Get a job!

This is what Lenny and I tell our boys on a daily basis.  And by "boys" I mean our two fur children, Bentley and Barkley.  I have long ago imagined that if my two furry chicken nuggets were able to be gainfully employed, they would be working at the Home Depot.  Why?  Because they both would look adorable in orange smocks, that's why.  And the "r" in Barkley's name would be written backwards.  Before you (continue) to judge me and think I'm a total nutbag, I've decided to throw my husband under the crazy bus, right along with me.  This is a conversation we had just the other night:
Me (to my boys): "Go get a job.  I hear the Home Depot is hiring."
Barkley and Bentley's response: *Bentley continues to chase reflections gleaming from the Christmas tree lights, and Barkley brings me his bouncy ball, because they both are masters at changing the subject.  They enjoy being given a free ride.*
Me (to Lenny): I think Barkley would work in the power tools section, and Teeny would work with the plants.  What to you think?"
Lenny: *with a "are you kidding me?" stare:  "Wrong.  Barkley would work in the lumber section, and Teeny would obviously work with the paints.  Obviously."
You thought his stare was going to indicate that my husband thought I was nuts, didn't you?  Negative.  He encourages this crazy like it's going out of style.  :)
And I apologize for the delay in posting, but truth be told it's huntin' season around here, and I've been busy. Nooooo, I don't hunt.  I just spend most of my evenings decked out in camouflage that I picked up on the clarence rack at Cabella's, and I hide behind trees and scare strangers.  I will try to be more diligent in updating my posts more frequently, but it's hard work blending in with a pile of leaves, but somebody's got to do it.

I brake for dragonflies

The above title is actually true.  You see, I adore animals.  Furry ones, winged ones, even dragonfly-y ones.  Whenever the ASPCA commercial is on that features Sarah McLachlan, I have to put the t.v. on mute, and bury my head in the couch cushions.  She has even inspired Teeny's bath time song (Teeny is Bentley... don't want there to be any confusion about that one...).  I sing "In the Arms of an Angel" at the top of my lungs, because he looks like a pathetic wet rat, with big brown peepers that say, "You are a cruel, cruel woman, Mama.  I currently hate you. Don't spray the noggin.  Don't spray the noggin.  Don't spr-Argh.  She sprayed the noggin."  Whenever I am driving along and I pass by horses, puppies, bunnies, or geese, I always exclaim the obvious.  Leonard and I could be having an intense conversation about pajama jeans, and I will without hesitation interrupt him by shouting with glee, "Oh!  Ponies!"  Of course the man is used to this by now so it doesn't even register with him that I am easily distracted by adorableness.  I have also come to the realization that not everyone is used to this part of my charm.  A while back I was driving with a few friends, and we drove past a herd of cattle.  Midway through my rant about Justin Bieber's bangs, I shouted, "Oh! COWS!"  and then went right on back to how I think he should decorate said bangs with a bow.  The two lovelies that I was driving with burst into laughter, and looked at me like I was insane.
A couple of years ago I watched this movie called "Dead and Breakfast".  It was a cinematic delight, I tell you, but there was one character in the movie that has always stuck with me.  I forget his name, but his character would jot down the types of roadkill that he would see along the side of the road, so he could say a prayer for them later on in the day.  The other characters thought the guy was a weirdo for doing this, but I say nothing wrong with it.  Now, I don't have a roadkill list, per say, but whenever I do see a small (or large) creature laying in the middle of the road with a tire print down its' back, I literally make a frowny face, say something the lines of, "poor baby", and then have a teeny tiny urge to find the person that ran them over, and punch them.  Now I do know that sometimes you can't break for an animal darting into the road, because you can cause more damage to you (or another car), but I just can't help myself for feeling awful for the four-legged smooshers.  I am guilty of being a Michelin murdered, and I have cried each and every time it has happened.  I have smooshed birds that have swooped down in front of my car, bats that have flown into my car, and a squirrel who decided to play chicken against my automobile.  And every single time I have either called up my mother or my husband to confess my vehicular sins, and every single time I can hear them holding back their laughter as I sob over the fact that Mr. Nuts will never be able to complete his squirrel destiny.
So if you ever find yourself driving behind a Jetta that has a bumper sticker that says, "I break for honey badgers", give yourself at least a 100 foot distance from my car.  :)

Shake It Like A Polaroid Picture and Kickin' Buckets

I hope you are singing the song now.  Out loud.  And proud.  And I also hope you are shaking an imaginary polaroid picture around in your hand as you are singing the song.  Lord knows I do each and every time.  Even when I'm car dancing.  I think people mostly think I'm swatting at killer bees or flies, but truth be told I am just jamming out to my imaginary boyfriend Andre 3000's sweet, sweet tune.  Right now you are (hopefully) thinking to yourself, "Why the is she talking about this?", and then you smack your forehead because you then remember that this blog is dedicated to all things random.  Specifically my random, pointless thoughts.  Let me 'splain.  The other day I was driving home from work and this particular song came on.  And like always I sang it at the top of my lungs, and shook my pretend polaroid picture.  And then it happened.  I now knew what song I want played during my funeral.  Can't you just imagine it?  Me. Laying there decked out in my prom dress and tiara, surrounded by roses and lilacs (but not carnations.  NEVER carnations.  Right Brooke? 'Cause you know that I'll come back and haunt your a**), and all of my minions will be dancing around like fools, all the while shaking imaginary pictures.  GLOR. I. OUS.  Now I know that this is slightly morbid.  Okay, it's super creepy and gross, but as God as my witness, this actual thought popped into the old learning nugget, and I thought, "Whomp.  There it is."  Before I always felt that a somber tune should be played (I always imagined something from the Titanic soundtrack, perhaps), and people should throw themselves on top of my casket while sobbing uncontrollably.  And then I had my polaroid epiphany, and thought, "Nahhhh." I mean, if you rearrange the letters in "funeral" you get "real fun".  *Ba-da-bump*  People already associate the ridiculous with me, so why should it be any different when I kick the bucket and get ready to play the harp with angels, and bounce on a cloud?
So when I'm a hundred and twelve, and my Spanx are losing their elastic give, and my BINGO dabbers have run dry, I hope you all shake it.  Sha-sha-shake it.  Shake it like a polaroid picture, just for me. :)
I leave you with the all time greatest song in the world.  IN. THE. WORLD.