Dear cougar at the bowling alley,
Your pants were not hip huggers, I’m afraid they nearly gave all of us access to your reproductive organs, which I’m pretty sure none of us at the alley wanted to see. Your hair was massive. Massively awesome. It complemented your cleavage which was out there for all of us to see. Your hair and cleavage said, “I’m a respectable woman who is wholesome, full of character and available for the low price of $4.50/hour for things that are illegal.” I’d recommend putting your warez away and considering that the rest of the public is not interested in your pubic regions. At all.
Instead my family and I desired to see you and your friends having a good time in a G-rated, or possibly PG-rated manner wherein maybe your shirt was slightly low cut, but not designed to let your nearly college graduate boyfriend take regular peaks from over the rim of his beer glass at what were surely nearly aged bosoms as those he weened on two decades ago.
I’m trying to refrain from calling you a whore because that sounds negative, and I don’t want you to think I think that of you. I’d prefer that you just understand that I don’t want to know you in that way, my family doesn’t want to know you that way, and I don’t want my young impressionable children to think, “Mommy, why don’t you dress like a cheap whore?” Mostly because there are great women out there that they could be like.
I’m going to predict you won’t read this, but if you do, know that I don’t hate you, but instead, I want you to just put some clothes on. I’ll only show you my bowling balls and you can just show me your bowling balls, but that’s not to be a double entendre, its just me saying that at the bowling alley, we only need to see the sport implements. Get a Burqa.
Today is Friday. The day after Thursday, which is the official day of thankfulness around here, but since my posting is as consistent as a politician in a tough week of financial news, I’m just going to post a bit of thankfulness today.
One Set of In-Laws are in town and I’m thankful for them. They really are swell folks and I’m enjoying the time with them.
My mom had her birthday Wednesday – she’s a great mom, and I’m thankful for her a lot.
Abby is growing up a lot the last couple weeks. We put her into a charter school program and we really, really like it. I’m thankful for her
My sister-in-law who is living with us constantly makes us smile. She’s a blessing and we hope that we can get some more time with her before she finds a scad of friends and leaves us in the dust
Time with friends. We’ve also had some friends over in the chaos of the last few weeks and enjoyed their company.
Time with family. My brother’s family came into town a few weekends ago and I’m finally getting to blog about it in tiny micro-bits: We love them and had a great time. Pictures should be forthcoming some time this year.
I was reminded this morning of a really, really stupid moment in my teenaged life. A moment when I had the whole family in the car with me. I was driving. I was driving a Suburban. For those of you who are not familiar with the Suburban its much like a large pickup truck with a camper shell on the back, only it has three rows of seats so you can fit an entire army of people in it. In fact in High School we called them MAV’s because that stood for “Mormon Assault Vehicle” because we assumed an entire neighborhood could be taken over by the number of “missionaries” [I think that's too kind a name] that could fit into a Suburban… but I digress.
So I had the family in the Suburban and we were driving home from Lake Tahoe to Carson City. This would be the kind of hill where the grades are steep and the road is windy. Think of it as the perfect place for a James Bond drive the car off a cliff kind of scene, only instead of his awesome tricked out Astin-Martin, think big GM truck. The Astin-Martin can nearly fly and the GM can nearly drop like a lead weight. I was driving kind of fast. And by kind of fast I mean stupidly fast and scaring my dad. Scaring my dad on windy roads is hard to do, but I did it. So he reached over the seat from the back where he was sort of seated and grabbed my shoulder and said, “Slow down!” I think he only had to tell me three or four times before I actually did slow down.
I’m pretty sure that Suburbans are not able to corner like that and that angels actually held all four tires onto the road. I can’t prove it, but I also can’t prove that my dad was scared either. He could have just known exactly how fast the car could handle and knew I was getting close. He’s been known to drive ultra-fast on windy roads himself Did I mention the Suburban was lifted 3″?
My brother’s family is coming into town. How awesome is that? We get to spend some time with them and I’m very, very grateful for it. Its been over three years since I’ve seen them, and finally they’ll get to meet Evie and we’ll get to meet Hawley (as a non-six-week-old) and Emalia, who is just over a year. This is going to be the best weekend ever.
I have gotten more comments in the last month on my post from ages ago on Ligers than I have on any other post. Its the equivalent of having someone dig on your grandma: she’s old, just let her be. Plus, in my case, she’s married, so that’s double yucky. Anyway, its special being the source for liger misinformation. And, Um, Dave? You really ticked people off. Congratulations on getting people to leave a swearing comment (which I deleted) and telling you where to go and what to do with yourself when you get there. I just wish that Ligers weren’t a man-made creature that has been dorked with and manipulated. Because if they were natural, then I could justify loving them for who they are. Right now I have to just have sympathy for their being pawns. Also, white tigers are manipulated and that makes me sad, too.