyed at himself for falling for my faux laughter spiel...every time I pulled it...

See ya...

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

Maybe It's Her Shoes.

So a family friend of ours who was our neighbor in Colorado had a distant elderly relative who just happened to live near us in our new locale of Northern Virginia.  We didn't know her.  Never met her.  But somehow my parents thought we should go to her home for dinner.

On the drive over my parents gave strict instructions..."No fighting. Mind your manners..or plan on dying later..."  That kind of deal...We knew to be on our best behavior...

I realized as we approached her estate that this this lady was loaded.  The home was a mansion... The biggest house I've ever seen in my life.  And she lived there all by herself.

As all of us entered my parents introduced us one by one...all six of us kids...I was somewhat humored thinking she'd never remember six kids' names...but she seemed pretty coherent for an aged lady.

After about 10 minutes of mundane small talk, we sat for dinner.  Being that she was a rich spinster I had really high expectations for a lavish dinner...So imagine my surprise when she served our meal.

"Spaghetti"...And to clarify?..Just the pasta part...topped with canned baked beans.  What the hell lady?  Did we look like we just deplaned a box car?  Hobo food.  I tried to keep my "What the Fuck!" facial expression in check as I choked down the beans.

Anyway, as we quietly continued to eat, my youngest brother decided he was all for seconds.  He politely asked if he could have more pasta.  The old lady dropped her fork and looked around as though she wasn't aware she was seated in a chair.

As she rose we heard a loud noise...A really loud noise.  A fart.  My little brother shot a look to my parents who were now glaring at him...thinking he tried to lighten the mood by expelling some gas.  He stood wide-eyed as he shook his head and mouthed frantically, "It wasn't me!" and pointed to the old lady as she walked to the kitchen...Farting all the way down a long hallway in concert with her footsteps.

Quite impressive really...Like I said, she had a huge house so I'm guessing she farted the length of a football field...but walking...that's a lot of farts.

It was at that stage of the dinner that none of us made eye contact with the other...Knowing we'd lose it as far as laughing...Amazingly we were able to keep a straight face as she returned with my brother's second helping, seated herself back at the table, and continued to vociferously fart throughout our meal.

We continued to dine and visit as though the farting noises emanating from her old ass was nothing unusual for first time guests to hear.

Faces were kept straight until we said good night later that evening and loaded into my parents' van.

All it took for everyone to laugh the entire ride home was for me casually say, "Anyone notice anything unusual aside from serving baked beans on spaghetti?"


Monday, September 19, 2011

No Go Kart

One year my dad took all of us to a pig roast.  Sure, the food was great, but the thing I remembered most about the party was an awesome go cart.  All the older kids got to drive it.  It rocked...

It was this crudely constructed car powered by a small motor...Top speed maybe 20 miles per hour.  I loved it. I was sorry to leave it the end of the night...but I became resolute in creating my own.

An initial but ever so slight problem was my lack of a gas powered motor.  But not to worry, that's why we have hills, right?  My dad was kind enough to give me a nice piece of plywood that would serve as the base.  I also took wheels off an old red wagon...

My dad was generous enough to help me create a swiveling steering mechanism by attaching the front wheels to a 2x4 that was in turn loosely screwed to my base (plywood).  I then took two old and frayed jump ropes and attached each one to the side of the 2x4...with a nail.  Genius.  I'd hold them like reins and pull left or right depending on where I'd prefer to turn...

But what to do for braking?  Not a problem.  I found an old metal pipe in the basement.  Tied it to the side of my car.  I'd just lower the pipe and apply pressure to the asphalt.  I know what you're thinking..."Jesus Christ she's smart."  I thought so.

My brother saw my cart and really loved it.  Then it dawned on the age of zero bike helmets and safety gear I didn't want to crack my walnut on the trial run...So I said, "It's pretty cool huh?  Say, you really like it?  I'll tell you what, how about YOU drive it first?  What do you think?"

Needless to say, my brother was surprised and thrilled at my generous offer.  Before he could change his mind, I pulled my car to tallest hill in my neighborhood.  Got him all settled on the plywood and gave a brief tutorial on operation of my car..."Pull left to go left.  Pull right to go right.  Lower the pipe to stop.  Got it?  Good."

I gave him a quick shove and watched as he sailed impressively down our street.  I saw him struggle to remember which rope to pull...then I'm guessing he was pretty terrorized going fast because he reached for the brake (metal pipe)....

It was at this moment I discovered the design flaw of my car.  You see, in order to pull the brake, you had to release the right jump rope.  Damn...I didn't think of that.  Neither did my brother as he turned a hard left and crashed into a brick mailbox while dragging the useless piece of shit pipe brake that was supposed to save him from the very fate I feared.  And didn't want to experience.

Which is why I was glad he was dumb enough to do the trial run.

Outta here!

Friday, September 16, 2011

School Picture Day was a load of Bulldink...

I'll always remember picture day as a very stressful event from my childhood.  It seems as though something catastrophic always happened precluding me from the glamour shot I always longed for.  The shot that I looked so great in that I'd beg my mother to buy extra wallet sized ones I could trade with my friends...A picture I'd be proud to give to the boy I maybe had a small crush on.

But alas that never materialized.

My picture day usually began with bad weather.  So I'd spend extra time getting my hair "Church on Sunday" ready only to have to walk to school in a typhoon.  The little comb the photographer had on hand was little consolation for  my bangs that seemingly enjoyed parting ways in the center of my forehead like Alfalfa.  Remember his hair?  Little Rascals fame?...yeah, that.

And when the weather did seem to hold out, I inevitably had gym 20 minutes prior to sitting in that photographer chair.  I especially remember my gym teacher from Junior High...she was a hardcore jock. Made us gals run 2 miles cross country on picture day.

I remember trying to assess the damage to my hair after sweating and wheezing running uphill.  My perfectly feathered hair a distant memory as it hung sadly crimped.  My face blotchy and red. yeah, that picture was a winner too.  I think I was so happy to just sit from running that my facial expression looked a little too relaxed.  As though I just shit my pants really...

Then there was the year I had picture day and was playing at recess.  I tripped and fell into a mud puddle.  I was wearing a fancy frock...with a white shirt underneath.  I remember my teacher telling me to wait for the speckles of mud to dry...then we'd be able to scrape it off in time for my picture.  What the fuck lady?  Ever heard of a phone?  Calling my mom?  No...I sat looking as though I just tried to jump a train car...and failed.  That one was crap too.

And lastly, the year my mother had a fascination with butterflies.  Made me weather lavender Garanimal Pants (2 inches shy of my ankles) and a lavender patterned butterfly shirt.  A child's leisure suit really.  She had also decided to trim my bangs for the occasion.  Perhaps if the photographer tilted his camera they would have looked straight...but they didn't.  Started long on my left eyebrow and ended dangling an inch from the right brow.  But I also had pigtails, so many those detracted from the hack job on my bangs...No, it didn't...

Any of you have good picture day memories?  I sure as fuck don't...

See ya'...

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Food I reckon I'll crave when I'm old as crap...

So the other day I was checking out a the grocery store and this elderly woman placed her stuff on the belt next to mine.  I glanced down and took a mental note of her inventory:

Tea Biscuits (2 boxes)
1/4 pound of deli ham
Cottage Cheese

Interesting.  Well, to me it was...because it got me thinking about what I'd likely eat when I'm older than dirt.  So, behold...for your enlightenment...Food I think I'll (eventually) like:

Deli Ham - Because I think I'll take a cue from the elderly.  They all seem to love their deli ham, right?

Brach's Peppermints - My grandmother always had these and I always thought they sucked.  But maybe my taste buds will mature...or maybe they'll dead so those god awful things will just keep my mouth busy.

Cottage Cheese - I think I'd eat this at lunch.  With my deli ham on the side.  I'd probably bitch about the curd size.

Apple Sauce - Not a huge fan of apple sauce but I'll bet it's ok as a side with my cottage cheese/ham combo.

Nutter Butter Cookies - Again, another staple at my grandma's.  I liked these cookies as a kid so I'm sure as an old fart I'll continue buying them.  If it ain't broke don't fucking fix it, right?

Grape Nuts - I don't know.  May be hard on the teeth but I just don't envision myself saying, "Goddamnit!  Out of Lucky Charms!  Fuck that!"

And given I'm an aficionado of spirits, I think I'll continue with my favorite libation:  Gin.

I've been told it's an old lady drink so I guess I'm ahead of my time.  I do love my gin, so there's that.

Outta here...

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

Click right there...

One day while at work a few years back my manager hired a new guy.  As was the usual, she'd parade the newbie around the office, introduce them to the "team" as we were called, so they'd feel welcome.

I stood up, extended my hand and gave a friendly, "Hi, nice to meet you, I'm Trina..."  as though we'd be lifelong friends.  His name was Mark.

A friendly chap.  Seemed to really know his shit when it came to information technology stuff.  Always dependable.

But then I quickly noticed something odd about him.  One day while testing one of the applications he had developed, I ran into a so-called glitch and called him over to my desk.

"Mark, why isn't this window popping up so I can enter a Tax ID code?" I asked...His reply, "Try just clicking on the bun."

Me:  "The bun?"

Him:  "Yeah, the bun...right there...see it?  Bottom left."

Me:  "Oh, ok, gotcha...ok...uh, thanks..."

Him:  "No problem."

I sat stunned as he strolled back to his desk.  What the hell was up with his pronunciation of 'button' as 'bun'?  Weird...

Maybe it was the double consonant?  I mean, did he sit at the table with his family and say, "Pass the ber (butter) and while you're reaching for it, I'll take some per (pepper) too?" or maybe he said to his wife at times, "You look rey (really) prey (pretty)"...

Any thoughts?  Oh, and I didn't misunderstand him.  He consistently said 'bun' when referring to a button.  Phrases I heard included, "I lost a bun."  "Press the bun." "The buns on my phone." and "The top bun on my shirt."

Weird fucker...Knew there had to be something wrong with him...

See ya...

Monday, September 12, 2011

The time I thought I was hot in 8th Grade...

Flashback to 8th grade.  My school had one of those "Spirit Weeks" where every day was a different theme.  The day I most looked forward to was "Pajama Day".

I actually owned a pair of footed the age of 14.  Now I think back to those pj's and think they were pretty pervy.  Like they were made for adults who like to be treated like a baby as a sexual fetish or something...  Regardless I decided to wear them to school.

They were royal blue.  As if I didn't look ridiculous enough I also decided to up the "cute" factor by pulling my hair into I essentially looked like a giant pubescent baby...with zits.

Other girls wore their nighties...That was probably more sexy.  I looked like Grover.

No wonder I didn't get dates.  I really had shit for brains...

Now I'm wondering where my mother found those pajamas...kind of skeeves me out...

Outta here...

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

"Mmmm! Say, what's THIS you think?"

Some coworkers of mine decided to have a holiday "Pot Luck", or as I affectionately refer to it, "Lucky to Make it to the Pot" because the food is generally dismal.

Having said that, I saw the sign up sheet and decided I'd make some kind of appetizer.  I was super busy with work and the holidays and wanted to find a quick and easy recipe.  And I found one...for Artichoke Dip.  Sounds good, right?

I went and bought the ingredients and went to work in my kitchen.  Cream cheese, tobasco, shredded parmesan, sour cream and drained chopped artichokes.  Put in Cuisinart.  Puree.  Voila.  No baking required...serve cold...

Except it turned out lumpy.  The parmesan cheese wrapped itself around the blades and formed clumps.  The whole concoction was well, just fucked up.  But it was late on a work night and I figured a quick garnish of parsley would suffice for the awful mixture.

As a foodie I can tell you I was genuinely mortified at how awful this dip was.  I saw the conference room with all the tables for food and quickly dashed in and did an "Appetizer Drop" before anyone could see me and say, "Trina!  Hey!  Looks good!  What is it?"....

No one caught me.  I did however sit casually and watch people as they approached the mysterious mixture..Study it with a confused expression...then cautiously grab a chip and dive in.  Then they'd chew on a wad of dry parmesean, look around like they were thinking, "Holy mother of God!  Who the fuck brought this shit in?" then spit out the chewed cheese, dip and chip combo into a napkin.  Glancing around hoping no one saw.  But I saw...And this scenario repeated itself probably 15 times.  After that I think word got out, "Avoid the Artichoke dip..."

I was so embarrassed I left my dish unclaimed because I didn't want anyone to discover my epic appetizer fail.  

See ya....

Monday, August 22, 2011

Something I found myself humming this fine morning...

Something REALLY odd happened this morning as I was drying my hair.  I found myself humming the theme to Little House on the Prairie....I mean, just out of nowhere...And the really freaky part is the show used to always air Monday nights.

Is my brain hard wired?  I don't know...But decided to look up the intro video...Go ahead.  Take a gander...It's sweet...

Cute right?  But where the fuck where the kids that Paw and Maw were ok cruising in their carriage all over like a couple of pioneering ner do wells?  What would the family meet up place have been?  "Hey kids, meet us at the brushy hillside..The one with trees and tall sure to haul ass because Paw says the horses are skittish.."

And that third sister...the one who tumbles at the end.  Anyone else think she was the village idiot?  Always wore a shit eating grin...I didn't care for her.

Mary was my favorite.  I'll bet she's still hot.  Even after she went blind and all.

Think that dog is probably dead too so now this intro doesn't seem as happy as I remember.

See ya...

Saturday, August 13, 2011

The day I became Dorothy Hamill

It happened in 1979.  I had long hair.  Watched this bitch spin on the ice and decided I had to have hair that moved like hers.

So I cut my hair.  Like Dorothy's.

What I didn't take into account was the quantum physics behind her hair looking so good.  She was an Olympic skater.  She executed serious torque in her spins which in turn made her hair move as pictured above.

I had metal roller skates.  Couldn't quite spin as fast.  I asked my brother if my hair was "like Dorothy's" as I clumsily made a 1-revolution-per-minute circle on my skates...waving my arms to keep my balance as I attempted to bend backwards so the hair would kind of flow outward.

My brother laughed and said it looked like a mushroom.

I proceeded to grow it out.  Dorothy really pulled a fast one on me, didn't she?  Fuck that haircut.

See ya...

Tuesday, August 9, 2011

"Here you go dear! Congratulations!!"

My sister and I had a funny conversation last night about growing up having periods in my house.  That's right.  Periods.  "Menstruation" for all you medical technocrats out there...Let's cut to the chase, shall we?

I highly doubt many women look back at their younger days of getting their period with starry eyes...fondly remembering running through fields of wildflowers...maybe even taking up gymnastics...Cathy Rigby apparently did all kinds of bendy, flippity do dah shit while she was on the rag.  No...And for as bad as any of my female readers remember the ordeal?  I'm convinced my experience was worse.

So I finally get 'it' and my mother was giddy.  Aside from feeling creeped out by her saying "I can't wait to tell your dad!  You finally got 'it'!" I was equally mortified when she handed me a package of maxi pads.  You may be thinking of those thick maxi pads.  Those qualified as mini pads at my house.  My sisters and I were sentenced to wear Micro Mattresses.

I don't even know to this day where she bought them...probably wholesale...bulk...They were awful.  Weren't even name brand like "Kotex" or "Always"...Just a generic looking puke pink packaging with a lazily drawn daisy on the front...likely drawn by a woman wearing the same pads she was helping promote...poor gal.

Anyway, I had to use them.  Besides, it was only for a few days...How bad could it be?

I quickly learned the trick to a successful period was to remain as stealthy about it as possible.  These pads made that task next to impossible.  You see, as my sister will also attest to, they made a weird "Crinkle crinkle" noise as we walked.  Like crumpling plastic. In my head it sounded like clanging pots and pans...I imagined scenarios of a guy I liked saying something like "Hey everybody!  Listen to that racket!  Trina must be on her period!  hahahahahaha!"..

As I roamed the hallways of my school, I felt as though it was so loud that I had to talk louder than normal for a few days to mute the noise.  "HOW ARE YOU?" I'd yell to my classmates...praying no one could hear the dreaded sound.

And for as thick as these pads were?  They didn't guarantee protection against accidents.  Thankfully I didn't experience what my sister did on her school bus when she stood to leave.  A girl pointed to her ass and screamed, "OH MY GOD!  SHE GOT HER PERIOD!!!"

No...I took measures to ensure that would never happen to I invented what I can best describe as a Maxi Train..three pads.  One in the center, one in the rear practically covering my ass crack, and another in front extending an inch below my navel...This ensured zero clothing penetration even though from behind I likely had the equivalent of an elderly person's ass.  Fuck it...

As I entered high school I realized all my friends had forgone the torturous experience of wearing pads and had moved on to tampons.  So I approached my mom about it.  "Those are for girls who are having sex, Trina.  You can't have them."  End of discussion.  "We'll just see about that mother." was my thought as she gave her blunt though tampons were sex toys...Satanic...meant only for sluts engaged in sexual debauchery.

Life did get much easier when I finally rebelled and bought Satan's Period Protection on my own.  Easier to hide too given I didn't need a beach tote to carry them in.  Never did tell my sister my secret...

Somebody needed to finish that box of pads after all....

Outta here...

Wednesday, August 3, 2011

A Water Leak at My Brother's House

I have to share a story my brother told me today.

He said there were big time thunderstorms in his town last week.  There were consecutive "BANG!!!  BANG!!! BANG!!!"'s of lightening so loud that it set all his kid's toys off...then he lost power.

His wife came in and said there was a huge amount of water in their laundry room which was located next to a door leading to the garage.  My brother, worried a hose in the laundry room had burst, hurriedly grabbed his flashlight and knelt in the water to find the source of the leak.

As he's crawling through the water on hands and knees he notices a smell eminating from the water...and suddenly he realizes the source of the water leak.

His 100 pound Akita named Tressel literally had the piss scared out of him during the loud thunder.  And my brother was wading in it.

Hey, at least it wasn't a broken hose.

See ya...

Tuesday, August 2, 2011

I fainted!

Yes I did!  Took 42 years but I finally did...Last night...I know you're intrigued so gather yourselves, maybe some smelling salts just in case...Here's the story:

I woke up last night and my bedroom was pretty toasty...I hit my iPhone to check the time...1:46 a.m....
Then I proceeded to stand up and walk to the thermostat located behind an armoire.

Initially I hit the "arrow" button to check the temp...77 degrees.  Hotter than fuck.  No wonder my ass woke up...Then the next thing I remember is thinking, "I'll just adjust this down to 7---"

The next thing I remember?  I'm lying on my bedroom floor.  On my right side...Right arm stretched out with my head laying on top...and strangely my left elbow had a kind of "carpet burny/bruisey feel"...strange given I came to lying on my right side.

I should also note my dog is worthless and had there been a fire I would not be here to type this wonderfully insightful blog post.  Given that I rescued her ass, a lick on the face to help me snap out of my fainting spell stupor would have been nice.  You know, like Lassie would have.

Still trying to figure out the carpet burn on the left elbow....I mean, did I kind of fall and then to a "slide into home" type motion that caused it?  Or maybe I just landed on it hard...theories?  I'm at a loss...

Outta here...

Monday, August 1, 2011

What I'd do on an Outlet Mall Tour Bus.

So yeah, I've been to outlet malls...Who hasn't?  My favorite store at the outlets?  Williams Sonoma hands down...and I like the kid clothing shops.  But I had a thought as I cruised the parking lot looking for a spot that was less than 1 kilometer away...I passed an Outlet Mall Tour Bus.

And I thought..."What kind of person wakes up one day and decides they'd enjoy that experience?" I mean, really...I'm all for a good bargain, but a tour bus?  Get real.

Then I thought about what I'd do if I was on one of those tour buses.

First, I'd probably bitch about the bus ticket price.  I'd use phrases like, "Geez Louise!  I'm here to shop outlets!  Dontcha think this ticket a bit pricey? Cutting into my outlet savings aren't you? I mean, what, am I the only one stuck with the fuel bill here?  I mean 42 bucks?  Hey everybody!  Apparently the gas in this blimp on wheels is MY treat!  Enjoy yourselves!"  I'd give this speech to the driver as the other riders sweltered in the heat waiting to board....Then I'd go sit down...

And initially I'd probably ride quietly without saying much then I'd begin complaining about lack of beverage service.  "Where's the bus stewardess?" I'd yell to the driver.  He'd probably ignore me and I'd ask again, "Hey DRIVER?  Am I on 'Survivor' or what?  I'm parched over here!  Anybody heard of water or does that cost extra?  If it's an upgrade I want it for my 42 bucks!"  Then I'd whisper to the passenger next to me, "I vomit when I don't get enough water so I apologize in advance.  Wait, there aren't motion sickness bags...crap!"

Then I'd try to start a discussion about experiences with outlet shops.  I'd start off by saying, "God do I love the GAP outlet.  No one will ever know they make a different line just for outlets."  And people on the bus would begin to get pissed.  "What do you mean it's not the same stuff?"...Then I'd look surprised they didn't know the gig and would say, "You really don't think the truck that delivers $50 sweatshirts to GAP in the regular mall actually takes those same sweatshirts, knocks off a cool 50% and delivers them to the outlets do you?"  Then a mini brawl would ensue until I agreed that the same clothing was indeed sold at retail GAP locations.

Then I'd complain about bunions* and ask the driver if he could please drop me off in front of the Mikasa outlet because I can't walk that far and I love Mikasa china and always wanted this one special pattern and that if I walked too far I might trip because my right toe is extremely disjointed to the right and who wants to see me fall and break all my heirloom china.  Oh, and I'd point to the toe through my orthopedic sandals** and say, "See?  SEE?  Looks painful doesn't it Mister Man?"...

And lastly?  After all that complaining I'd board the bus the end of a day with a shitload of Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory fudge...maybe some Harry and David fruit too.  Then I'd bore everyone about how I talked the guy out of charging me for an extra 1/2 pound of fudge and how good it felt to 'stick it to the man'.

What do you think?  Should I try it?  I'm always up for a good dare...

See ya'....

*I don't have bunions

**I don't own a pair of orthopedic sandals.

Friday, July 29, 2011

Sweet n' Sassy...

My bike as a kid was pretty cool...Hot pink with white flowers...a denim banana seat...High handle bars...But one part of my bike really had me conflicted.  Emblazoned on the metal chain guard was the following:

"Sweet n' Sassy"

What the fuck was that?  I mean in my young mind it was more, "Why does it say Sweet and Sassy?"  Did it mean I was supposed to be nice while riding my bike...courteous to pedestrians, not run over cats...that kind of deal.  Or did it mean I was supposed to be an asshole?  Popping wheelies...skidding my tires on my parents' driveway...swerving just before I'd crash into my brother who was just learning to ride...I dunno.

So one day I came up to my brother who was hanging out in his room.  I told him I decided to become more of the "Sassy" connotation and would he like to jump ramps with me.  He agreed it was a good choice.

We went into the basement and got pieces of plywood and propped them up with cement blocks.  My brother went first.  It was a beautiful sight watching him catch some air...all two inches of it but still.  Then came my turn..."Be Sassy Trina...just jump..." was racing through my mind as I prepped for my feat....I peddled as fast as I could, rolled up the ramp...and was amazed at my ramp jumping agility...

But I forgot the landing part...and unfortunately rolled over my handle bars and landed on my back in the street.  My brother of course stood there and laughed...and laughed harder still when he saw I had split my favorite "Body Lingo" jeans in the rear.  Body Lingo was the brand...ever heard of it? Me either...Anyway, I ran into the house with the wind knocked out of me while grabbing my now exposed ass...

My lesson from this experience was that dirt hills were better...I made the switch and continued biking as my sassy self...

Outta here!

Monday, July 25, 2011

"Pass the chips, will you?"

My aunt came to visit us in Colorado one year.  As was the usual deal, we'd drive our guest to Estes Park.  My mom and dad would gather all six of us kids and load us into our crappy van for the ride.

We all got into the car and drove two hours to enjoy the splendor of the Rockies.  Majestic.  Beautiful...

Then mom says this to my sister:

"Heather, you're in the back there...can you please pass up the Doritos?"

Heather:  (no reply)

Mom:  "Heather?  Did you hear me?  Pass the chips..."

Me:  "Mom she's sleeping."

Mom:  "Wake her up.  I want some chips."

Me:  "Ok."  (Look in back seat)  "Heather isn't here."

Mom:  "What do you mean Heather isn't here?" (lifts up newspaper resting on floor between seats to see if Heather is underneath)

Me:  "I mean she's not here."

My other sister Kim:  "Oh yeah mom...She's at home.  She was pooping on the toilet and I told her if she didn't hurry we'd leave her."


Did I mention Heather was 4 years old?  And the year was 1979?  And cell phones had not yet been invented?

She was fine by the way.  Stayed home and pigged out on Girl Scout cookies...I think they were thin mints.

I was actually just happy I didn't have to spend another endless afternoon in Estes Park...rode my bike instead...enjoyed some Doritos.

Outta here...

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

The first time I cursed...

Fourth grade...Mrs. Maginnis' class.  I was sitting at a table with another classmate.  No idea why I wanted to curse but decided for some reason that day would be my big reveal.

So Mrs. Maginnis is teaching us something about geography.  Pointing to the various continents...boring.  I needed to jazz things up.  I look across to a girl seated at my table, leaned in and muttered..."Shit!  I can't wait for recess, can you?"

I sat back..grinning...pleased with myself as I saw her face turn ashen white as she said, "Trina, why did you say that?  You'll go to the principal's office!  Shh!"  I whispered back, "I don't care if I go to the damn principal's office.  Would be more exciting than this boring shit."

Now at this point she's starting to giggle nervously...and I continued by whispering, "I's funny to hear me say bad words, isn't it?'s some more...'Shit! Shit!  Damn!  Hell!'"

For some reason it felt great.  Maybe I was having a bad week...Sure as hell know my dad was...he inspired me...

Outta here!

Monday, July 18, 2011

Pooky was my friend...

I had lots of pets as a kid.  My earliest recollection of a favorite pet was named Pooky (1973-1975). Behold...a stock photo of what I can best recall my pet gerbil looked like...I know...take a moment.  Look at all its features...agile...quick...fluffy....fascinating little gal isn't she?  I think it's a girl.  At least I don't recall Pooky having balls*.

Anyway...I was an only child for the equivalent of 15 minutes of my life.  Maybe my parents thought I needed a friend until my 5 additional siblings came into the picture.  I don't recall how Pooky came to be.  Just remember going into my playroom one day and there she was....scratching in the corner of her terrarium.

I thought Pooky and I shared a special bond.  My parents would smile when I came down to announce I was having a sleepover at Pooky's house.  I'd take some blankets to her room and spent many a sleepless night in there listening to her incessant scratching...she was so restless!  And that damn wheel of hers...Every third rotation I'd hear a tired, "Squeeee, squeeee..."

I held Pooky...once.  She bit me.  That was the one and only time I pet her before she died 6 months later.  For some reason I wasn't too broken up about it.  Put her into a yellow margarine bowl and buried her in a shallow grave...

"Bye Pooky!" was all I really said as I passed a few neighborhood cats...I thought at the time they were a little sad too...

Then went shopping for my next pet who would be named Trixie.

(*Anyone know if gerbils have testes?  Now I'm curious...)

Outta here...

Friday, July 15, 2011

"Guess who's coming to visit?"

Ever have a family friend who your parents seemed to love more than you?

My nemesis was Paige Morris.  That bitch outdid me on any and everything...I'm using her real name here because I know she likely lives in an area of Ohio that doesn't have Internet access...North...Near whatever Great Lake is up there...who cares...

My mother used to give me the heads up on her family's arrival...usually a month before.  "Trina, guess who's coming to visit!  Paige and her family...Be sure to have your room cleaned, ok?" "Yeah, ok Mom," I'd think to myself, "You mean the room I have to share with my slob of a sister?  Because Paige has her own room, remember?"....

Her family would coincidentally 'vacation' in any state my family happened to be living in at the time of their plans...And wouldn't you know they planned a stop in our town and would we mind them staying with us.  Cheap bastards...

Exclusively for you...a brief timeline of why I dreaded her visits:

1976:  Paige and her family arrive to my family's home in Longmont, CO.  Paige has mastered the art of going underwater without holding her nose.  She does a summersault into my pink pool.  Tells me to try...doesn't tell me to blow bubbles with my nose upon entry in water.  I executed the summersault...then choked on water for a good 3 minutes.

(*Should also note here that at this visit Paige had nicer underwear than me too.  Bragged about her "Day of the Week" underpants.  Embroidered cloud on the front stating the day of the week the pair was to be worn. I admired them as I stood in my kid sized equivalent of reinforced training pants worn up to my navel.)

1980:  Paige plays piano better than me.  We give a concert for our parents in my mother's living room.  I chose the song, "Swinging Along"...fucked up the second line..She gets accolades.  I was told to practice more.

1983:  Lexington, KY  Paige is a cheerleader.  I tell her I made cheerleading Colorado...the state I just moved from.  Her reply, "That doesn't count."

1986:  Paige and I are now in high school.  She's looking a little more well fed than usual.  This pleases me.  She also has a picture of her boyfriend she props on my nightstand for her stay.  He looks like Yanni.  This pleases me further.

Current:  Paige got knocked up by Yanni about 3 months after I last saw her. She has also decided to go redneck.  Lives in a double wide (that's fancy for "trailer park") in Northern Ohio.

How the mighty have fallen...(ear to ear grin)

See ya....

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

Why I sucked in Spanish

I remember being fascinated with people who didn't speak English.  I wanted to be like them.  So when Junior High rolled around I made the leap into learning Spanish.

Seventh grade.  Senor Cordoza.  I can't do the swirly thing over the "n" in "Senor" so please just imagine it if you could...sorry.  Anyway...He was my teacher.  I think he was a genuine Mexican too.  So he knew his shit.

For some reason our textbooks had not arrived in time for the beginning of school.  So, initially we bypassed actually learning the language and learned about the people of Mexico.  Even made God's Eyes.  Cool.

Then one day we arrived to class.  A spanish textbook was placed neatly at each of our seats....and that's when Senor Cordoza delved into the actual language part.

We started by stating our name...My spanish name was "Theresa"...No, not like "Teresa"...."Tear-ace-ah" dig?  I didn't like it but whatever.  I could live with it for a few days a week.

I quickly realized that aside from God's eyes and Mexican food?  Spanish and I didn't jive.  I just didn't get it.  At. All.  So one day in my confusion I finally raised my hand and asked for Senor Cordoza's assistance on a learning exercise in our workbooks.

Keep in mind the closest contact I had with Senor Cordoza was watching him teach as I sat in the back of our classroom.  Imagine my surprise when he approach me and I quickly realized his breath smelled like tooth carnage...covered in cigarette smoke....washed with 4 day old bottom of the pot coffee.  Bad.

He stood over my shoulder as he assisted me.  Talking...breathing...warm nastiness wafting over my right shoulder....The nerve.  "Binaca." was all I could think of as he rambled through his long winded answer...All the while I tried to breathe through my mouth...but even that was disgusting because I felt as though I was ingesting his disgusting pulmonary exhaust.

That was the one and only time I asked for help from Senor Cordoza.  I opted instead to remain clueless and winged Spanish on my own.  I got my first "C"....devastating for the overachiever I was at the time...But my gag reflex was always in check.  So there's that...

See ya'....