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Monthly Archives: August 2012

Why a Camera Can Be Dangerous

Every time Izzy and I start to head down the road, she reaches in my purse for my I phone. She loves taking pictures…of herself.

Now, please don’t think my daughter is vain. These pictures, all 3000 of them, mostly look like this.
Ummmm, why?

“Aren’t you afraid somebody is going to get a hold of my phone and see that you take great delight in contorting your face for the camera?”
I ask her to please stop wrinkling her forehead, she’ll wish she listened to me one day when those wrinkles actually stick there.

Yes, precious, that’s your eye.
Very pretty blue eye.
I love the way she made this 4 dimensional.
Wonder what ever happened to …
smiling normal when ones takes a picture of themselves?


inform Izzy that I can see up her nose in this one and she really needs to put down the camera phone at this point.
I’m fearing those lips are doing to get stuck in that position.
Most unattractive.

So she decides to get even:
“Ummm, ok. why am I upside down? And don’t you think it would nice to warn somebody before you randomly take 332 pictures of them as they are driving down the road?”

“I’m trying to show you that you have lots of wrinkles on your neck.” Izzy tells me.
“Ehhh. Yeah. Since you are so obsessed with my phone, why don’t you help me figure out how to watermark a picture? I need to start doing it for my blog.” I ask her.
“Why would you want to do that? You take terrible pictures, momma. Do you really want to leave your mark on them showing everybody what a bad photographer you are?” Izzy tells me.

“You are being rude, put down moms phone if you’re not going to help.” I said.
“Ok, I’ll help you with your watermarking, mom.”
“Oh, ok. OK! I get it. Give me my phone, I can figure it out myself, Miss Priss.”\
And so I did…


Shamed by a 9 Year Old

I made it home from Philly…all safe and sound. Ok, I just barely made it home. I coulda really done without that 8 hour wait in the airport.

Nevertheless, I am all settled back into normal life, if that’s what you would even dare to call it around my house. Not home 48 hours and I find myself ~

Shamed by a 9 year old.

But she’s too cute to be mad at.

She belongs to the The Honey. and personally, I find him totally responsible.


But…He’s too cute to be mad at too.

So, I think I’ll just be mad at myself for being shown up by this lil 9 year old. It all started at dinner and somebody brought up our past presidents. Who was good, who wasn’t, who did this, who believed that, who stood for this, who raised taxes and who merely raised eyebrows. It was amazing to me how much The Honey’s lil Honey knew. It was even more amazing at how little the Honey’s big Honey knew. (Me)

Even though my own child is the President of the Republicans Club, Voted Teen Republican of the year, Treasure of the Georgia Republican chapter and a very commited volunteer for all things Republican, I know very little about politics. This could be because I don’t bother to pay attention whatsoever and my child does. The Honey does and consequently, the Lil Honey does.

After our eye opening conversation, I decided to take matters in my own hands. I woke up the next morning determined to be informed, educated and in the know about all things news worthy. The next time I had dinner with the The Honey and his Lil Honey, my knowledge and brilliance would astound them.

So, it’s 6:00 the next morning,  my children are scrambling to get dressed for school and I actually flipped on the news. What could it hurt, I would simply listen while I made breakfast. On this particular morning, I made an ’Oh So Yummy breakfast’; a bacon, gouda cheese and egg sandwich. I even took special care to make the egg yolk runny inside. I flip on the news, go about my business, the kids sit down to eat, and I take a big bite of my delicious breakfast sandwich. The news was discussing a flood our town had the day before and some people, well, they really got it bad. Apparently, the rain was so severe it flooded their sewer lines and raw sewage came pouring out onto the floors of their homes, sometimes even spilling into hallways, bedrooms and kitchens.

Oh My Aching Fanny.

I hadn’t even swallowed the second bite of my bacon, gouda and egg sandwich when the yolk of the egg popped in my mouth the same time the raw sewage was shown spilling out of some poor Joe’s toilet.

This event on that morning has the marked the beginning of the end for me. The beginning of the end for:

1. Ever eating a bacon, gouda cheese, and runny yoked egg breakfast sandwich.

2. Attempting to be in the know about the world’s happenings. After all, ignorance is bliss.

3. Worry that a 9 year old is more educated than myself. In the end, does it really matter?


Cab Ride in Philly

When in Philadelphia, be very weary of which cab driver you choose to entrust your life with.

I’m not gonna say which guy was mine, I’m still a lil afraid he’ll come after me. I’m being serious.


At first, everything was normal. It was raining like crazy and my cab driver drove me through the storm with ease.

BTW: I never knew Philly had some many broken down abandoned factories. Wonderful scenario for possible dumping ground, yes?


Those pics are just a few on my route. The route that was supposed to take 45 minutes but took over an hour and a half.


We drove and drove and drove. And at first, I thought nothing of it. I called my kids to check on them. I called my momma. “All is well!! See, y’all, a single mom can travel alone and be safe!” I proudly declared on the phone!

See momma, I told you the cab driver wouldn’t pull over on the side of the road, hand cuff me, beat and hghghhghg55342424###$$!!!@@@ me and dump my decomposing body in the dumpster….Told ya so!

After about an hour and ten minutes, I watched as my cab driver began slapping his GPS and saying:

“Not work!!! GPS not work!!!”

Errrrrrrr ummmmmmm. Ok, really? I gave Mr. Cab Driver the number to my hotel. Twice. The cab driver called each time but only asked “What town you in? What town you in?”

I have a better option. How about “How you get there? How you get there?”

But that’s so not what he said.

I started really getting concerned when he pulled off the highway for the second time.

“I cut off meter. That way, it not charge you. You already at $100.00 dollar. You pay now.”

Poop. He wants me to pay him on the side of the highway when I’m not even there? Is he trying to erase a paper trial?

I can hear him now

                                                       “Oh no, officer, I drop lady off at 7:04p.m.

                                 Here is my receipt.  I not kill her and dump her body in dumpster….”



By 8:00 p.m. and the third time pulling off on the side of the highway, I was texting The Honey “if you don’t hear from me, this is his name…..his cab number is…..we are near…old abanded factories? CALL THE POLICE!!!”

Dear merciful heavens…..

I sat there for a seconds thinking: what to do, what to do….

I didn’t want to be forceful, that might make him mad and then he could really freak. Instead of sending my text, I picked up my phone and said “You know what, I bet my Honey can help out with this one. He’s the head of the GBI. My Honey has friends all over this town. My Honey will totally direct our way to the hotel. I shoulda thought of this earlier. No worries.”

I called my Honey. You know the one I’m always talking about? The one who is not the head of the GBI?????

The conversation went a little like this:

ME: “Hey. whatcha doing?”

The Honey: “I’m on my tractor at the farm. I’m about to spread some grass seed.”

ME:”Oh wow, you’re lifting Volkswagen cars as weights again? My Honey is so strong and powerful.”

The Honey: “HUH?”

ME: “Oh no, I’m not at the hotel yet. Pretty funny story, though. My cab drivers GPS broke.”

The Honey: “His GPS broke? What an idiot. Tell that fool to stop messing around and take you back to your hotel. NOW.”

ME: “Oh yes, we are on the right path now, dear. I was just mentioning to him how you killed 7 men with your bare hands….just last week. My baby is a lump of muscles, he is.”

The Honey: “Do what?”

ME: “Oh, here we go. We are suddenly at the Radisson Hotel. Yes, baby. I will call you the minute I walk through the doors. You did what? Hired me a personal bodyguard whose waving at me right now? You silly bean. Ok. Love you too. Ok. Yes. Talk in three minutes, babe. Ummm hmmm, the second I walk through the door. Bye, snuggle bunny!”

“Huh? What did you just call me?”


Good grief.

Since I had paid him earlier, I was helping myself outta his nasty, grimy cab.

“Meter broken. Says you not pay.” The cab driver growled.
“Oh, I pay. I gave you my AMEX card. Remember?” I told him.

“Machine broken. Says you not pay. You give me your phone number and if card not go through, I call you.” He said.

“No.” I say. Paralyzed outside my hotel…with my pretend body guards standing…no where in sight? ”You can’t have my phone number.” I tell him.

“I give you mine. Here card.”

“I not need your card. I pay.” (Funny how I picked up his ‘cabinese’ speech.)

But I took his card anyway. On my speaker phone, I dialed AMEX to ask if the charge went through. $100.00 smacks did indeed go through. “Could you tell my taxi driver so I can leave?” I ask. “His machinery, it seems to have a malfunction. All of his machinery does, in fact.” So AMEX tells him that I was charged.

I go to walk away.

“Hey lady” he says. “Gimme me back my card.”

Oh my aching fanny.

“No.” I tell the cab driver. “I might need it.” I smiled and walked into the hotel. All the while, my fingers dialing The Honey’s number and him answering…”Now what was that all about????? I couldn’t barely hear you with my tractor motor running…..”