When I told lap and akk I was moving my blog, yet again, I thought for a moment that they were going to smack me.

But then maybe it was just me feeling silly for moving my blog, yet again.

kitschinlogic dot wordpress dot com

Same blog. Same me. Differnt spellin.

Remember to change your links and read feeders.

Before I left for Iowa, which by the way, I love. I love Iowa. There. I said it. It’s full of corn and I love corn. And my friend Dan lives there and I love my friend Dan.

Who, by the way, has brought me down to the level where I’m admitting my love for Iowa so now, I don’t think I like Dan so much anymore. I’m from Minnesota. I was born to dislike Iowa.

Remember when Field of Dreams first came out? Guess who called me to quote that damn line, “Is this heaven?” “No. It’s Iowa”. Which was actually 2 lines in the movie. And I believe, because I’ve been told, those same two lines were said twice. Because the first time, who’d believe it, so they just used it again.

You know. I’m not sure that those lines were said twice. Ricky Nugget said they were so I’m relying on his intellect. Any Field of Dreams officionados in the house?

Dan used to call me in the fall when the Hawkeyes beat the Gophers in some  football game. He never seemed to get around to calling me when the Gophers beat the Hawkeyes. I used to know the game was on, over actually, when the phone would ring and Dan would say “How ’bout them Hawkeyes?” in his southern drawl. Which just cracked me up because Iowa is not Texas why are you talking like that? But after my first visit to Iowa I understood why Dan talked that way. Country music. That’s all they’ve got down there. Well, practically.

I never knew if the game was on unless the Hawkeyes won. I missed the game entirely the other years. Dan quit calling me after the games a few years back. I don’t recall when that stopped. Perhaps the Gophers have won for several years now.

I think it’s time that annual event got renewed. And this fall, when the Gophers win, I’ll be calling Dan.

***

Did I mention to you that I’ve decided it’s time for me to go back to work? I don’t think I want to go back to work full time. Unless I find something full time that is so exciting, working full time wouldn’t be a bother. I don’t like to be bothered. And god forbid I should suffer with the bother.

But it’s time I got busy. And so this fall I’m going back to school.

Secretarial School.

I have just gone back in time. To about the year 1955. When girls graduating from high school that wanted to further their education went on to teachers colleges, nursing school or secretarial school.

I’ve been a secretary. Even got retitled for many years to administrative assistant, office manager, and executive administrative assistant.

But I want to go back to simpler times and be a secretary. Call me what they want, I want to be a Secretary.

And I’m going back to school to learn how to be one after actually being one for over a decade.

I figured I wanted to fine-tune my fine secretarial skills so I’m looking into one-year programs for medical office assistant and medical transcription. And then, hopefully, find me a little part-time job in a clinic or perhaps land me back at home transcribing medical whatever it is they transcribe. I don’t know. Haven’t signed up for classes yet.

There’s a Secretarial School right near my home that’s got a 12 month program for just that very thing. It’s not really a secretarial school but that’s how I’m going to refer to it.

Now all I need to do is get my secretarial ass over there and discuss the financials. I may have to strip to get the money I need but I hear that stripping money is really good these days.

Class enrollment starts mid-August. I’m going to sign up as quickly as possible so I can get my Secretarial Gym Class of choice!

Google Maps said it’s a 3 hour and 40 minute drive from Bloomington, Minnesota to Ankeny, Iowa. But if you factor in the weak bladder of a 50 year old woman and summer construction it was actually 3 hours and 10 minutes there, 3 hours and 30 minutes back.

I drive like a mofo. Were I younger with a stronger bladder and it were fall, past construction time, I’d get there before I left!

Interstate 35 is almost a totally straight drive from Bloomington to Des Moines. I could have almost closed my eyes and made it. Were there bumpers and no other drivers.

Ricky Nugget was going with me, until the last minute, when I told him to get out of the car and he did. You see, Ricky Nugget has been neglect in keeping his meds current and when one of his meds runs out, so does Ricky Nugget’s level of tolerance toward his wife. And when his level of tolerance toward his wife is low or gone, his wife’s level of willingness to take him along to Des Moines is also gone.

He figured out his meds while I was gone and I got a king-sized bed all to myself.

Couple of things about Iowa from the central north to the central center…

1) It’s very flat. You can see the corn growing a few counties away.

2) Those giant wind generator things are scary as hell.  One on it’s own is eerie. But a farm of 60 of them is downright creepy. On the way home, I passed three trucks hauling three of the whirlygig doohickies that spin and scare me. They’re even scarier when they’re detached and right next to you. I try to  make them less frightening by calling them whirlygig doohickies, which is probably how the durigible got it’s name, too. (just not from me)

Another thing about Iowa…

3) B-Bop’s has got to be the shittiest hamburger I have ever eaten. Also? They’ve got this weird drive-thru pay-window thing going on and I ended up following the guy in front of me and having to pay through the passenger-side window. And there was an arrow on the path that said we were going in the right direction. What the hell. That is not a question. That is a statement saying that that is some stupid stuff. And your hamburgers suck. Making Sonic’s burgers look juicy. Which they are not.

I took the back roads to Allison’s funeral. Got to go through Dan’s growing up hometown. That made me tear up. Reminded me of when Dan and I were in college and I stole his high school sweatshirt for a period of time to wear for my own, just because I wanted to, until one day he finally just gave the damn thing to me. Which was after he’d left college and his bassett hound, Otis, ate most of the sweatshirt.

What a perfect little Iowa small town. Big old grain elevator. Everyone driving 25 mph. Take a right and you’ll get to the next small town where they’ve got a very old Maid Rite store. Wish I would have stayed longer for a Maid Rite. I haven’t had a loose meat sandwich in a long time. (By the way, it wasn’t snowing when I was there. It’s July. Duh. But this is the actual store from an internet photo, so there you have it.)

Allison’s Visitation (which I call it as I was a Catholic) at the Lutheran church was packed. As was her funeral. Which is no surprise. Allison was nice. Which makes me realize that if this is the only gauge of number of attendees at a funeral, mine will be very not-attended. I should give that a little time to sink in before I open my mouth next time.

Oh hell. Nah. I can’t. Allison was sweet. I am feisty. Amen.

By the way? This is the first lutheran funeral I’ve gone to in a long time that didn’t include the pastor calling us sinners. What a frickin’ relief. I was starting to feel paranoid. That pastors used that just because I was in the audience. But there I was, in the pews today and he was a very nice pastor who just did nice funeral-type stuff without alienating the people who need to be there the most. I, being #1 on the Most Wanted at Church hit list.

Their oldest daughter eulogized Allison which had the congregation sobbing, sniffling and hiccuping (that was me. lost control while trying to not sob uncontrollably). What an incredible daughter. If I were nicer perhaps my children would also be this incredible. But I am not. Nor are they. Well, my kids are fine but the bar is forever raised about what children can aspire to be. Did I mention that their kids are also gorgeous? Whatever, good people. You just enjoy your lovely selves. As will I because you are in my life. Whether you volunteer or not.

Dan was incredible under all the stress of the loss of his wife. Of course he was. That’s Dan. I told you, I don’t have rotten friends. Anymore.

Allison would have been very proud of her own funeral. Even the part where her old daughter confessed that she didn’t like the jacket that Allison picked out for her last outfit.

“When she showed it to me, I said ‘No!’ but mom made that jacket look good” she said.

And they buried Allison with an empty box from Tiffany’s. “She told us that she liked the box better than the bracelet that came in it”.

I love that. And every time I walk past the Tiffany’s here, watch Breakfast at Tiffany’s or see a Tiffany’s box, I’ll think of Allison.

It makes you wonder about what you’d want buried with you (or in my case, fried up in the oven with me).

I’d want cake. And Ricky Nugget. If he were off his meds. And gouda. Plus some pinot grigio. And milk chocolate. Kettle corn. A good hamburger from not B-Bop.

I’m hungry.

Terry was right. Cosmic didn’t have much time left.

And the only thing I can think to say is Fuck. Fuckity fuckity fuck fuck.

Which is why I’m rarely the person people look to when writing a proper eulogy.

But  hey, we’ve all got our personal styles of grieving.  I just happen to become one with my inner-tourette’s.

As I head to Iowa for my friend Allison’s funeral, it would be in everyone’s best interest were I to get my mouth under control.

Fuckity fuckity fuckity fuck fuck fuck fuck.

And amen.

When I took the dog for our evening stroll last night there was this beautiful sky. Rain clouds with the most glorious rays of sunshine poking through. It was so incredible that I had to pause. And I thought, “Oh dear. Could this beautiful sky be for Cosmic?” (a blogging friend who is near the end)

Less than two hours ago, I missed a phone call from my college buddy Dan. Dan’s wife, Allison, and their two daughters and I have become friends as thick as my friendship with Dan. They live outside of DesMoines, but I never let that get in the way of my liking them.

Those girls of theirs. How I want them to be my daughters in law (well, once my older son gets fixed)

I returned Dan’s phone call.

Allison died this morning.

A decade and a half of one battle with cancer followed by another battle with cancer. And another fucking battle with fucking cancer.

I have not been able to figure out how Allison could keep such a positive outlook on each and every damn battle. In a phone conversation last year, she let me know that sometimes she gets a little mad about it all.

People. The grace of Allison.

I told Dan this morning that I could just never get over how amazing Allison was with her graceful battle. “Hell” I said, “Were it me, I’d be the biggest damn stomping baby in all the land”.

“Yes you would!” he agreed.

“You didn’t deserve her!” I said.

“I can’t argue with you there” he replied. And we laughed for a second because we know there wasn’t anyone better for Allison than my friend Dan.

I am not friends this long with people who don’t deserve wonderful people in their lives, like Allison. The amazing people she created out of those girls of hers. She didn’t do that alone.

Dan. I am always here for you. And those wonderful girls.

Even if it means a run for chicken wings at Hooters.

I am truly blessed to have known Allison.

The dog wrote her own entry this morning. In case you needed to read a dog-written entry. Who doesn’t?

Stupid dog.

My first dog. My last dog.

If my first child had been like my first dog, I’d never had a second child. And if I never had a second child, I wouldn’t laugh so damn hard.

Damn kid.

Cracks me the hell up.

Last night he wanted to drive his girlfriend home. I was worried he’d be a little nervous and I was also worried that he hadn’t driven on busy roads. And the last thing  I needed was him to get in an accident, with his girlfriend in the car, and having to smooth that over with her parents.

But he did great. He has a confidence that amazes me.

“I love driving!” he said, after we’d dropped off his girlfriend.

***

I went and got a pedicure yesterday. Rosie said I had to. Well, she didn’t command me to get a pedicure. She suggested it. And I am such a pushover that I went and got one. My first pedicure of the season.

I walked into a local place and they sat me immediately in one of those massaging chairs with the little bathtub for my feet. And then I sat there for a good 45 minutes because they didn’t have enough staff to keep up with the demand of old broads getting their hoofs painted.

It’s a newer nail salon so the massage chairs are also new, and very nice. I want me one of those. With the little foot tub.

I’d had a good book along so I didn’t mind waiting. I was not thrilled that I got a man to do my pedicure. Not as bad as having a man give you a massage, but still awkward. I made the best out of an awkward situation and kept my face in my book. But really, it’s just weird to have a guy putting nailpolish on your toes.

I survived the horror and walked out with some awfully pretty feet. Thanks for planting that idea in my head, Rosie!

Today’s suggestion by someone else comes from Thing 2, who wants a batch of Velveeta Fudge. I’ve never made Velveeta Fudge in the summer, it’s pretty much a Christmas thing. But hey, homeboy deserves a batch.

Since 2001 I’ve been a Cosmic fan. So it breaks my heart to read her husband Terry’s entry in her blog today.

I’m going to hope for a miracle but I understand that our little boobless fighter wants nothing to do with a ventilator.

Remember, long time Cosmic readers, when she had her breasts removed to prevent breast cancer and people sent her tube tops?

And her book? I own her book. Love her book. Love the character of the woman who lived it and wrote it.

My best to Karen and Terry and the kids and the grandkids.

This is my favorite Michael Jackson song.

So very sad.

Rather than sitting around and driving myself crazy with parental worrying, I’m going to finish removing the wallpaper paste from the first floor walls, while listening to talk radio. And then I’m going to start peeling off the rest of the wallpaper from the stairway up and into and all around the second floor hallway. And if time permits, I’m going to start painting.

I’m doubting that time will permit.

But I  need to get this wallpaper crap behind me. Our home remodelling/redecorating has been at a standstill for a long time now. Kind of died about the same time we caught onto our son’s tomfoolery. What, two years now?

I was kind of  hoping Ricky Nugget would get back to it and thereby motivate me to get back to it. But Ricky Nugget is as stuck as I am. Hell, I can’t even get him to swap out a toilet seat or put up some new outdoor lights I purchased this week. He actually asked me to return them so they wouldn’t be looming at him, causing him to feel overwhelmed.

That was the straw.

We can’t sit here and wait for everything to get right anymore.  We need to get up, dust ourselves off and finish this mothertrucking remodelling and redecorating. At least that way, when we decide to run away from our children, the house will be market-ready!

***

Thing 1 has a Driving Jones. That kid came to me last night at 9:30 and said “let’s drive!” And so we drove for an  hour. I took him over to an office park with lots of parking lots and a little quiet road between. Then that little mofo took off out of the parking lots and little quiet road, onto the regular streets and into a Burger King drive-thru. Most interesting drive-thru window pull-up ever. Even the Burger King employee was cracking up.

I had to trick him out of the driver’s seat so I could finally go home. That kid does not like to drive in a straight line. He likes to turn and turn and turn some more. I was starting to feel sick to my stomach. Near-menopausal women cannot go in circles. There’s something that starts after the birth of their child, throwing strong stomachs off-kilter. It begins with the swingset. Swinging is no longer fun, it’s sickening. And by the time they approach menopause, spinning in circles is over.

Or maybe it’s just me.

***

I have a horseradish Jones. I started Weight Watchers (again) and am in need of new and exciting food that will fill me and help me lose the fat. I picked up some light white bread (don’t lecture me, I love the white bread), some deli meats and a little bottle of smoky horseradish sauce.

I’ve never eaten horseradish sauce. But I thought, hey, I like wasabi, how’s about I try some horseradish and some roast beef?

Loved it so much that I had a sandwich for lunch and a sandwich for dinner and then another sandwich for breakfast.

I suspect that I will repeat this process until I’m damn sick of it, at which time I will hope to have a replacement low-fat food obsession.

***

The girlfriend trip to Atlanta has been postponed. We’re working on a fall date. Which makes a lot more sense, if you ask me. Who goes to Atlanta in July on purpose?

But don’t you worry about me not having a good girlfriend getaway. Plans are in the workings for a few days in New York.

I can handle summer in New York! I can handle just about any weather in New York!

I had a rough day yesterday. Just ask my friend Buzz, who happened to call me after getting a scope put up her butt. She thought she had it rough? Big, colon-cleaned baby. I’m kind of hoping she was still drugged up because I’d rather she didn’t recall all the swear words I used in our conversation.

I woke up way too early yesterday. I did not need more awake hours to a very bad day.

And I certainly didn’t need my dog to misbehave so badly that I spent an hour’s drive running through a conversation I was going to have later on with the dog rescue people, who I was planning on returning the damn dog to.

No. I didn’t return her. But that doesn’t mean it won’t happen.

Stupid damn dog.

I spent the day trying to figure out how in the hell we’re going to deal with the possible return of our older son. And then I spent more time trying to figure out how I’m going to deal with people who make comments about what I should do and how wimpy a parent I am. Insinuating I have no house rules.

Are you fucking kidding me?

I have house rules.  What would make you think that someone like me wouldn’t have fucking house rules? That makes me worry about your comprehension skills.

And if it were easy to just turn my back on my son, I’d do it. But it’s not easy. It’s a fucking nightmare. And how’s about when and if your child goes through this, you turn your back on them and then you tell me how you could live with yourself.

There are other options to try first. You’re not helping me. You’re making it more difficult for me. Stop it.

That would be a Comment Rule.

Hells bells, I’ve got Comment Rules. How do I not have House Fucking Rules?*

*I think somebody needs to have some fun today. Don’t you?