This has to be one of my most favorite Halloween costumes from my childhood! Yep- me and some of my Barrelassin’ cousins were Giant Kooky Spooks. I don’t know what a Kooky Spook is- but it was fantastic!. I can still remember the smell of the face paint and the blow up head. I know I wasn’t more than five years old and it’s still the costume that stands out in my mind the most.
My little Paul Stanley, Gene Simmons and Princess! This is one of my favorite Halloween costumes that my kids wore. They would’ve never settled for a blowup head! They’re almost grown now and it’s all about hanging out with friends. I noticed I didn’t get invited to hang out or cruise town with any of them tonight. This is proof that they once loved their mother 😉
When my husband recently suggested to our twenty year old son that he may actually be digressing, I thought it sounded silly. He has met with The National Guard recently and has his ASVAB scheduled, and is looking into college through the Military. But this, could be a clue.
I’m smack-dab in the middle of re-arranging some things in the house and I thought I would take a look at my son’s desk.
Clue #1) The desk is sitting in the middle of his room and used to pile clothes on. I told my son I wanted to look at it to see if I got an excited feeling when I looked at it. If so, I may want to use it. If not…I would leave it. After I looked at it, my son brought up something he had discussed with me awhile back.
Clue #2) Not so long ago he told me that pretty soon he plans to turn his room into a construction zone and not let anyone else in to see until his project was complete.
Clue #3) His project could not be built anywhere else and brought into the room- it was too big and had to be built inside the room.
Clue #4) He never started the project.
Today he decided to indulge me with all of the details surrounding his “one upon a time project.” He told me that he had originally planned to build a platform for his King Size bed. He wanted to build it about five feet high. Underneath the bed would be all the free space he needed for other things he wanted for his room. Also- there would be a curtain to open and close so that no one could see this “free space” underneath the bed. It was then that I put all the clues together and said to my son, “so, you want to build a fort?” He tried to explain why it wasn’t a fort, but trust me, it had all the makings of a fort.
Now I have it all figured out. My son isn’t joining the Military for a good job and college. My son is joining the Military because they build cooler forts.
Enjoy, Barrelassers 🙂
Once upon a time, in a land far, far away,(by “far away” I mean about about twenty two years ago, which would make me seventeen years old) my Barrelassin’ cousin and I were mechanics (by “mechanics” I mean “no we were not.”) We were definitely not mechanics, but that would’ve been cool. In fact, it would’ve been great considering the amount of time we spent under the hood of a car.
My Barrelassin’ aunt left town with her husband for a very lengthy road trip, and her two daughters stayed behind with me and Momma. We had full use of their vehicle while they were away, a choice they probably weren’t too happy with upon their return home, but the damage was done- no turning back.
I can’t tell you a big long story about what happened to this car in the first place, besides the fact that it turned into our traveling closet; we had clothes for every occasion covering the backseat of this car. We were never without what we needed to keep us rollin’. We barrelassed all over town in that car. Anyway- at some point the car needed repairs and our two dollars were not going to be enough to take care of the problems. Lucky for us we didn’t need to do anything. There was the other daughter, and she had a boyfriend who knew a thing or two about cars and was more than willing to repair the car for us. Don’t ask me what he did, I do not know the answer. I only know that whatever he did turned us into mech-ani-acs.
This is a play by play of what it took for us to leave the driveway in the car.
Lift the hood
Take two spliced wires and connect them to one another. At this point we would hear the fan.
Close the hood- start the car.
This was during daylight hours. When it would start to get dark, we would pull over somewhere and lift the hood and connect another set of spliced wires. This would make the headlights work. Now- the catch to the whole thing was that, the second set of wires- the ones that made the lights work, had to be connected in order for the radio to work. So if we wanted to listen to the radio we had to drive around in broad daylight with the lights on (way before daytime running lights where lights were always on) and every person we passed would flash their lights at us to let us know our “headlights were literally…on.” The even bigger problem was that the lights only worked on bright. So, not only did people flash at us all day, now we were cruising town with everyone flashing their lights at us, because we were now bright-lighting them. Anytime we parked the car, we had to lift the hood, disconnect all the Frankenstein wires and go about our business. It was a vicious circle.
After a few encounters with guys approaching us to see if we needed help, we quickly learned to use this to our advantage. We were not dummies. Not most of the time anyway. When we saw the attention it brought every time we raised the hood of that car, it became a tool. A tool we used to meet guys we wanted to meet. We would cruise around town, wherever the cute guys were and wherever they were turning around or hanging out, is where we would drive the car to and lift the hood and try to look as confused as possible. “What in the world is wrong with our car? What could be going wrong here?” Worked like a charm- EVERY SINGLE TIME!
We were experts! We knew exactly what guys we wanted to help us and precisely where to park that car, and the precise moment to park it there to get their attention. The real problem was that none of them ever had a clue what was wrong or what to do. That was a good stall that gave us time for the perfect amount of conversation and time for plenty of hair-flipping moments. The best part was the moment we knew we no longer wanted to talk to some of the guys- we would instantly look like a genius, declaring, “I think I will put these two wires together, and then these two and see what happens” and the car would start, we’d say a quick “thanks for your concern” and speed off to “fake break down” in front of some other guys that we deemed a better choice. The downside…some guys spent the whole time actually mystified trying to figure out what was wrong with the car and left no time for small talk with us, and even if we wanted to talk to the chosen ones, there came a time where we had to become mechanics in a nonchalant way and fix the car ourselves, leaving a lot of guys scratching their heads and probably feeling like fools.
These memories are so funny to me, but when I think of them, I have to wonder…did we have a “bright idea” or did the two of us have a couple of “loose wires?”
Enjoy, Barrelassers 🙂
Have yourself a merry little Halloween…now. No, really- I mean it, NOW, because Christmas is waiting and it’s not being patient.
I’m hearing about and seeing a lot of Halloween and Christmas decorations everywhere at the same time. I’ve seen some complaints about it. Where do I stand on this topic? Hmm- well, I don’t really care all that much. Halloween is really just a gateway drug to a Turkey and a Ham for me. I can buy candy all year long, so I’m really not worried that it’s going anywhere. More and more the average person looks like they’re dressed for Halloween on a daily basis, and pairing that with the fact that I’m too scared to go around scared all month, takes the actual “problem” off the table for me. It is, however, the only day acceptable to go door to door and expect complete strangers to give you candy, but I’ve covered all that in an earlier post and I personally, haven’t tricked the hell out of anyone in a long time , so maybe I’ll switch it up a little this year. BEWARE!!! There- that’s my Halloween spooky voice to kick things off.
In all seriousness, I love Christmas decorations so I wouldn’t be at all opposed to the stores selling them all year long. And I’m not talking about those Christmas only stores where a glass ball with a hook costs more than the tree I plan to hang it from. Perhaps Walmart could have a Christmas section for the entire year. I do agree that it looks quite odd and ridiculous to have an inflatable Santa in one yard with a giant pumpkin in the yard next door. It’s not the store’s fault. Probably as a courtesy, they begin the sale of Christmas items so the consumer can get a head start on the most expensive holiday. I would guess they didn’t take into consideration the dumb-asses who can’t come together and decide on an appropriate time to coordinate the holidays and it’s decorations. The transition from the Orange Fall, the candy bar and a Turkey to the Red & White Winter and a tree in your house is not an easy one for some people.
I believe it was an unwritten rule at one time that Thanksgiving, was the appropriate time to start the Winter and Christmas decorating, but I suppose since it’s not even Halloween day yet and I’m freezing my rear end off, it could pass for Winter. It doesn’t really matter anyway- I have one strand of icicle lights still hanging from my house and one upper portion of a window covered in fake snow leftover from last Christmas- I guess I jumped the gun on Christmas ten months ago.
Enjoy, Barrelassers 🙂
My husband is officially home after the meeting/conference over the last week and I can finally pull my head out from under the covers. My butt and feet temperature are returning to normal and my children’s attempts to kill me or drive me to the brink of insanity, probably so that they could keep the car as late as they want until my husband returned- have failed. I survived hell week.
My daughter has announced that she is, in fact, dating a senior, but that’s a fairly easy fix. Seniors have cars and like to go places. Freshmen do not have cars and aren’t allowed to ride in cars with boys, so this should all work itself out as far as I’m concerned.
My oldest son took the car to a meeting with The National Guard and once again started talking responsibly. He told me I was lucky that he’s interested in The National Guard, because now that means he can’t start using steroids- so basically, he threw me a bone, thanks kiddo!
My younger son hasn’t caused a single problem all week and to honest, I thought he would be the one, but he switched it up on me and was the most responsible person in our home this week. I feel as though he picked up on my malfunctioning brain due to his brother and sister and he, too, threw me a bone- and that’s something to be very thankful for!!
Even the dog tried to act up while my husband was gone, but he’s all cool now that daddy is home. However, I’m pretty sure I heard him whispering “mommy’s crazy” into my husband’s ear, but maybe I’m just being paranoid and delusional- he could have been saying something else I suppose.
Now to get things back on track- my daughter is face painting at the Halloween carnival this evening and I think we’ll go hang around and act like a normal family, like daddy-o was never gone.
Now just one thing I’m mulling over today. A friend of mine asked me to come and hold her hand this evening while she gets her first tattoo. I had to decline due to the carnival, but told her I would be there in spirit, which has left me pondering- what the hell does that even mean? I’m not going to be there; she’s not going to feel like I’m there or pretend that I’m there, and I’m certainly not going to pretend that I’m there, so what the hell good does it do her if I tell her I will be there in spirit? The last time I heard, spirits were what are known as ghosts. Am I haunting my friend this evening? And would anyone actually want someone’s spirit with them while they had a tattoo needle grinding into their back? I’m pretty sure my dear friend would rather I kept my spirit- ass away from her while she gets inked so therefore, I am doing her a huge favor.
Enjoy, Barrelassers 🙂
Day two of my husband being away for business has shaped itself right into, well, let’s just say…STICK A FORK IN MY EYE! Today, my oldest son was the first one to catch a ride on the crazy train and, instead of allowing me to smile and wave as he went- he tied me to the side of the train and drug me along the side as he went on and on about how he should probably start taking steroids, because- he’s twenty years old and has no desire to look fifteen for the rest of his life. HA! Tell me that shit when you’re forty and you look forty, kiddo!
He does this sometimes. It starts off completely innocent and even went as far today to laugh and tell me he mostly does it to get me all worked up and to make me mad. But then…he latches on when I try to tell him how stupid that would be and how dangerous it is- he then tries to explain to me how, although he’s not actually planning to do steroids, I have no idea what I’m talking about. What sort proof do I have that steroids have ever actually been linked to someone ending up dead or with any kind of health problems?
His theory is that nobody ever hears anything bad about steroids until someone does something bad and happens to be using steroids, so everyone blames the actions on steroid use. He also informed me, quite confidently that, “this is not 1902 where people are just mindlessly putting stuff into their bodies without knowing the proper way to use it.” I must say, I instantly agreed with him. He’s right about one thing. It’s not 1902, and as a mother, I had to remind him that it is, in fact, 2013, where people are eating bath salts, and seem to be okay with mindlessly putting that into their bodies.
Once my headache set in good, I dropped him off with his brother to play basketball while I took my daughter to get that makeup she so desperately needed and to get some groceries. Just in case you can’t sense my level of frustration, let me give you a list of what I ended up with…keep in mind, I wasn’t there to grab a couple of things- I needed serious groceries.
Not counting my daughter’s makeup…
Shampoo and Conditioner
1 bag of Chicken Nuggets
1 box of Ramen Noodles
1 can of Chicken Noodle Soup
4 Hot Pockets
8 baby red potatoes
1 box of waffles
2 bottles of Dr. Pepper (the real kind-not the usual, Dr. Topper)
If the items in the bag were any indication- we’d be having some sort of soap for dinner. My brain hurt so bad that I had no clue what I wanted to buy. All the time I was supposed to be going over it in my head was already spent discussing steroids. It reminded me of when we first got into the car and as my son grabbed the radio dial I said, “please, just wait, give me a moment.” He shot back with, “what’s wrong with you that you can’t turn on the radio as soon as we get into the car anyway? What is so important on your mind that you can’t hear music?” I tried explaining that what I was thinking was:
Where in the hell is the dog? Why has he been gone so long and what will happen to him if I leave without finding him and the little screwball has to stay outside until we return?
What do I need from the grocery store?
Do I have my phone?
Where is my purse? Oh good there it is; did I put my money in there before I carried it out of the house?
Is the guy delivering gravel to our driveway still going to show up today?
If I leave our tiny dog out, and the gravel guy shows up- will he see him and not run him over with the truck?
When is my husband coming home?
Come to think of it, every time he leaves without me, a dog either runs away or gets hit by a car. We only have one dog this time, no spare- so this can’t be happening.
What is that thumping? For the love of GOD, PLEASE turn that radio off for one solid minute while I clear my head!!!
That’s what’s wrong with me. That’s what I’m thinking, all at once. And if that’s not enough- I’m about to leave two boys together in a public place on a basketball court, that once called the police on each other over a single chicken nugget before I could get home from work after the school bus had dropped them off. Yes- it was a long time ago, yes- they were a lot younger then; but you don’t forget that shit easy. It’s right there with you as you drive away from them.
Time for bed- my daughter wants me to bring her a towel…right this minute, and thinks I should know that her frog is going to need more water in it’s tank. My youngest son wants my daughter to get out of the bathroom so he can shower. My husband is on the phone wanting to speak with me and I don’t know what room my oldest son disappeared to, but I know that stupid PS3 is on in the living room unattended, playing the same tune over and over and over!
Oh yeah, and I had a can of Ravioli for breakfast and a snack wrap for lunch/dinner- but clearly, I only think of myself. My daughter just came in here and told me how SHE’S running on three hours of sleep, and I think she was wanting sympathy from me. I can’t tell anymore??
These are grown children, people!! And you thought toddlers were assholes…
Enjoy, Barrelassers 🙂
Well this week started off all wrong. It started yesterday for me, which is a pretty bad sign considering yesterday was technically still a part of last week.
My husband is away on business. Not very far from home, thankfully, but still…away. I knew this wasn’t going to be good for my health because, even though I know I am perfectly capable of holding down the fort- somewhere in the back of my mind I’ve convinced myself that I will not be able to function without him, which really translates into I’m just a big baby who knows how much she will miss her husband. Now, the worst part is…he’s actually still in the same town, but the almost week long meeting requires the company to stay at the same place and attend the activities planned. Oh wait, that’s not the worst part at all…
My Barrelassin’ husband had not even been home from work yesterday to pack his bag before my daughter, a high school freshman, was already trying to go on a date with a senior football player. Just in case my memory of that age had failed me, I reminded myself that my youngest son IS a high school senior football player and his sole focus is not the well being of freshman girls, except for maybe the one he’s dating, talk about ironic, and my daughter has no business being left in the hands of such young men. I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with this young man- I’m saying that boys his age don’t typically tend to want to date a girl for her brains. In turn, this also means that he knows how to pick them, since she is currently displaying herself as someone who has completely lost her mind.
I had barely finished out the evening sending my husband off and feeling sorry for myself- moping around while trying to explain to her why dating a senior was unacceptable to me, when she messaged me from her bedroom, through social media and, very enthusiastically, said to me, “Let’s get my bellybutton pierced!!” I may be way off base here, but I swear it feels a lot like my daughter was trying to see if she could give me a stroke before midnight. At this point, I’d rather turn back into a pumpkin-just carve a smile on my face and leave me be. And please don’t do a hack job on me.
If the first evening was any indication to where the rest of this week is headed, I’m in big trouble. Right now we’re aimed straight for the gutter, but if I can manage to stay strong, without having a stroke, I could get this train back on the right track. Even my oldest son asked my daughter what the heck happened to her at school yesterday. Then she pulled the smart card and reminded him that it was Saturday. Everything went foggy for only a second before I found a way to turn it around and use it against her. Ignoring the fact that my son didn’t even know what day of the week it was, I found an “I’m smarter card” down deep within me and suggested that with all of her poor judgement yesterday- we should consider sending her to school on Saturdays as well. I can work on my son’s day and time management next week, right now I have to focus on being Super Mom to a daughter who’s got a pocket full of Kryptonite and is clearly not afraid to use it.
Today I feel like I have a massive hangover and I have absolutely no weird cellphone pictures or empty bottles to show for it. I’m creeping around my daughter trying not to make eye contact today, in case she really is trying to kill me. We’ve made it to early afternoon and she hasn’t stolen my car or anything, but I’m bracing myself for her to announce that she’s a pregnant stripper who ran away to live the life of her dreams in Vegas and now needs bail money and a plane ticket home since it didn’t work out, by the end of the week. She just came in here and spoke to me directly- I was a little scared at first, but it tuns out all she wants is to go shopping for all new makeup. No doubt about it- she must want to join the circus.
And as far as my senior son dating a freshman girl- I’m not her parent. As far as I know their outings together have been to church.Wait a minute…is this Karma catching up to me so I can walk a mile in her parents’ shoes? Oh man, please pray for my well-being and pray that my husband returns with my other glass slipper, and for the love of GOD…please let it fit!
Enjoy, Barrelassers 🙂
Well-I’ve gone and done it now. I dusted the coffee table and end table. Let the sneezing begin. I don’t know why I’m surprised; well, I’m not really, it’s just that you’d think by now I’d have a plan in place. Like maybe…moving every time the house has to be dusted, or at least leaving the house until a team of dusters has come in and made it a dust-free home. It’s not even like I swept; I was too afraid of the wrath of the dust-mite.
It never fails and it’s a vicious circle. If I don’t dust or sweep, well then… I’m rewarded with itchy, watery eyes, ears, nose and throat- and a sneezing fit that can be compared to ninja seizures 2.5 seconds apart. Since that’s not a real thing, let me paint a picture for you: I go walking through the house, minding my own business and everything is perfectly normal. Then, in the blink of an eye, actually many blinks of both eyes, because it’s impossible to sneeze with your eyes open, I begin sneezing uncontrollably. My eyes begin to swell, itch and water, tears begin streaming down my face- I’m not sad and crying- I’m hanging on by a thread- my ears start to itch and my throat itches so bad that I have to scratch it by making a noise that most people would liken to the sound of, as my barrelassin’ husband puts it, “hocking a loogy” But I’m not “hocking a loogy” I’m making a noise that makes a vibration, that in turn, eases the itching sensation in the back of my throat. It helps to hold Q-Tips in my ears at the same time.
If I do dust or sweep- all of the above happens exactly the same. I’ve had this problem for my entire life that I can recall. I thought I had a cold for all of my childhood- I never heard the word allergies until I was twelve years old and my eyes swelled up so bad I looked scary. My barrelassin’ momma got up in the middle of the night and took me on what was the first of our many, many trips to the Emergency Room due to allergies. That was the first time I recall anyone mentioning allergies to me, so it’s safe to say I wasn’t one of those stereotypical kids with an inhaler for her allergies-that came much later; I was a kid that always had a cold.
It doesn’t help that three of the top ten cities with the worst pollen and allergies for the fall season 2013 are all in Tennessee, two of them within an hour and two hours from me. And as luck would have it, I’ve read reports that this is expected to persist for at least the next decade. My town didn’t make the top one hundred, but apparently it doesn’t have to be the worst- I just have to be present in a house, and besides, I’ve managed to make sure I visited or driven through at least nine of the those top one hundred cities this year already and have plans to visit or drive through several of the other ones in the future. I’m self destructive that way. A rebel, if you will.
If you got the feeling you were losing me at any point during reading this, it’s because you did. None of this is important to me anymore- I’ve been trying to write it all day long, since I actually did that dusting hours ago. Don’t get me wrong, my allergies are really flaring up right now, but I’ve spent the better part of the day trying to explain to my daughter why I do not believe Freshman girls should date Senior boys. And not just why I disagree with it, but why over my dead body will I allow this. Fortunately for her, I will have to dust again soon- if I’m not the first person ever to die tonight due to complications from itchy eyes and throat syndrome, so she may get that date sooner than she thinks. I hope I won the lottery. I’m definitely going to need a maid and I’d much rather have to explain to my daughter why boys want to date her for her Momma’s money.
Enjoy, Barrelassers 🙂
Is there a such thing as concert etiquette? And if so- what are the ground rules? If I were to try and answer this question giving my opinion, I would have to say things like, standing on your seat in front of those behind you wouldn’t be the kindest thing to do. I think invading someone’s space, their personal bubble should only be broken if there is an invitation- it may be an unspoken invitation, but one can usually tell if everyone is on the same page and in it together. The lines and boundaries are typically drawn right up front, and by all means, should be respected.
But what about talking? Is talking new on the list or it strictly reserved for those who have a stick up their ass and I’m just now, after years of concert experiences, finally getting a good taste of what it’s like to have the one complete jackass, out of all the seats in the entire Bridgestone Arena, residing in my section? I freely admit- I am a talker; me and talking go way back. It’s on my list of my most favorite things to do; I like to talk so much and share my opinions that I have to have a blog just in case there’s no one around to listen. But, in my defense, we were at a rock concert- not the freaking Opera! And it wasn’t like I was talking directly to the noise police- I was speaking to one of the three other people in the group that I was attending the show with.
I was unaware that the noise patrol officer had purchased a seat one row up behind us, and imagine my surprise when I found out. I mean- you wouldn’t ordinarily commit a crime knowing the authorities were looking- I’m no fool, so it was a huge shock to me when one of the Barrelassers with me was talking about her favorite Don Henely song; I should mention we were at The Eagles concert in Nashville, Tn.- when I began to explain how the song she was referring to, Leather and Lace, by Don Henely and Stevie Nicks, was the song my Barrelassin’ husband and I had played in our wedding ceremony as the wedding party walked down the aisle. Apparently, this was more than the man with the stick up his ass, I mean the noise police, or whatever the technical term for him is; jackass I guess, could handle, and he actually leaned over from above us, placed his hand on my shoulder or our shoulders I’m not sure, and actually asked if we would keep it down, stating that “we” meaning himself and whoever else he thought he was at the Opera with, didn’t really need or care to hear about it.
Well, if there’s one thing I do know for sure- it’s that the quickest way to get me to do something is to rudely tell me not to. And I must say, I don’t know what you would call my dis-function, clinically speaking, but I have no real problem telling people what’s on my mind or what I think, but at the same time I almost never, ever say the first thing that comes to mind, and somehow what I’m thinking is not what actually comes out of my mouth, unless I am truly angered or offended by what someone has said to me- and if asked for an opinion I will freely give it in as nice a way as I know how. I do not believe for one second that everyone has to agree with everything someone says for a conversation to flow smoothly and I certainly don’t always tell people what they want to hear. I am objective and open despite what some people may think, but the only people who think otherwise are definitely the people who didn’t hear what they wanted to hear from me.
Anyway- for a single moment, I think I may have gone into shock, which is why I didn’t instantly respond with something more along the lines of, ” Or… you could kiss my ass and sit back down in your seat.” Or perhaps spice it up a little with the ole, ” I’ll bet now you’re kicking yourself for not bringing your hearing-aid with you since you clearly cannot hear the very loud music coming through hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of perfectly good, gigantic speakers over my voice.” And I’m a little disappointed in myself for not giving him a good dose of everything special in me by insisting that he hear, for the duration of the concert, every last detail of my wedding day. After a few seconds of de-scrambling what my ears had just heard and a good, clear processing in my brain, I almost couldn’t keep my mouth shut. It was a very tough battle between my brain and my mouth- and frankly, I’m convinced that the only reason I didn’t take my very first trip to jail was due to the efforts of the Barrelassin’ girl with me who, repeatedly took my hand, and told me to let it go- all while making it perfectly clear that she had my back, so if my mouth won over, I at least knew I wasn’t knee deep in it alone. Although, we were not alone; both of our husbands were with us and neither of them had any problem hearing the music over our story, because they had no idea what was even going on. It wasn’t until I told my husband what the issue was that he looked around, his eyes searching for the man with questionable behavior and so calmly stated, “that man? Cause I’ll kick his ass.” My husband, fully aware that if I really wanted that man’s ass kicked, I would likely already be in a full-blown brawl made his position clear with just a look that says, “my position is ALWAYS… that I will kick your ass if you dis-respect my wife in any way, she can talk as much as she wants…like literally, she will only be quiet when she chooses and that’s only when she’s debating what she wants to tell you next, and you’re actually the winner here- unless she actually does want me to kick your ass, and in that case- I’m glad to do it, because I’m harboring a lot of frustration right now. Have I made myself clear?”
This concludes the history of my history with ‘The History of The Eagles Tour:2013’ and they were fabulous! Definitely check it out if you can.
Enjoy, Barrelassers 🙂