True Story

{June 24, 2013}   Monkey Lately

True Story: I haven’t written about the monkey lately.

Well, I haven’t written about anything lately because I am SLAMMED. Very busy summer so far in real estate. This is a good problem to have.

Back to the Monkey lately. Is almost 6 the cutest age? I really think it is. Of course I’ve thought every age since his birth has been the cutest, but this is such a sweet time with him maturing and going to school. He’s still baby-ish but maturing quickly. Kindergarten really helped with that. I think sitting still while someone is lecturing you is very grown up. I struggle with it daily.

True Story:  eating lunch with him at school one day I got in trouble.

I opened the milk wrong and spilled it everywhere. I am pretty sure my name is on the board in his classroom.

I wish I could remember to write down all the funnies. Of course my kid is the funniest, cutest kid in the world. Just like yours. So you may be very glad I can’t remember to write them all down otherwise this post would be a book..

Monkey Lately:

1) Snowbirds.

So down here on the gulf coast winter is snowbird season. Northern retirees flock down to shake their tail feathers at the Florbama without the risk of slipping on the ice. They hang out at the post office (getting boxes or general delivery), the movie theater, the library (checking email), and restaurants and bars starting around 3pm for early bird and happy hour specials.

True Story:  I love snowbirds.

I really do. I spent almost every afternoon after school in elementary and middle school at my grandmother’s assisted living home. I am very good with the old folks. We really do appreciate their business down here and they are always welcome.

True Story:  There is one place snowbirds are not welcome:  The road.

Not being ugly here, I have real proof. First of all they bike in flocks, and many on recumbent bikes. It’s hard for an entire group of bikers to make a good decision about when to cross the road.

Secondly, they meander across the road to the beach. This is true for tourists in general. They all Meander/saunter/lolli-gag across a dangerous highway where people are drinking, driving and texting.  I lived across the street from the beach for 2 1/2 years. I ran for my life every time I crossed that street.

Thirdly, the driving itself. The birds just don’t always know where they’re going. Granted, your condo can sneak up on you when they all look alike. But the story I am about to tell you is inexcusable. I was going 50 mph down the beach road in the right, east bound lane approaching a glowing green light without a hint of yellow coming. Suddenly, I had to slam on the brakes in the middle of the road because a snowbird, who also happens to be in the right lane, has decided he needs to turn left. TURN LEFT PEOPLE, across a 45 mile an hour left east bound lane and 2 turning lanes lined with cars. Yes, $#*&%^$ snowbird, flew out of my mouth.

True Story:  Not long after that Ex-Pump calls to tell me that when he was driving our son he had to brake and G Monkey said, “what is it Daddy? Is it the $%^&*(# snowbirds?”

2) Every night when G Monkey goes to sleep he tells me that he loves me to the center of the earth and back and around the sun and double infinity. That’s just %#@$*& sweet isn’t it?

3) I may have a young diva on my hands.

He periodically walks into a room and screams, “This girl is on FIRE!”

Like most gyms, G Monkey’s Karate dojo has a mirrored wall. G Monkey can not help but to look in the mirror at himself, watching himself do his Karate moves. His Senei continually got on to him about paying attention and focusing, and to quit looking in the mirror. He laughed and told me I should get G Monkey a mirror for Christmas. Eventually, Sensei nicknamed him, “Hollywood.” Finally, one day he said, “Hollywood, why do you look in the mirror all the time?” Nervous, G Monkey said, “Because I’m so handsome.” 

He says, “I know that,” like you are a dumbass all the time.


ME:  It’s a beautiful day today.

GM:  I know that.

4) G Monkey is a budding young songwriter.

He told me he wrote a song the other day. I was so proud.


Beer, beer, ba beer.

beer, beer, ba beer.

I drink it in the sun.

I drink it on the beach.

I drink it on the porch.

I drink it on the islands.

I drink it while I Bar-be-que.

I drink it when I watch NASCAR.

Beer, beer, ba beer.

True Story:  The only comfort I can take out of this is that I was not his only muse. I don’t have a BBQ grill and I have never watched NASCAR.  His father perhaps?

True Story:  This will be the first second-hand story I have ever shared here. But I am told this is how it went down. I hope I get it right.

My son has a small repertoire of pop songs in his head:

1) Oh Sherry by Steve Perry

2) Apple Bottom Jeans by T-Pain

3) Rumor Has it by Adele

4) Man in the Mirror by Michael Jackson

It is absolutely fall on the floor hilarious to hear him sing them. For one, he either sings with major gusto or totally flat and emotionless. There are only two options. He is the pure essence of innocence, and that combined with the grown-up lyrics, well, is just good clean fun people.

Imagine that sweet little face walking in the room and saying very flatly, “Rumor has it he’s the one I’m leaving you for.”

He has had the great fortune (wink) of inheriting his mother’s raspy voice. Which is pretty awesome when he belts out, “I should have been Gone-on… Knowing how I made you feel…”

True Side Story:  I need to YouTube record G Monkey’s version of Apple Bottom Jeans. He could be the next Biebs or Tone-Loc.

A friend from far away was visiting and I was giving them a tour of the building I live in. Ex-Pump and I kept getting G Monkey to do his tricks. You know, show off smart or funny stuff to people who don’t have kids.

So I said, “sing Apple Bottom Jeans.”

GM: (Pouty) No! I don’t want to.

US:  Please. Please.

GM:  No. I want to swim.

ME: We can’t swim right now. I’ll give you a popsicle if you sing it.

GM:  No.

He pouts and sulks and walks behind us with his arms crossed. But apparently the need for a popsicle overtook him, because the next thing you know…

He starts singing “APPLE BOTTOM JEANS, BOOTS WITH THE FUR…” in a very deep angry voice.

It’s like Tone-Loc, Janis Joplin & Darth Vader all mixed into one. He is not happy about having to sing for his meal.

GM:  The whole club was looking at her. She hit the floor.

At this point G Monkey hits the floor, taking a knee and screams, ” Next thing you know…”

He starts pounding his fists on the ground.

GM:  Shorty got LOW LOW LOW LOW.

He stands up and growls at us.

The grown ups fell into fits of laughter. I really don’t think he knows what a shorty is, but he knows that b*tch gets low, low, low. It was worth 5 popsicles. It knocked us out. We laughed so hard that he now sings the song in “angry voice” just to get us to laugh.

So back to the story at hand as told to me by Ex-Pump via Summer Camp director.

Earlier in the week I had asked G Monkey if he wanted to invite anyone from camp to his birthday party.

GM:  Not really. Well maybe Ella and Kristie.

I asked him about some of the boys. He wasn’t interested in inviting them. He said they were not his friends for various reasons.

Well, later in the week his father tells me the following story. One of G Monkey’s classmates is really in to Michael Jackson. He wears the glove and all. The camp director was trying to get him to sing something of Michael Jackson’s.

Camp Director:  Come on. Come on. How about Beat it? Sing something.

Out of nowhere from a corner of the room G Monkey belts out, “I’m talking about the man in the mirror. I’m asking him to change his ways. No message could have been any clearer. If you want to make the world a better place take a look at yourself and make a change.” He screams that last part usually. And yes he says “talking about” instead of “talking to” the man in the mirror. He also says “I’m axing him to change his way-yays.”

Well, from what I hear you could have knocked the whole room over with a feather. The Camp Director was floored.  All the other kids wanted to be taught the chorus of Man in the Mirror. Rumor has it all the other camp classrooms, 1st through 6th grade, were leaning out into the hallway listening to the 5-year-olds belt out Man in the mirror.

G Monkey is somewhat of a celebrity at Camp now. His father said the next  day when he dropped him off all the kids were all over him and saying his name and asking him questions like, “Hey, you’re into Thomas right?” “Is it still your birthday?” “Can you sing Man in the mirror?”

That afternoon when I picked him up he wanted to invite a lot more friends from camp to his birthday party.  It was cute. Reminds me of when I would bust out in back-handsprings when I was a kid to win friends. Wait. I still do that. At his birthday party last weekend I dusted off my rusty diving board skills to impress people at the pool. I didn’t walk away with any digits but the young lifeguard did say,”that lady scares me.” Boo. That’s right. Watch out.

In other news, I have hit rock bottom. AGAIN. A 7-year-old girl asked me if I was G Monkey’s Nana.

Me:  Like his grandmother?

She nods.

Me:  No. I am his Mother. (Through gritted teeth).

True Story:  I am 36. There is not a gray hair on my head. Rock. Bottom.

True Story:  It’s funny how your offspring view you.

Exhibit A above: G Monkey’s story about Mommy posted in the hallway at his preschool. Click on the picture to read first hand, then come back here for the explanations???

Preschool is at a church so lots of people get to read this on Sundays. Awesome.

1)  “My Mommy has green eyes and greasy hair”

Okay my hair can get a little greasy, but seriously, the kid is obsessed.

After I stopped to read his story at school his teacher called me over to see a picture he had painted of himself with his parents. See exhibit B below. I have brown hair and if you look closely you will see the green grease he insisted on painting in my hair. He actually told his teacher that he needed some green paint to make Mommy’s hair greasy like it should be. No abstract artist here. I think he is going for more of the portrait look.

To be fair to the kid doesn’t see me looking all that pretty very often. I work from home so I usually just throw on some clothes in the morning, run him to school/camp and back home to work. I probably only wear make up about 2 days a week, depending on my schedule.

True Side Story:  I had an appointment the other day and walked out of my bathroom dressed and told G Monkey it was time to Rocket. He hid his face in shame and said, “I don’t want to see you”.

Me:  Why?

GM:  Your make up. I can’t look at it.

He was so dramatic about it you would have thought I had been seriously deformed. It reminded me of that bloopers episode when Seinfeld was ending and Kramer says “don’t look at me. I’m hideous”.

Oh Seinfeld, how I miss you… Great Television. Now, other than premium cable channels, the TV is covered up with Jersey Shore and other reality crap.

True Story:  I have a hard time hiding my disdain for reality TV. It’s rubber-necking at it’s finest. It takes writing jobs away from writers. It makes untalented people famous. But most importantly, if I want to see people make asses of themselves I can just walk over to the Florabama on a Monday night.

Back to the hair. I have always been known for my “crazy” hair.  It is short and sticks straight up every morning when I wake up. It is a constant source of jokes for family and anyone else who has ever been lucky enough to wake up near me. About 12 hours after a washing it is greasy. Let’s just say I am a big fan of dry shampoo.

True Story:  A grandparent at preschool asked me if I was a late night nurse that worked crazy shifts?

Me:: No.

Grandparent:  Oh, you just look like you work crazy shifts.

Not so sure that was a compliment. Maybe I should step up my game. I’m certainly not going to meet single hot dad at school at this rate.

2) “I don’t know how old she is”

I really thought he knew how old I was because at bed time the other night I said, “night-night baby. I love you”.

G Monkey:  I love you too old lady.

I shut the door and thought, “who is that kid”?

3) “Her favorite thing to eat is salad”

Really? Salad? No. I mean I think salad is lovely but it certainly wouldn’t be my last meal. I guess he sees me eat a lot of salad because it’s easy and I am not cooking for just me. Plus, isn’t salad about 90% of most women’s food intake?

4)  “Her favorite thing to drink is diet coke”

Okay, I think we can all agree that I dodged a major bullet on the diet coke. Whew! The teacher said only 1 kid ratted their parents out on the booze, and it wasn’t mine. Score. It’s the little things that make me happy.

I have mentioned before that G Monkey calls all adult beverages beer. He will put a bottle of wine on the conveyor belt at the grocery store and scream, “here’s your beer Mommy”.

5)  “Mommy doesn’t do anything fun by herself.

Hahaha. Sweet, innocent baby boy. He would be so proud to see Mommy dancing at the Florabama when he is with his Daddy.

He told me I looked pretty earlier this week. He is either the sweetest kid in the world or he really knows how to BS. He also made homemade cards for some of his friends from school. Some, that is. Not all made the cut. I guess they might as well start finding out the truth about life in preschool. We don’t all make the cut all the time.

G Monkey is learning. The last day of spring break I took him to swim in the bay at a restaurant where a lot of kids and dogs run around. I saw him trying to hang out with these older girls on a raft. He came slouching all pouty out of the water and over to me.

GM:  They told me to go away.

Me:  I’m sorry Baby. Some kids are like that. There are some other kids out there to play with.

He sat down and picked up his slice of pizza and said almost to himself, “I hate when they do that”.


6)  “She works at her work and shows a paper”

I work at my work like most of you. I was thinking he would say I show houses as he has been to several last-minute showings with me. I had to think about “showing a paper”. Then I realized anytime that he is with me and we stop by my office I turn in paperwork or files. Those little observant cookie crumblers. I do show papers at my work!

7) “She make me laugh when she puts a towel on my head”

I have done that once. You never know what makes an impression.

8) “Mommy is special to me when she cleans up her trash”

Let me clarify.I clean up my trash when I am yelling at my first-born, The Demanding Paw. If she feels she has been inconvenienced at all in her precious little life she will get into my bathroom trash can and pull the trash out all over the floor just for a little “eff you”.

If there happens to be no trash in the can she will bite the end of the toilet paper and pull that out instead.

There is no crossing the Demanding Paw. You will pay.

My son thinks it is special to see steam come out of my ears while I pick up little pieces of trash all over the house and yell at the dog.

9) “I know Mommy loves me because I have $143 dollars”

Excuse me a minute.

True Story:  I promise I was not just digging through my 4-year-old’s room and piggy bank looking for $143 dollars.

It’s got to be here somewhere.

{June 7, 2012}   So this happened

True Story:  It should really be titled: So May happened, I mean the last few months, I mean the last 2-3 years happened.

Disclaimer:  Bullsh*t excuse coming.

I have been a total slacker on blogging. The last 6 weeks we have been re-writing the next film, I moved AGAIN, lots of G Monkey business, TRYING to sell real estate, deal with an international Prairie Love deal, and other general business.

Excuses are like buttholes, right? We all got em.

I have so much to share with you about the entire Month of May. It certainly will not all fit in this post. You would be reading for a week, and I am sure many of you have families to tend to.

First of all, this blog will have a sub-blog about the BuR Nation. I can’t get into too many details about it right now. Let’s just say I havent belly laughed about something so funny to me in so long, that it just feels right to share it with world. Stay tuned for more details of how you can join the BuR Nation. You will not like the exchange rate, but we understand that.

I had 2 family vacations this month that deserve their own sub-blog categories. But today I am just going to talk about 1 day in the recent sh*tstorm of my life.

Now, y’all know by now that I try to remain positive. The recent divorce, brokeness, oil spill, affair, moving, God the moving is the worst, have not broken me yet. But this day almost did.

You don’t have to believe or follow astrology to know something is going on around you that you can’t get out from under. I happen to follow Susan Miller’s She is one of the top astrology professionals in the world. She counsels governments, etc… Anyway, her monthly posts are very detailed and fun to read. Unless you are me most recently, in which she wrote, your life has been a sh*tstorm the last 2.5 years, and it’s going to get worse right now, and then you are coming out of it soon stronger ready for anything and everything. This last few weeks my birthdate in particular has been affected.

I don’t believe in luck. Luck is when hard work meets opportunity. I also don’t believe that everything that happens to me is caused by an outside force like planets. I happen to know that I’m a dumbass and screw sh*t up for myself all the time. But some things are true whether we believe them or not. And I have to admit along with the other Libras out there that some cloud has been following me around lately and I am ready to kick its ass.

So it is the week before I go to the British Virgin Islands for a week. I can’t afford to go but it is happening anyway. I am leaving a lot of balls up in the air to leave town: real estate deals, trying to unexpectedly deliver (turn over materials) to our foreign sales agent for an overseas Prairie Love distribution deal, take care of LLC and banking business for the new movie, and spend time with G Monkey. Oh yeah, and I had to be out of my old house before I left town and into my new house. So also moving and cleaning, which rocks as you know.

G Monkey happens to be in between school and summer camp this one week. Which is good because I get to spend time with him before I have to be away from him, but bad because I am so busy and forced to not be annoyed with him and play when I don’t really have the time.

Advice:  Do not move into the 1st floor of a fancy high-rise the week after their annual Home Owners Meeting. They are constantly fixing things and marking off the buildings “to do” list with contractors right outside my large see-in glass windows. This makes running through the condo dripping wet and naked from the shower to dig a towel out of a box difficult.

So one morning of this particular crazy week I get dressed wearing one of my favorite shirts and take the Demanding Paw to the dog walk area. She is doing her duty (get on the floor and give me some booty). Sorry the urge to write that song lyric was uncontrollable.

Anyway, all of a sudden on this bright cloudless day, I am hit by a rain shower. What’s more puzzling than that is that through my worthless nose which carries no olfactory glands at all, I can smell the bleach burning through my shirt.

They were pressure washing a balcony above me. Awesome. Good timing. I threw that shirt in the trash. One less thing to clean and fold.

True Story: They know me around this building.

I am not just saying that. They KNOW me. I got married here for God’s sake before it was even complete. I am in and out of it all the time.  Same management team for years.

With that being said, they know my car. You can not miss it. It is the only car in the parking lot that screams “Which one of us does not belong”. It’s an old piece of sh*t covered in bumper stickers. Not only do they know my car, they know I have a parking pass. Unfortunately sometime between the last time I drove it the day before and this morning the parking pass had fallen to the floorboard.

As I am walking by my car on my way in from getting bleached I see something unfamiliar. It is a giant 8×4 inch warning sticker in the middle of the driver’s side window. WTF? I peeled it off but by this time it had melted in the sun and now there is a white sticky film in the middle of my window which blocks my view. The car has been washed twice since. It will not come off. I have to roll down my window to see in order to pull out into summer time traffic. So that’s really great if you like awesomeness.

I stomped back inside the building, grabbed my packing tape, stomped back out to my car and wrapped the tape around the pass and rearview mirror 50 times. That mother effer’s not moving.

I started to shed 1 corner tear of frustration. Then said, “No. Universe, you can not beat me today”. Ironically, my new bumper sticker from the BVI says, “The beatings will continue until morale improves”. Fitting I thought.

So the rest of the day was spent fielding calls about a property I could have sold 25 times if it had clear title and trying to be fun Mom before I leave. There were more frustrating phone calls and emails, but I have blocked them from my memory.

Later that afternoon G Monkey and I stop in the Rite Aid. I am looking for some last-minute TSA pleasing travelling miniature items, and G Monkey is going to pick out a treat. I was spoiling him before leaving him for 8 days of course.

I am bent over looking at the travel stuff when I hear, “Uh, Mommy”.

Me:  Yes, Son.

GM: Uh, I can see your butt.

Me:  Don’t say butt, say bottom.

GM: Okay. Uh, Mommy.

Me: Yes.

GM:  I can see your bottom.

Me:  Okay. That’s fine.

Next thing I know I feel a little warm small hand on my big cold white bottom.

My shorts were split from top to bottom and I wasn’t wearing undies. My T-shirt did not go much further than my waist. @#$%^&*$#!$%^&&^%$$#*!!!!!!!!!!! WTF???

Me:  How long has it been this way? Did you notice before? Oh My God. I had no idea. I didn’t even feel it.

GM:  Uh Mommy. Can I pick out a treat now?

Me: Sh*t, sh*t, sh*t. Okay, stand behind me the whole time. Don’t let anyone see Mommy’s bottom.

I still had to go all the way to the back of the store to pick up a prescription that I needed for my trip. I saw some men’s shorts and swim trunks on a rack. I called out to the lady that worked there, “Ma’am, do you sell women’s shorts or skirts”?

She nods and walks away. She comes back with a pair of Barbie doll size tween beach shorts that wouldn’t fit on one of my feet. If I wasn’t holding my very large hand over my ass and the other hand keeping G Monkey from leaving me I would have started throwing things off the nearest shelf at her.

Me: Is that all you got?

She nods.

Me:  Awesome.

I make G Monkey walk behind me while I got the scrip and got the hell out of there.

True Story:  On the way out G Monkey started to run into the parking lot. For the safety of my child I let go of my pants and grabbed him. The man behind me had a hard time suppressing his grin when I turned around to see him and cover myself back up.

Honestly, I would have rather just walked in there totally naked and shopped instead of trying to keep the cheeks from scaring customers and scarring children. And the truth is, we really aren’t sure how long they were out there shining their whiteness all over town.

True Story:  If you have not received a return email or facebook message from me lately it is because of this kind of sh*tstorm I have been dealing with.

All you can do is drink after a day like that.

{March 26, 2012}   Big Boi

True Story:  My little fella is getting so big and funny, and ready for kindergarten. Or is he???

Red Shirting kindergarteners, heard of it?

Holding back a preschooler or kindergartener a year so they are better suited for school, social life & sports.

I had not heard the term Red Shirting kindergarteners until recently. But I am finding that when you have a summer baby, no matter what the situation, these days people ask you, “what are you going to do”?

This question of course refers to: Are you going to have them repeat K4 or go on to kindergarten as one of the youngest in the class.

G Monkey has, as it turns out, the unfortunate situation of being born on July 5. Of course to me he is the luckiest most awesome kid in the world. But as I research this business further, it seems people these days are even planning conception around when the child’s birthday would be for school and social purposes.

I am from the school of thought that your birthdate has more of a spiritual aspect to it. Like the planets lined up on that special night on a camping trip in a tent after 2 hot dogs and a bottle of wine to conceive your child. Who, by the way, will be born on HIS special day when the planets line up for his day of birth forming his perfect personality and life plan. But that’s just me.

I’m not starting a debate. I see both sides of the situation.

But remember when you were 5 and you went to Kindergarten, and there were all kinds of kids there: short ones, tall ones, fat ones, smart ones, loud ones, quiets ones, funny ones, mean ones, and they came in every color? Nobody cared because we all had to eat that sh*tty ice cream at lunch that was in the little plastic cup with the wooden “spoon”. What is that stuff? Does it even have sugar in it? I am pretty sure there has never been a vanilla or cocoa bean anywhere near the manufacturing plant for that nasty stuff. I traded mine for 2 cigarettes everyday of 3rd grade.

Oh, pardon me. I am just reminiscing of days gone by, before school shootings once a month and cyber bullying.

Here’s what I know. I was apparently incredibly lucky in the birthday department with an October Birthday. Making me one of the oldest in the class, except for those held back either because they were summer babies I guess, or that other reason you get held back. So as it turns out, I was one of the most mature people in my class.

Hahahahahaha! That former statement is not true in any way, shape or form. I am learning that the other issues to consider with the youngest in the class syndrome is maturity, driving & dating later than your peers.

I got my car and licence first in my class. Then it was taken away a month after my 16th birthday, and I don’t think I was allowed to drive again socially until my senior year. What did that October birthday get me? Nothing. Maybe had I been born in January I wouldn’t have liked to party, would have been more responsible, and could have kept my car.

Another thought, what about the parents? It never occurred to me that we wouldn’t go to kindergarten this fall until it was brought up by the preschool. What if another year of pre-school isn’t really in the budget? What if public school hours would really help a self-employed single Mom like myself be more productive, make more money, and more able to provide for said child?

SHAME on you Ashley! How dare you, parent of a 21st century American child, ever think of yourself. Every decision for the rest of your life should be what’s best for the child.

Really? What about the family unit? I don’t remember being coddled like this. I remember, “get outside”, “read a book”, “do your homework”, & “you’ll eat what I cook”.

Now a days, we bend over backwards to avoid any inconvenience for the little ones. GUILTY AS CHARGED here too. I tried every “convenient” contraption for him when he was a baby, I let him get away almost daily with chicken nuggets and pizza, and will allow an electronic device at a restaurant if I need to talk to other adults. I know G Monkey, for lack of a better word, is spoiled. Meaning, he doesn’t lack for anything and is made to feel all day every day how loved he is.

So we live in a fast food, MTV world of cell phones, tablets and video games. The big picture is if I raise a good human being who is kind, respectful and tolerant of others, all the little details of too many videos and honey buns here and there will balance out.

The kid has read since age 2 and everyone admits is a very bright child. But is he socially ready for the big bad world of Kindergarten?

I would say lately yes, if not we are getting there, and we still have 5 months till that 1st day of school.

He asks me for a playdate everyday. We recently had a lot of company for spring break. He was very disappointed if our company turned out to be of the grown up variety, preferring kids much more. He asked me if all future company could be kids.

We are playing T Ball, and I will admit he is THAT kid right now. He may, at any given moment, be lying on his back in right field counting clouds. But he loves playing with the other kids and really it is supposed to be about fun, right? Negative. It’s all about WINNING. Just ask Mr. Sheen.

We are going to camp 5 days a week this summer with other Big School Newbies and we are very excited about this.

True Story:  Kindergarten or bust!

Honestly, my biggest concern is him sitting still in a larger classroom and paying attention.

What I am not concerned about? That he likes to play by himself sometimes. I do too. besides, he’s an only child. He is very comfortable in his own company.

True Story: Kindergarten or not, everything will be fine. I’ll keep you posted on how Big School Boot Camp is coming along.

True Story:  I have been a bad, bad girl.

I have not been blogging like I should. But I have been writing. I’ve been working and editing a new script with Ex-Pump, selling real estate, and working on getting everything the distributor for Prairie Love needs. We are available on Video on Demand this month. Very exciting. Rent it!

Also, been doing lots O Mommy. The Monkey has been out of school for a year and a half (seems like). How come when I was a kid winter break was like a week. His Daddy went to the North Pole for Christmas, so it has just been me and the Monkey. Good thing it was nice and warm during the holidays. We went to the beach, park or indoor pool almost every afternoon.

There you have it:  My excuses for not posting blogs lately. Otherwise know as bullsh*t. A writer writes Damn it. Excuse me for a minute while I go in the closet and whip myself ala’ priest in the Scarlet Letter style.

I also posted today to tell you I will not be blog posting over the next few days. This is planned laziness.

I will be in Nawlinz roaming the streets horse from yelling Roll Tide!

If you live under a rock, or just purposessly know nothing about Sports, you might not know that LSU and Alabama are meeting up Monday night in New Orleans for REMATCH, the SEQUEL, Part DEAUX.

Well, I am headed over there as we speak. My suitcase holds the following:

Saint’s jersey, layers of obnoxious Alabama parqaphanelia, and a tiny, over the shoulder purse to hold money, phone & ID.

My liver is rested, and I lost 3 lbs, so I can eat well… Oh who am I kidding,  I’m going to be eating cart food. There is not a seat left in the house nor a room at the inn people… REMATCH ROLL TIDE!.

I have been an Alabama fan my whole life. My step dad took me to the games. I had heard of Auburn but all I knew of was Alabama football.

When I entered the University of Alabama as a student in 1994 they were still high on the 1992 chanpionship they had wom under Coach Gene Stallings. It was awesome. 

Then, came the “probabtion years”. Not cool. I don’t know how that happened? College Football is as pure as the driven snow.

Old friends have said the last few years, I didn’t know you were such a strong Alabama fan?

Answer: Always have been. I remember getting in a fight in the lunchroom in school over who was better Alabama or Auburn. I didn’t really know what a football play was, who the players were, or even the Coach’s name, but I knew you were a dumbass if you weren’t for Alabama. You see people, this is how we raise ’em down here.

The probabtion years were tough, and I lived out of the south 8 years. But now that I am back, and we happen to have an awesome team, I’m a huge fan. Come on, it’s fun to win.

Here’s the real joke.

My son should be a Bama fan by birth. There is only 1 Auburn fan in my family, my brother in law. G Monkey doesn’t see him all that much so I don’t think it is his influence that is steering my son to the dark side.

True Story: His preschool had an IRON BOWL DAY.

They had a pep rally and put the kids in a section of the auditorium according to clothes they were wearing. Of course I dressed my son in an ALBAMA sweatshirt.

I was dumbfounded to find out that he had pitched a fit and the teachers had to take him out of class to find out what was wrong.

Apparently, “He pulls for AUBURN”. That’s what he told them. He was so upsaet he had  to disrupt the entire program and be replaced under the AUBURN banner at school.

Clearly, someone in his family is doing me a dis-service. I’m not naming names, his father & grandmother, but someone is sending my kid down the wrong path, and it has to be stopped.

Exibit A, he was given an AUBURN shirt and hat for Christmas this year.

Excuse me! You people are from the North Dakota, why are you participating in our SEC battle?!?! It is hard not to take it personally.

True Story: G Monkey lives in Orange Beach, Auburn.

Leaving the library the other day I asked the Monkey where he lived. He said, “Orange Beach, Auburn”.

Me:  Alright, that’s ENOUGH. No Sir, you do not. You live in Orange Beach, ALabama. Auburn is not a state. it is a stupid school and town. Get with the program kid.

True Story:  I got Auburn Legacy too.

My 2nd cousin was the quarter back during AUBURN’S 1957 National Championship. Last year he got to carry the crystal football to the 50 yard line when Auburn (Cam) won. 

If Alabama wins Monday night I get to tell G Monkey that the great state of Auburn has won the BCS Championship 3 years in a row.

{November 2, 2011}   Monkey Lately

True Story:  It’s like Chelsea Lately but PG 13.

My son didn’t say a word until well into 2 years of age. We were concerned for a while. Not anymore. He is a total social butterfly now, and will walk up to any kid or grown up and say whatever is on his mind. 

He is still not one of those kids that is constantly chattering though. He will be quiet and thoughtful for hours at a time in a car ride. It’s quite lovely actually.

Lately when he says something or discusses something it has been insanely amusing for myself and others close to him. He’s just been brilliant lately, if I do say so myself. I try to write them all down to share, as I assume we all love that “kid’s say the darndest things.” The following are just a few off the top of my head.

1) He picked out the best Pumpkin in the whole world the other day at the pumpkin patch. Well, that’s what he said. I didn’t think it was all that great, but I see nothing wrong with a beauty is in the eye of the beholder lesson.

He does not want to cut him open and he named him “Charles Jack-o-lantern Anna”. The pumpkin is male by the way. He gave him his personal first name of Charles. Not sure about the last name other than he goes to school with a lot of double-named, southern young ladies.

He held the pumpkin in his lap all the way home, and I over heard him say, “I love you Charles Jack-o-lantern Anna.”

2) Speaking of nicknames, G Monkey has begun nick-naming everything. It is to the point now that, when handed off between his father and grandparents and I, we need a glossary.

Chocolate milk = Sta

Water = Umbrella

Pop Tarts = R’s

Mommy = Moe

Famous = Enie

Daddy – Drode

Grilled Cheese = Grilled Abby Singer (that’s our dog, the Demanding Paw)

Ma’am Juli = Wubee

3) He saw a picture of Pink in a magazine with an exposed pregnant belly.

GM:  Mommy, what is that?

Me:  Pink.

GM:  What’s wrong with her?

Me:  She has a baby in her belly.

He grabs his stomach.

GM:  I don’t want a baby in my belly.

Me:  Oh, don’t worry baby, you’re not ever going to have one… You were in my belly though, before you were born.

He considers this.

GM: I’m too big now to fit through your mouth.

Me:  Yes. This is true.

A couple of weeks later he said out of the blue, “Mommy, I don’t like Pink.”

True Story:  Hello, my name is Ashley, and my son eats his boogers.

4) I have tried everything. Taking away privileges, explaining to him that it is gross and he will get sick. He just won’t stop.

The other night lying in bed we were reading his favorite book. He picked a booger. I closed the book.

Me:  Son, I am not going to read with you if you don’t stop eating boogers.

G Monkey held his hand out to me, and looked so confused by my problem with his habit.

GM:  But, Mommy, don’t you want just one bite?

I laughed very hard at his earnestness.

Today I caught him in the rearview mirror picking and eating. I said, “Son, please stop eating boogers. It is disgusting.”

GM:  But I can’t Mommy. I have to do it. I will never stop.

After a moment…

GM:  Can I have one teeny tiny bite please?

Well, at least it’s not drugs.

True Story:  G Monkey has my back.

5) Last time GM and I were at my Mom’s house it was suppressingly hot out and I had mistakenly taking the monkey and my nephew to a park. We lasted about 4 minutes at the park and were about to die of heat stroke. I got them something to drink and headed back to my Mom’s house. Mom had recently moved to a new house and had it all sheened out for a party she was hosting.

After the park, the boys were leaning on the back door as I fumbled with the key. They were hot and exhausted. When the lock clicked open they fell into the door, which subsequently slammed into the wall of the new house and made a nice door knob size hole in the wall.

Me:  Oh no.

GM:  What Mommy? What is it?

Me:  We’re in trouble. We made a hole in the wall.

Nephew:  Who did it? Who is in trouble?

Me:  Me.

GM:  No Mommy. It’s fine. Look, I’ll just put my hand over it and cover it up. See, nobody is in trouble.

He stood there with his sweet little hand covering the hole.

Me:  Don’t worry about it. It’s okay. You can go play.

An hour and half later my Mom walks in the door. Immediately, G Monkey stops what he’s doing and runs to the hole in the wall and stands there with his hand over it. It was so sweet and cute, I had to go ahead and rat myself out so he could go back to playing.

True Story:  My nephew was planning on throwing me under the bus.

One final Monkey Moment.

Whenever we are out of any of G Monkey’s necessities (R’s, Sta, etc…) I will say, “we need to go to the store and get you some more.”

True Story:  G Monkey calls any adult beverage beer.

He was throwing something in the garbage can the other day and saw an empty wine bottle.

GM:  Mommy, you are out of your beer. We need to go to the store. You NEED it.

Me:  It’s okay Son. I’ll get some next time.

GM:  No Mommy, you NEED it.

True Story:  How does he know?

{October 24, 2011}   Disney World – The Final Word

True Story:  I forgot the most important part.

Driving home I asked G Monkey what his FAVORITE part about Disney World was.

GM:  Playing with leaves.

Me:  Awesome. We got leaves at the house.

True Story:  Santa’s gathering a pile of leaves for Christmas.

{October 21, 2011}   Disney World

True Story:  G Monkey took his first trip to Disney World.

In no particular order:

1) I broke 2 toes.

Now as the mother of a 40 pound 4-year-old boy I walk around daily with separated ribs, a broken nose, and many other injuries.

The toes were attacked by furniture.

There was an oddly placed chair in the living room of our condo that wanted a piece of me. I broke 2 toes on it very soon after arriving. Then bumped the other foot, my knee and my hip. Dad moved it after that. 

2) It took the Monkey until his last day in his last 30 minutes in one of the parks to walk up to a character by himself and ask for an autograph. That would be miss Minnie Mouse.

The first character we tried, Goofy, who is one of his favorites, he had a small melt down. When we finally made it to the top of the autograph line he had chocolate all over him from a power bar and I had to let several people go in front of us while I cleaned him up.

Then, once clean, it is our turn again. Now he has the last half of the power bar in his mouth and refuses to swallow. He just won’t budge and won’t swallow. I just about lost my mind. I had been waiting in this line for at least 30 minutes, sweating, and now he has chocolate soup seeping out of his mouth. Not only is this gross but it makes it difficult to understand what he wants when he just stomps and points.

Then, he finally swallows the food, but sits on the ground and points for me to go get the autograph, which I do.

THEN, after getting out of line, he decides he could maybe hug Goofy if I was holding him.

I thought they were going to call security on us.

So, you can imagine by the last day it was the sweetest thing to hear him say, “Excuse me Minnie Mouse, could I have your autograph please”. I was going to kick her ass if she was mean to him.

No need. Minnie’s a sweetheart.

One thing that led up to the more assertiveness with the characters on G Monkey’s part, was a breakfast that he and I had with Mickey, Pluto, Lilo and Stich.

2 observations here:

a) I realize they probably have about 50 “cast members” that play each character. They would have to to have them in so many locations and give them all pee and smoke breaks. But I would think they would have someone with a little more giddy-up playing Pluto. He’s a dog for God’s sake. He may even be a puppy. This “Pluto” that came to our table was dragging a leg. He might have been as old as Walt Disney himself.

b) Stitch kissed Mommy on the head and squeezed my shoulders just a few hundred times too many for this Momma.

3) At the end of one very long day as we road back to the parking lot on the ferry boat the Monkey began to whine. We were all very tired and our dogs were barking and the last thing we wanted to hear was, “I don’t waaaaant to go home. I don’t waaaaant to do that. Whaaa. Whaaa. Whaaaa.”

So Dad and the Ma’am and I started whining too.

“I waaaant a cocktail.”

“Whaaaa, I want my money back.”

“I want to kick my shoes off and never sweat again. Whaaa. Whaaa. Whaaa.”

If you can’t beat em’, join em’.

4) We stayed off Disney property in a nice timeshare condo that my brother very generously donated. It was 1 mile from Disney World. I repeat 1 mile.

We got lost every single day coming and going. It’s a trap down there.

5) On the 7 hour car trip home G Monkey and I sat in the back of the school bus. This is what we call my Dad’s Tahoe. We were in bucket seats, as you are in a school bus, so it was very hard for me to “hold you” when G Monkey wanted to be held.

The following are excerpts from the conversations that went on between G Monkey and I while I tried to read.

GM:  Aaaaaahhhhhhh!!! Sorry, I just screaming.

Me:  Please don’t scream in the car.

GM:  Aaaahhhhhhh!!! Sorry, I just kidding.

Me:  Practice whistling.

GM:  Mommy, What does “A” plus “T” equal?

Me:  Oh, well that’s easy. It’s “Q”. Everybody knows that.

(This game goes on for at least 2 hours. Him asking me similar algebra questions. He may have dipped into some trig as well.)

Well, he is definitely asking the wrong person as I can not do 3rd grade word problems. I do not know what happens when the train leaves the station.

GM:  Mommy.

Me:  Yes.

GM:  I want to call you Momma.

Me:  Okay. Whatever you want.

True Story:  He has not called me Momma one time yet. I am still waiting.

{August 31, 2011}   North Alabama Vacation

True Story:  I live in LA.

That would be lower Alabama. But, I was raised in North Alabama, therefore I can make fun of it later on.

G Monkey was out of school for 3 weeks and I needed to be in North AL 3 weekends in a row, so we decided to take a little 10 day North AL walkabout.

Things that happened:

1) Dog Boy

The Monkey and I, along with some family, camped for about a week on Lookout Mountain, in the northeast corner of the state. Not tent camping, but relaxing in the woods in cabins camping. For most of the time we had 4-5 dogs and 3 small kids with us.

What used to transpire on these trips to Mentone, AL, was long lazy naps and 1-handed Champagne croquet. Now, with motherhood, what transpires is the following:

I am in the cook house which is sort of like the “living room” cabin of the property where everyone gathers. I look out the front door on to the path leading up to the door and see my 4-year-old son standing there with a dog leash clipped to his shirt and his pants at his ankles. Hmm, I think. I should probably investigate this.

 I stand to look out, and am not very happy to see a very large, human turd behind him on the ground. That’s right. I don’t know any other way to describe it.

Me:  Monkey, WHAT are you doing?

G Monkey:  Being a dog… I go poopy on the ground like the dogs.


I look around for anything… Anybody to blame this on. There are dogs around but there is no hiding what this really is. It’s also right in the human walk path.

I consider for a moment kicking or throwing it into the bushes. Fertilizer right?

I decide that is not moral. Where is a husband around when you need one?

UGH!!!! What else to do? I grab a LARGE wad of paper towels and the “thing” in one hand (I can’t bring myself to type that other word again), and my son’s hand in the other.

I drag him across the property with his pants around his ankle. He is trying to quick run with his little legs to keep up with me.

I run into the big cabin where a bathroom is. My stepmom is blow drying her hair in the bathroom. I run into the room very quickly shouting over and over, “I’ve got a situation here. I’ve got a situation”.

She doesn’t say a word, just puts the hairdryer down and walks out.

Oh, good times.

2) Dog Boy #2

Only G Monkey and I, and about 4 dogs are on the property. Everyone else had gone out for a little while. I was feeding the Monkey his lunch in the cook house when all of a sudden I hear a man yelling, “HEY! HEY! STOP! JAKE!”.

I step out the back door just in time to see a Jack Russell stop suddenly in front of me. I reached out to snag his collar as it occurs to me that this might be “Jake”. Just as I got an inch from him he took off again.

A few seconds later his human daddy came running by, “Did you see a dog?” he panted breathlessly.

Me:  Yes, I just missed him. Sorry…

Before I could get it out Doggy Daddy was off again.

Me:  He went up that hill.

I pointed up a thickly wooded hill, well, small mountain really.

As the man runs up the hill all I hear are desperate, painful, wailing cries, “JAKE! STOP! OH HE’S GONE!”

I thought, man this guy is serious about it. 

A few minutes later a car pulls onto the property. A woman gets out with a leash and some dog treats. I walk down to her. She looks at me desperately. I point up the hill.

Me:  They are up there.

She begins yelling at her son up the hill, trying to help.

He wails back, “Forget it Mom, he’s gone. He’s GONE!”.

She looks at me with a tear in her eye, “I just left the door open for a minute and he was gone. They just came up for the afternoon, oh what are we going to do?”

Me:  It’s okay. He will come back.

Mom:  No, no you don’t know this dog.

For about 10 more minutes I console this woman and her husband who had by now driven up. The entire time we are listening to sobs from on top of the hill.

Dog Daddy finally appears out of the woods. He is missing a flip-flop, sweating, crying and has scratches on his face from running blindly through the woods.

Me:  Listen, our dogs run up those hills all the time. He’ll come back. It’s hot as hell. He’ll come down for water or food or to hang with our dogs.

Dog Daddy (wiping tears):  No he won’t. He’s gone. You don’t know this dog. It’s over.

He stomps off down the road with one flip-flop. Not only is he a cry baby but he’s a bit of a brat as well. Did I mention this guy is about my age, 35 maybe.

His mom yells after him and he whips his arm back at her to leave him alone and continues the pout walk.

I exchange numbers with Mom and Dad and tell them not to worry, I’ll return the dog if I see him.

True Story:  5 minutes, maybe. Might have been 3 minutes after they leave the property, I look over and lo and behold if it isn’t little Jake sitting there panting like crazy from his romp through the woods.

I said, “Hey Jake, want some water?”  He follows me to our community dog water bowl while I slip a leash on his collar.

I grab G Monkey and tell him we are about to go make someone very happy. The 3 of us, me, Jake, and the Monkey head down the road to a cabin “Mom” had told me they were staying.

We get about half way there when an SUV pulls over suddenly in front of me and blocks traffic on the entire road. Dog Daddy hops out of the car, still crying, and goes,”No way. NO WAY. God bless you. Oh, wow, thank you so much.” He gives me a sort of sweaty, tearful hug. I told him no problem, as I know how dogs can be.

In my head I thought, “Good Lawd, get a grip.”

So later on I tell the rest of the crew this story when they get back.

I had also mentioned earlier in the day that today was a full moon, and supposed to be one of the sweetest ones of the year. Also, I might mention, my horoscope said it would be my most romantic time of the year. I didn’t really see how this was going to work out for me as I was camping in the woods with my family.

I know what you’re thinking. Well, you are in Alabama. When in Rome, right?

My Dad decides that this has to be full Moon fate. It has to be:

1) My dad has the same first name as the Doggy Daddy. 2) Jake is my dad’s alter ego’s name. 3) It’s a full Moon. 4) The dog was a Jack Russel just like my dog, the Demanding Paw.

My answer?

I’m way more of a man than that dude is.

True Story:  There are more stories and observations from North Alabama Vaca to come later. But I am too dog pooped to type them right now. Pun intended.

et cetera