Suspect99's Blog

When you find him…

Lisa Pool — Sat, 11 Jul 2009 05:24:36 +0000

I just want to be with a guy that adores me as much as I adore him. One that is strong enough to hold me in line and hold me in bed. One with a sense of humor, laugh at my foibles as well as his own. Encourages me to develop myself and develops himself in turn. One that is involved in the community. Is powerful enough to pick me up and toss me on the bed like a rag doll and take me as his own, yet gentle enough to show his love. One honest enough to face the truth and deal with it head on. Fair enough to seek justice. Wise enough to know when to leave well enough alone.

Let me know when you find him…

Oops! My Bad!

Lisa Pool — Mon, 06 Jul 2009 03:16:25 +0000

Ben is thirteen. He’s in eighth grade at Marshall Junior High. He’s a good student and overall good kid. He has great friends that keep us all pretty much entertained as only young teenage males can.

Thirteen year old males are full of confidence and really think everything is funny especially body noises and functions. They feel those hormones coursing through their veins. Their voices are changing and my son is need of a shave. Gone is the cute cuddly face and sweet voice of childhood. In its place is a heavier raspier version that says, “dude” every other sentence and a huh huh laugh anytime there is something that can be twisted.

A neighbor and I share getting kids to school. Tuesday and Thursdays are my days. I got off easy and for that I am thankful. One Thursday I am picking up “the boys” from school. I have to sit and wait for them to acknowledge me. “The boys” are busy talking with “friends”. From my viewpoint it appears that most of these “friends” are girls. The boys grab their backpacks, say their goodbyes, flip their hair ever so cool and strut down (none too fast) to the car. I’m waving them on trying to get them to pick up the pace. I have a meeting at the high school to attend. The boys are on their own time schedule. The only thing that would get them to speed up is the promise of food or shopping and preferably both.

The boys FINALLY get in the car and somehow continue with what I call “peacocking”. They’re laughing and it seems that every other word is “dude”. “Dude, did you see…” “DUDE I heard…” “ah, dude!” I manage to break in between the banter. I have to explain to Ben if I am waving them down I really need them to pick up the pace. He responds with, “oh, my bad.” Yeah. Ok. My phone rings. It’s Mike. Blah blah blah (I’m sure it was important to him but I don’t remember) Meanwhile, the boys have rolled the windows down and have their heads hanging out like the dogs they are yelling to people we are passing. I tell Mike to hang on and yell “Hey, guys! .. Guys! …GUYS I’m on the PHONE!” The boys ignore my pleas. “BEN!” I finally got his attention and he responds with “oh, my bad” Oh dear God in heaven save me please.

UGH

I quickly get off the phone. Conversation at a speed that can only be done in a car in traffic with teenagers surrounding begins.
“Hey Ben, the ‘my bad’ thing is really getting old. I really need that to stop. Ok?”

“Sure. My bad. Oh SORRY! My bad, oh jeeze! My bad! Dang! Sorry!”

The boys think that is most hilarious thing ever said! “Dude, that was hysterical!” huh huh huh “Come on Mom. You have to admit that was pretty funny!” It’s at this point I realize there is only one way I am ever going to be able to get control over this. The next time he asks for money I’ll say, “Ah dude, I’m broke. My bad.” That should do it.

(Written 01-08)

Caution: Iron May Be Hot

Lisa Pool — Mon, 06 Jul 2009 03:10:51 +0000

After having put this purchase off for some time now I finally broke down and bought a new curling iron last night while I was at Target pretending to Christmas shop. My old curling iron is hairspray encrusted from years of hard use on hair that doesn’t do anything. Ok, my hair does do things, but not things that the public at large wants or needs to see. My lovely seventeen year old daughter currently has her favorite picture of me on her phone. It shows up when I call her. It’s me with my hair sticking straight up in all directions, a most flattering capture of me in a happy moment. Oh the split seconds of life teenagers love to capture and hold on to of the unwitting parent for the mere purpose of embarrassing torture at a later date. I’ve learned that it’s best just to laugh too loudly in those moments embarrassing the teenager in return.

This morning I whip out the new curling iron. It has thirty heat settings. I don’t know if I need 1 or 30. Odds are 30, but just in case I pull the instruction guide out. There are two. One is in English the other in Spanish, of course.

I don’t know how it happened, but the first thing I saw was in the warning section and as usual I burst into laughter. “Do not use while sleeping.” I have done a lot of things in my sleep over the years, talk mostly, but I’ve also been known to throw a punch, take all the covers, take over the bed, take the pillows, yell in my sleep, kick in my sleep, and even walk in my sleep. Use my curling iron? Not that I am aware of! I’ve probably needed to!

The next warning says “Never drop or insert any object into any opening or hose.” Gotcha. Not sure what that has to do with my curling iron though. However, I am sure the kids will be disappointed with their stockings this year.

How about this one? “Do not use outdoors or operate where aerosol (spray) products are being used or where oxygen is being administered.” There goes the usefulness of the curling iron. Decent hairspray only comes in ozone depleting environmental ruining hazardous aerosol spray cans. Oxygen isn’t an issue. I can’t breathe with all the fumes in here anyway.

“Do not use an extension cord to operate appliance.” Too late!
Needless to say there is a warning about leaving the iron unattended, but later the safety instructions say the appliance will turn itself off in sixty minutes if left unattended. Oh and don’t forget! Appliance is hot!