Browsing Archives for Supreme Silliness

Swimming Pool Signage

July 3rd, 2008

Today I took my kids to the pool, and yes, I spent the first ten minutes frantically scanning the water for turds while feeling kind of sick and dizzy… but then I got over it.  After I was done with the turd scan, I slipped right back into normal old Rechelle mode and unfortunately that is not exactly the world’s most comfortable pair of shoes.  For some reason I can’t really comprehend, going to our small town’s swimming pool makes me feel like I am in high school again.   It’s the old oh there’s that person over there that I kind of know, but not really and should I go over and say something or should I just sit here and feign paralysis?  I am pretty good at feigning paralysis.  Just ask the Country Doctor.  I am not exactly the most socially gifted person on the planet.  That is the job of my sister.  I spent most of my formative years standing just behind her, smiling weakly, and trying to find a dark corner in which to escape.

But there are no dark corners at a public swimming pool.  So I decided that a few signs might be helpful for people like me who suffer from mild to moderate social paralysis.  I envision these signs around the perimeter of the pool with comfortable chaise loungers and shade umbrellas and a young tanned male twenty something that brings you cold beverages and little snackies and is very interested in your blog… and doesn’t mind hearing all about it… and offers to put suntan lotion on your back and… 
Oh yeah signs… … so you read the signs that are around the pool and then you decide where you wanted to sit that day based on the signs…
Here I will give you some sign examples from off the top of my head… 
1.  Moms who love to chat sit here.
2.  Moms who only like to chat with certain people (probably not you) sit here.
3.  Moms who will chat with you but only under extreme duress sit here.
4.  Moms who chat non-stop until they turn blue and do not stop chatting even if one of their children is drowning, but instead hop up, scoop out drowning child, chatting the entire time.
5.  No chatting allowed.
6.  Chat at your own risk.
7.  You can chat, but I can’t hear you!
8.  Please… somebody… come chat with me… I feel so awkward and alone.
9.  My child is the one who poops in the pool.
10.  I want to be alone… I just really, really want to be alone… no I don’t not really… but I want you to think I want to be alone… but I really desperately want someone to talk to me…
11.  Go Away!
12.  I am very comfortable staring into space, but can chat if it is really necessary.
13.  I brought a book.  I will read it if no one wants to chat with me.  And I am okay with that.
14.  Socially awkward… will say bizarre and inappropriate things… you will either love or hate me.
15.  My daughter is the one in the bikini held together with dental floss. 
16.  My son is the one with the anger management issues.
17.  I want to talk about how poorly managed the pool is and how stupid all the lifeguards are.
18.  Remember when I was that skinny?
19.  Please don’t look at my thighs… please don’t look at my thighs… please don’t look at my thighs…
20.  Please don’t look at my butt… please don’t look at my butt… please don’t look at my butt…
21.  I can’t chat, because I spend every second micromanaging my children… Stop splashing Exodus… Get your head out of the water Deuteronomy… Leviticus!  Leviticus!  Leviticus – stop swimming on your back!   Remember?  We are swimming on our sides today!  Only our sides!  Deuteronomy get behind me Satan and give that little girl back her swimsuit bottoms!  Leviticus!  Leviticus!  

22.  I am a toned machine and I come here to put it on display girlfriend.  Feel free to peruse my thighs, my butt, my six pack, my triceps and my bullet proof breasts. 
23.  No one is permitted to play with my child’s toys.
24.  Your child is touching my child’s toys.
25.  Come here son… Come here!  Do you see that baby playing with your toys?  Take the toys away from that baby and play with them over here by mama.  No, just take them away…  Just grab them!  GRAB THEM!
26.  Leviticus!  Get off that diving board.  GET OFF THE DIVING BOARD!!!  We discussed this at home!  You are not to be on the diving board until you have memorized the entire book of Genesis IN HEBREW!!!  We have been over this and over this!  Exodus!  PUT your swimming suit back on!

Grey Gardens Fashion Show

June 22nd, 2008

When last we spoke, I was sitting in my parent’s home trying to make myself disappear so I wouldn’t have to help my sister re-decorate every single room in the house in which we grew up.  Unfortunately, April would not leave me alone until I got up and helped her move furniture and rearrange photos and hang pictures and dust shelves and move around knick knacks.  
April wanted to start in the foyer… which is directly adjacent to the coat closet… which is full of my mother’s old coats… and a few other things…  
And well… 
Once we saw the old coats….  
Um well we just sort of got them out…  
And well… 
Then this happened…

This is me modeling my mother’s old fake fur coat.  

This is April modeling my mom’s old rabbit coat from the 1980′s when my mom was deeply into her J-Lo fashion phase.

We don’t know much about this coat, except that it is very orange.

And it makes you totally rock out.


We decided that the chocolate brown coat looked a little too “now”.  

So I found one of my mom’s old evening gowns.

Which is clearly not now.  

And we moved outside…
For better lighting.

April, the fashion editor on the set that day, suggested we try for a Grey Garden’s look. 

And since I do everything April tells me to do, even though I am the older sister…

I went all Grey Gardens…

Then April had to go all Grey Gardens.
The Country Doctor wondered if April was undergoing chemotherapy.  
He does not know about Grey Gardens Chic.
We moved to the grass, as it was more Grey Gardeny.
We kept our head scarves firmly in place.

This is April working it.  

This is April maybe working it a little too hard…

My turn!  My turn!

Oh please no.


I think this is the worst, most awful, most awkward photo I have ever seen of myself!  I look like a gypsy cadaver creeping up to get a pail of murky, bitter water out of that there well and use it to kill off someone’s chickens.  

Then we put our Grey Garden Garb away and finished the foyer. 
I brought that orange dress home with me.
I just couldn’t leave it behind.
I can’t wait to find another excuse to put it on.  
Like maybe next time I walk out to the mail box… or need to go get a gallon of milk…. or maybe parent/teacher conferences… 

I have been analyzing and assessing and using my critical thinking skills and walloping my victuals, and sawing the callouses off my big toes with my thumb nail, and ruminating, and obsessing and lying on my bed in a twisted heap of pain, and staring at the ceiling fan… and I have finally decided that my sinking blog stats having nothing to do with me.  

Nothing at all!
As usual it is the fault of other people that are causing me to fail.  
This is how it has always been.     

Example Number One Of Other People Causing Me To Fail – Or Math Suicide
My poor math grades… throughout my entire life… including the remedial math class I was forced to take in college and also failed are actually not my fault… but the fault of other people…

Mostly my poor math grades are the fault of  my math teachers who did not seem to understand that when they spoke in numerals… all I ever heard coming out of their mouths was “blah, blah, blah, number, number, protein, legume, nitrogen, blah”.  
Why could they not speak my language instead?   Why could they not read aloud long segments from Nancy Drew Books and later the startling literary revelations of V.C. Andrews and Jean M. Auel?  I would have especially liked for my math teachers to explain in great detail the weird sex stuff in those books that completely riveted my fourteen year old brain and held it captive for entire semesters at a time.   
Why could they not replace word problems with fashion shows…
And geometry with silent sustained reading of Seventeen magazine?  
Why did they not consider letting me make up cheerleading routines instead of taking tests?
And how about writing our boyfriends names in our notebooks instead of homework?
If only they would have taught me math the correct way, I would have succeeded and I would now be a nuclear physicist with a second home in Shropshire,  instead of a failing blogger and general lunatic.
Problem Number 2 – IBS or Irritable Bowel Syndrome
Did you know that I used to suffer quite dramatically from Irritable Bowel Syndrome?  
Did you?  
Do you want me to tell you all about it?  
Do you?  
I started to suffer from IBS soon after my first son was born.  The unusual thing about my particular case of IBS was that it only struck whenever my husband’s family was due to show up at our house en masse at any minute.  
Suddenly and quite tragically,  I would be overcome with such violent twisting stomach pain that the only cure was to lie motionless on my bed in a curled ball of agony until everyone had left our house.  
Note to readers – The Country Doctor’s family is huge, vast, as numerous as the individual grains of sands on all the beaches in all the world.   
My own family of origin is tiny.  
I had a bit of trouble adapting.  
But again this is not my fault.  
Why could not The Country Doctor have noticed my pain for just a teensy second instead of merely stepping over my throbbing intestines on the way to open the door to the first wave of dinner guests?  
Why could not The Country Doctor have insisted, just one tiny time, that perhaps I was too weak and shaky to host a massive flood of virtual strangers and force everyone out in a gallant and brave act of uncompromising love?  
Why could not the Country Doctor have realized that although my tummy troubles only struck at the onset of a visit from his family, that did not mean I was in any way, shape, or form a faker. I was simply allergic to his family.  An allergy I have overcome with the help of meditation, prayer, and the ability to escape into my own cloud of happy unicorns at will.
Problem Number Three – The Crimson Girls
Just this evening, I was pestered with yet another phone call from the University of Kansas asking for money.  I had no intention of giving them a dime as well… you know… I already gave KU a lot of money.  

That is where the Country Doctor went to Medical School and um yeah… so anyway – when they called they asked for $100.00 and I said no.  Then they said what about $50.00?  I said no…  Then they said okay, you are really pathetic, but would you give $25.00 and I said no.  You know why I said no?  

I think if you look back at the Crimson Girl line-up between the years 1987 and 1991 you will notice a huge sucking hole where I SHOULD HAVE BEEN!!!  
And yes – NOT MY FAULT
Which brings us to Problem Number Four That is Not My Fault – This Blog.
Why is this blog sucking wind?
Why is it turning into a vacuum of endless night?
Why is this blog becoming the black hole of burning gas from the nether regions of Planet Xerxes?
Clearly this is not my fault.
I show up everydaywell almost everyday… and blather on about the same inane, stupid, ridiculous, things… and put the same blurry, ill focused, vague  
photos up of a bunch of people that no one knows and occasionally a long mindless video of my family watching TV… and EVEN with all that – the blog still declines!
After a lot of soul searching I have decided just whose fault it is and I hereby Pronounce PHOTOSHOP as the evil that so infests blogland that it is impossible to succeed without it.
Yes,  Photoshop is the culprit.  
Photoshop is The Enemy 
The Devil 
Satan’s Scourge 
Yellow Puss Boil Weed
Rocky Mountain Hippie Stink

and Death in A Pasture. 
It is Photoshop’s fault!
You see, I don’t do photoshop on this blog.  Not even for a nanosecond.  The idea of manipulating a photo is as foreign to me as the idea of eating live earthworms.  
I mean here is the photo.  
It is already done.  
Why would you do more to it???  
This is sheer madness.  
If someone were to give you a piece of hot cherry pie with a scoop of vanilla bean speck ice-cream on top, would you feel the need to highlight the vanilla bean specks before you ate it?  
If someone gave you a puppy that was the exact breed and personality and calm quiet potty trained cuteness that you had always dreamed of, would you send him back for a more misty background?  
If suddenly you were handed a pair of keys… to a house… on the beach… in Italy… and told you that you would never have to work again, but to just go, live your life, take all your friends and family (or not) and just go and never worry again… would you insist that the sky in Italy be just a tiny bit more blue before you accepted the offer?
Photoshop is nuts.
Pure NUTS!!!
But then So Am I
So I went out and I bought PhotoShop
And I quickly became a genius photo manipulator.
I now give you the Country Doctor’s Wife Capitulation into the Realm of PhotoShop Whosit Whatsit, Whatever…

Here is the Country Doctor before I photoshoppped him.
Here is the Country Doctor after I photoshopped him.

Here are my kids before I photoshopped them and used actions.

Here are my kids now…
Here is my sister before….
eating unphotoshopped pie and drinking unphotoshopped coffee.

Here is my sister now.  Do you see how I highlighted her hair and sped up
 the motion by applying an action which I invented myself which I hereby name the “Great Balls of Fire” action.
And finally…

Here is me before Photo Shop… before actions… before painkillers… but just after birth.  Just after the birth of one of my boys… I don’t even know which one…
If ever there was a photo that could use a little help…
Add a little Photoshop
And here is me now…
I can’t wait to see what this does for my blog stats.  
Tra La La,