I got detention once...

Yeah...I did...8th grade.  "Why?" you ask?  I'll tell you why...

My mom decided all her kids were going to start taking Shaklee vitamins.  Ever heard of them?  They were these giant green horse pills.  HUGE.  And for some reason my mother bought a family sized bottle and decided all of her kids would take them.

So I did.  Took me 10 glasses of water to swallow the damn thing.  Disgusting.

Fast forward to my Home Economics class around 9 a.m.  I needed to pee.  Badly.  I raised my hand to ask for a hall pass to the restroom.  My teacher obliged.  Swear to god...I got back from peeing and not even 5 minutes later?  I needed to pee worse than the first time I asked for the pass.

My teacher looked at me and asked why I needed the pass again..."I need to use the restroom again." I said all red faced and embarrassed...So she hands it to me again.

I pee'd.  I came back to class...needed to pee AGAIN...I kid you NOT!  It was incredible.  That friggin' vitamin!  I could have swore my mom gave me a diuretic.  Anyway, this time I was too embarassed to ask again.  So I crossed my legs and tried to think dry thoughts.

But I couldn't.  I had to pee.  Badly.  I actually debated whether it was worth going home early with wet pants rather than ask for the hall pass again in front of my classmates.  No, Nope...can't hold it.

So I slowly approached my teacher..."Uh, I'm really sorry.  My mom gave me a Shaklee vitamin this morning and something in it makes me need to go to the bathroom a lot.  Can I have the hall pass again?"  That bitch didn't even look up and replied, "Only if you agree to detention after school tomorrow."

HUH?!  Detention?  With all the low lifes and ne'er do wells?  Are you shitting me?

I had no choice.  I opted to pee.

Had to work on my pot holder after school the following day.

And a heartfelt "Thank you" to Shaklee brand vitamins* for sponsoring this fabulous adolescent memory.

Outta here!

(*Just read Shaklee has now branched into cleaning products.  I smell a scam here...)

Muffin

My family dog's name was Muffin.  She was a cockapoo.  Ever seen one?  She had a fluffy coat...Cream colored.  Yeah...that's her...bottom right.  Sorry for the poor quality shot.  She was active.

Muffin was a cute puppy.  But as she began realizing she was living in a house with six kids she began to tow the line so to speak.

She often slept at the end of our beds.  But not in a sweet way.  In a possessive, "Don't move your feet or I'll bite your ass" kind of way.  Still remember jamming my feet into the covers, hearing a growl...then muted mauling through the blankets.

Ah yes.  But I liked to return the favor to Muffin.  I'd come behind her as she ate and say really loudly, "WHATCHA DOIN' MUFFIN?!"  And she turn and snarl from her bowl.  Bearing every tooth in her head as she chewed making a slow, deliberate, "NEEEAHM, NEEEAHM..." sound.  I used to chuckle at that...

Muffin always bolted too.  But we didn't mind.  She'd roam our neighborhood for the day.  Come back home when she damn well felt like it.  Given how crazy our house was, can't say I blame her.  Especially neat was when I was out walking with neighborhood friends.  They'd point and say, "Hey Trina!  Isn't that your dog?" Almost implying I should chase her with a leash.  "Yep.  She'll be home for dinner." was all I'd say as I shrugged...

Muffin had some cool tricks too.  No.  I mean cool as crap.  She'd "shake", "play dead"...but did your family dog ever do wheelies while peeing?  No shit!  No training or anything.  I was taking her out one day and watched in amazement as she expertly hiked her hind legs in the air and began walking on her front legs.  Not kidding.  Ask any of my siblings pictured above.  They'll tell you.  It was funny and cool in our yard...quite embarassing when out on walks.  She'd pop a wheelie while peeing and the neighbors would stare...confused.  Probably wondering who the hell taught her the trick.  One drawback to her trick was she'd sprinkle her front legs sometimes...it depended on how high she went...

Muffin slept in a crate downstairs some nights.  Usually when she had an accident in the house.  This didn't please her.  I'd put her in her crate.  She'd be visibly annoyed....pouting.  I'd say extra cheerfully, "HAVE A GREAT NIGHT MUFFIN!" and flip the light switch really fast.  That used to really piss her off.  I know because I'd flip the light back on...There she'd be bearing every tooth in her head, ready to kill me.  Snarling...haha...Good ole' Muffin.

Yep.  Mean as crap.  My sister reminded me she lived to the ripe age of 18 years.

See ya...

It's not a horse...

My dad's company used to sponsor "Family Day" at amusement parks.  I actually think it was the only time my family actually got to go to one of those venues because for the same money, we could spend a week at the shore.

My youngest brother was probably 5 years old at the time.  The first ride we boarded looked pretty innocent.  A choo choo train.  All of us climbed on board and smiled and waved as we were whisked away.  

It was actually a stupid ride.  I guess we were supposed to be entertained by cheesy bears playing banjos and singing.  Or whatever else scenes this place thought were entertaining.  Just as we were getting into boredom mode, we felt the choo choo kinda catch onto a chain...and head up a steep incline.  

It was dark.  We were confused, but had no choice but to go along.  Suddenly the train went from a choo choo to the TGV...(Train de Grande Vitesse)...ever seen one?  It's fast.  It's scary.  It was a freaking roller coaster.  

As we approached the loading gates to disembark we looked over at my brother who was completely wide eyed and stunned.  He was standing in place with a dazed look...and proceeded to place his hands in his pant pockets, rock on his heels and says, "Why!  Looky there!  My shoes got wet!"

Did I mention there was no water on this ride?  There wasn't.  

I guess that last hill really scared him.  And as such he wizzed his pantalones.  I did give him props for his novel, "Point out the obvious, maybe they won't suspect I did what I did on the ride."

And the thing is?  He kept peeing his pants!  The whole day...Not a good combo with the searing hot temps....

The end of the day everyone was getting tired.  My sister turns to me and says, "Are there pony rides here?  I smell horses!"

My now disgusted, exhausted Dad bellows, "It's not a HORSE.  It's your brother!!!  We have to leave!"

(Another thing about this day I remember is my mom spilling her baked beans and half eaten hot dog into a vat of community potato salad.  Classic!  I stood and laughed as she frantically tried to fish out the beans before the corporate folks saw...)

The day the music died. The party music...

Ever been to a Farrell's Old Fashioned Ice Cream Parlor and Restaurant?  Not to brag, but I have. Several times.

The whole theme of the joint is supposed to be 1890's nostalgia.  Harken you back to the days when men wore red and white vertically striped jackets and straw top hats.  All the servers were dressed like that.

It was a happy place.  A feast for my senses as I watched servers clapping and singing as they worked.  Oh, and adding to the magic was a player piano too.  It would belt out all kinds of fun old fashioned tunes...Funny, I don't remember what songs exactly.  Probably "Oh Susanna" or some barbershop crap.

And if it was your birthday, the fine folks at Farrell's restaurants made you a fucking V...I....P....I mean, you were the SHIT, if you went there for your birthday...which is why I wanted to go there every year.

As soon as I walked in the door I'd give my parents a long intense stare serving as a reminder to tell our server, "Psst, it's Trina's birthday today...Do you do anything special?" knowing full well I'd get an ice cream sundae big enough to host a social...Then the pretend, "Oh!  Really?  That's so nice!" when the server says, "Why indeed we DO!  I'll just let them know about our special guest."  It was only after the birthday transaction between my parents and our server was complete could I actually relax and eat my dinner...

I envisioned the cooks in the back getting all jazzed about my birthday...Planning out the timing of my sundae. Telling the other chefs,"Hold it on that chocolate fudge and whipped cream pal..Trina needs it.  It's her birthday! Isn't that GREAT?"

Farrell's was a bit of a drive for my parents...We lived near Boulder.  Farrells was near Denver...probably a good 40 minute jaunt.  But for my birthday?  My parents were down for it.  So we'd make the trek.

Then came my 10th birthday.  And as usual when asked about what I wanted I'd dreamily conjure up my fine Farrell's memories and request the annual pilgrimage.

I dressed in Farrell's finery.  Always had to kinda step it up dressing wise.  I'd put on my Christmas dress.  Sure it was red velvet and had holly on the bow.  But it was still winter.  And matched perfectly with Farrell's decor.  Screw it.  It was my day.

We drove to Denver and pulled into the run down shopping center where Farrell's was located.  As we made our approach in the parking lot, I noticed something peculiar.  I'm sure my dad noticed the same and was likely praying as much.

Farrell's was closed.  Zero lights.  Zero music.  Zero fun.  "What the....whaaa?" was all I could think as all of my family stared at the sadly dark building...stunned.  Dad looked pretty surprised as he tried to put a positive spin on the whole ordeal.

"Trina, it looks like Farrell's went out of business dear.  But how about we go home.  I'll buy several flavors of ice cream from King Sooper's and make you the same thing at home."  All I could say was, "Uh...uh huh...ok."

Gradually as we drove home I began feeling anger towards Farrell's.  "The nerve of that place closing before my birthday.  Would it kill them to host one more birthday for me?  Now where the hell do I go to celebrate?  McDonald's?  In the back with the stupid talking tree?  No NO!  I don't even get McDonald's!!!  I get KING SOOPER'S ice cream...crammed into a cereal bowl! Served by a guy in horn rimmed glasses!  This sucks!"


But what could I do.  The following year my parents made it up to me by taking me to Casa Bonita.  A mexican place with cliff divers and food that would make you want to follow them.

See ya'....

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...

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!!!

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.....