A Phone Call Transcript – December 17^th, 2011

Queen B:  Honey, really, if we are going to put a Christmas card on the blog we need to get it out soon – it’s the 17^th for crying out loud!

Honey: We need a picture to put in and of the twenty-six pictures I took of us last weekend, they’re all hideous! Why weren’t you looking at the camera?  Twenty six pictures and you are not looking at the camera once. Seriously Mom, what are the odds?

Queen B:  Were you taking pictures?  When was this, I don’t remember this?

Honey:  With my phone, remember I was taking pictures of us with my phone!  You know that pink and white thing that I was holding up in front of our faces??

Queen B: I thought you were texting. What’s wrong with them?

Honey:  Well other than the fact that I look like I have six chins, and you look like an gray haired nut case gazing off into la-la land? Absolutely nothing.

Queen B: Fine then, just post a Christmas post without a picture if you think they’re so bad.

Honey:  Mom, we have to do a picture. We are the faces of our blog, people want to see that we actually exist! I can just hear it… “Are these people real? This amount of idiocy has to be a joke, and they don’t even have a picture up…the Bunnies story? Give me a break.”

Queen B: You can hear it?  Literally, you can hear it?  What else are they saying, have they ever told you to do things, to hurt yourself or others?

Honey:  Mom, I’m almost to your house, and when I get there I’m going to hit you over the head with one of your prize fruitcakes. Just so you know.

Queen B:  Did the voices tell you to hit me with a fruitcake?

Honey:  I’m pulling into the driveway, put your coat on. Cold makes things constrict, we’ll look thinner if we take a picture outside.

Queen B:  It might be snowing! I’m not standing in snow in my new slippers, I don’t know where my snow-boots are. I’m only standing out there for 5 seconds. Are you wearing my scarf? Are you wearing boots? Where’s your camera?

Honey: Mom! We are taking a picture for the #*@- ing blog, and you better be looking at the #*@-ing camera this time!

*click*

Honey: Ta-da! The worst holiday photo ever!

Dear Honey, this is your Mother speaking.

Tit-for-Tat: The Christmas version?  Genius! You have learned well Grasshopper!  I think that we should crown each other Queen and Princess of “Tit-for-Tat World” (I will be the Queen).  Then we should take a sworn solemn oath that we will never use our frighteningly evil Tit-for-Tat skills on other members of Tit-for-Tat royalty.  We will need a new pact – the “Tit-for-Tat Royal Dispensation Pact”.  We could even have “Royalty” meetings, where we eat brownies and share Tit-for-Tat wisdom and plan future attacks.….. ?  Speaking of future attacks, I have the next one all ready to go.

Queen B:  “Babe, I think we have been robbed!”

Your Father:  “Huh..?”

Queen B:  “Really babe, I have been cashing my checks and putting the money in my underwear drawer for Christmas, and over half of it is gone!”

Your Father:  “Oh yea, I was, uh, going to tell you about that…….blah,blah,blah…..so I bought his one of a kind, Revolutionary war era, long barrel musket ….”

Queen B:  “You did what???????”

Your Father (the big jerk, who already owns a closet full of damn guns):  “He needed the money, he was out of work…. This can be my Christmas gift from the family. …. I can always use it to defend our home….”

Queen B: “Unless a full contingent of Civil War Reinactors march down our cul-de-sac in the next 5 seconds you only need to worry about defending yourself from me, your wife, one mad, mad Queen B!”

Your Father, the idiot:  Flailing his arms, “There’s a bee in here?!? Where?! Where?!?!”

Love from your Mother, Queen B.

My favorite time of the year. Its a holiday that truly shines in the godforsaken Arctic tundra, because of the snow. Last year we had a shit-ton of snow (a shit-ton is equal to four craploads) but there is nothing like Christmas lights twinkling through the drift of snow they are buried under.

Last year Marmot’s brother-in-law put icicle lights up along the roof line because Marmot and I are both scared of heights. Dumbest thing we ever did, because he didn’t have a return trip planned for the spring! Finally in June I sent Marmot up on the ladder (just hold tight babe, you’ll be fine) to take the lights down. We will NEVER be doing that again! Although this year we did put up the garlands and one strand of lights outside.

Taken from my vantage point inside, after I'd frozen my behind off! He has always said he wants to stay in the North...lol

And the Christmas tree- oh how I love the Christmas tree. Ours is always a little wonky looking though, due to no ornaments at Labrador-tail level or lower (the boys shattered a few last year). There is also a lack of Christmas presents because someone-who-shall-remain-nameless taught Brewer to unwrap his own presents last year- so now Brewer thinks all gifts hold chewy bones, and the presents are lovingly placed on the dining room table out of his reach.

Hope you’re having a wonderful start to the Christmas season!

#44 – Order the completed Family History scrapbook. When my Gram died in 2006, I had one request- I wanted her pictures! I’ve always been obsessed with my family history, and so getting the pictures after she passed away was a huge gift. And by huge, I mean there were over 2,000 pictures! I sent them all away to get scanned, and a year later got them all organized into a scrapbook- and its sat on the Interwebs for another four years, because I couldn’t quite stomach paying $100+ for this 100+ page monstrosity of a scrapbook. But it was important to me to have it, so I worked some overtime, bit the bullet, and ordered it!

#45 – Finish the 2010 Scrapbook. I do realize that its the end of 2011, but really, I got it done so whatever.

Scrapbooks! Oh wow I'm turning into my mother...lol

#50 – Plant 100 tulip bulbs. Tulips are my most favorite flower. If I hadn’t gotten married in January in the godforsaken Arctic tundra, I would have had tulips in my wedding. However, tulips are totally cheap when you grow them yourself. So last night, my darling husband dug the holes so I could plant my 100 tulip bulbs! Have to wait until the spring to see them, but I’m so excited!

Tulips from last year, that we didn't know we had!

My husband bought me a TV for Christmas. Because, I have been talking all year about a getting a TV, specifically a 46″ Sony Bravia LCD 1080p HCTV, because SEC football games are just amazing on this kind of screen. The three-stone diamond anniversary ring would just be a waste of money, what was I thinking?!

And it just so happens that Queen B. had such a TV, through her Finish the Basement project.  {Note: The problem with just painting and sealing the concrete floor (so trendy) when you live in the godforsaken Arctic tundra? It makes the basement colder than the Abominable Snowman’s asscrack, and completely unlivable.} So because wearing a parka was required, the TV had been watched less than ten hours total. My Dad is on a business trip, so anything in the basement is for sale.

So my sweet darling dearest husband bought the TV. For me. With absolutely no ulterior motives whatsoever.

Our entire Christmas budget is blown, and its not even Thanksgiving yet. I was going to inflict Tit for Tat on him, one way or another. And the opportunity presented itself sooner than I thought.

This past weekend Marmot had the TV home, set up in the sunroom. He was extolling the virtues of the new TV, demonstrating with the latest SEC football game – look at the uniforms babe, the colors are freaking brilliant!- I made a realization. Our old TV was a Sony TV. And therefore, we had a Sony remote. And with the addition of the new TV? We have two Sony remotes.

So, while he is engrossed in the game, I tuck the extra remote next to me on the couch, out of his sight. The Bullfrogs throw the ball – all the idiots in football helmets start running – Marmot starts cheering!

And- blink! The TV goes off.

Marmot: What the f#$%.

Me: That was weird. Did you hit a button?

Marmot turns the TV back on. He missed the play, but they have instant replay.

Somebody in a football helmet kicks the ball. The idiots in football helmets split up and start running towards each other. Marmot is screaming the most important of football strategies to the idiots in the football helmets. The game is heating up!

And – blink! The TV goes off.

Marmot: Mother-f#$&!@r!?!!!

Me: Geez babe, this is weird. You don’t think some electrical stuff was knocked loose when you moved it do you?

A few minutes later, all the idiots in football helmets starting running across the field again. Marmot stand up to cheer the Bullfrogs on, this is it! The idiots in helmets are running faster! Its going to be the touchdown of the season!

And- blink! The TV goes off.

Marmot throws the remote into the living room, shrieking expletives, and kicks the side of the coffee table. The cat goes streaking from the room, the dogs sit up and look at him- and I stifle a smile.

Marmot picks the remote, and the battery case, and batteries from the other room and turns the TV back on. The camera is panning over the crowd, still cheering themselves hoarse over the most fantastic play of Bullfrog football history.

Me: I think something was knocked loose when you moved it babe, you should call Customer Service.

An hour and three calls to India later, he finds out the warranty is null and void because he is not Queen B. But Hi-my-name-is-Larry in India helps Marmot through an hour and a half of system resets and diagnostics.

They have it all figured out, everything should be fine. The Bullfrogs are in fine form this season, amazing plays. This is shaping up to be a GREAT football season.

My first 1001 in 101 challenge has been completed! So #41 on my 1001 in 101 list was a modest challenge, but something I certainly wanted to do sooner rather than later: organize all my photos in iPhoto.

I got a Mac last spring when my sister-in-law was selling hers. Its a couple years old, but at $450 it was a perfect way to dip my toes into the Mac pond and see how the water felt. As it turns out, I’m a fan. Over the summer I worked on moving everything from my old PC to the Mac- and its done!

Now I’m not overly familiar with iPhoto, but like so many Apple products its pretty instinctive to use. Once I moved my 3k pictures (yes I seriously had 3000 pictures, not including my wedding pictures which I think is another 1000) it was very simple to sort by date and put photos into Events. And voila!

This is definitely going to make #’s 45, 46, 47, and 48 (scrapbooks for 2010, 2011, 2012, and 2013) easier!

• Husband announces that he will be starting the Couch to 5K program, and downloads an app.
• Not to be outdone, you also announce that you will starting the Couch to 5K program and be kicking his ass.
• Spend two hours evaluating C25K apps on iTunes.
• Buy Get Running for $1.99 and position on the front page of your iPhone.
• Spend $10.32 on new music for your Tunes to Run By playlist.
• Come home from work and eat a bowl of sesame chicken and fried rice.
• Get online and research new shoes, workout gear, and headphones.
• Pin some fitness motivation quotes on Pinterest.
• Look for headphones in work bag, purse, junk drawer, and bedside table. Give up and steal husband’s headphones.
• Go downstairs looking for tennis shoes- find them in the basement in the Goodwill box.
• Put on workout pants, which were worn as pajamas the night before.
• Unfold treadmill from storage position in master bedroom, dust it thoroughly.
• Attempt to plug it in, and then go back to the junk drawer for the three-prong to two-prong adapter.
• All the upstairs-downstairs routine has necessitated a trip to the bathroom to clear ones GI system.
• Lay on the bed to recover from bathroom trip and read half of a Shape magazine.
• Finally get on the damn treadmill, and complete Week 1 Run 1 of C25K.
• Brag about accomplishment in Facebook status update.
• Add running to Facebook hobbies.
• Husband comes home from work, gets into pajamas and eats chips and salsa on the couch. He says he’ll start C25K tomorrow.

Dear Honey, this is your Mother speaking.

Your father started a game of “Tit for Tat” with me once. Sadly it ended with him having all the crotches cut out of his underwear.

He discovered his dilemma while dressing for work, not enough time to hit the store for a new pair.  Hmmmm???  My bright boy decided to use safety pins to piece a pair back together for the day.  Being a safety conscious sort of fellow he took the extra precaution of using a pliers to squeeze the heads securely shut so there would be no chance of having to explain a puncture wound to his bad boys in the emergency room.  Off to work he went.  “Ha-ha, very funny!” he quipped as he headed out the door.

“Tit” came later in the morning as he bent over to adjust lumbar position on his office chair.  Apparently, a small portion of his scrotum got pinched in the spring portion of the safety pin.  I am told that he screamed like a woman possessed, jumped out of his chair (sending it flying across the room), grabbed his privates (in front of two nurses, one other Doctor and the Hospital Administrator) and ran from the clinic with tears running down his face, in the general direction of the men’s room.

Smart enough to graduate from medical school, but stupid enough to try to play Tit for Tat with Queen B - hah!

When he recovered, your 57 year old father headed to Wal-Mart – “commando” – to buy a cheap package of Fruit of the Looms to get him through the rest of the day.

Then came “Tat”.   Did you know that unwashed underwear have some sort of fabric starch on them when they arrive here from China?  Either did he! Unfortunately your father found that the skin in his private region reacted negatively to this Chinese starch.  Another visit to the Men’s room, and an in-depth self examination followed. He had completely broken out in an itchy, seeping rash by early afternoon.  Convinced that his cut from the morning was now infected with what we like to call the “Chinese starchy terminal testicular infection” he headed to the office of one of his Medical colleagues. Presumably, in the Infectious Disease Department.

Love from your Mother,

Queen B.

Dear Mother, this is your Daughter speaking.

Apology? And groveling?! What kind of saintly mother do you think you were, Mother Teresa?

Ok, you know you started this blog advice business, by calling me out on my professions of organic-ness, because I had a freezer full of the totally un-organic Toaster Strudels. Yep, you called me out.

So Mom, I must inform you that prior to the Infamous Bunnies post, I have in fact been holding back on the blog. Because I was under the Other Pact, which is the Mother-Daughter Pact, in which I don’t talk about all the things that happened in my childhood that you don’t want to see in print.

But, the Other Pact is null and void when Tit for Tat has been invoked. Now if you want to play Tit for Tat, remember I learned from the best.

Love you!

Honey B.

Dear Honey, this is your Mother speaking.

Actually this is your Mother not speaking – as in not speaking to you. I know this will come as a shock to you but I have not been speaking to you for over a week! I thought that you would have the courtesy to notice, but you haven’t, so I am now writing to inform you that I am no longer speaking to you. Why? Well let me explain this to you my dear Honey.

Over family life there is a veil of silence that cannot, and/or should not be broken. This veil requires all members of the family to share only touching stories, sweet and cheerful memories, and positive teachable moments from their childhood with anyone to whom you are not related. (Note: This rule also extends to your Grandmothers who at your birth both grew a judgmental bone the size of a large horn right out the top of their heads. Not to worry Honey I am almost completely sure that this will never happen to me.)

{Do the crowns hide the horns?}

This rule is called the Family Confidentiality Pact. The Pact, as I will call it, is put in place to protect the parents from being humiliated with stories of the insane lengths they have had to stoop to in order to raise you up to be the upstanding citizens that you now are. The Pact is also in place to protect you children from being yanked from our cozy little unbalanced home by Social Services when the story of …let’s see, oh yes… The Bunnies become public knowledge. The Pact cannot and/or should not be broken until the Mother and Father, both Grandmothers, any childless Aunts who never liked us, are all in fact dead.

So my dear Honey – There has been a Security Breach in La Familia. This cannot ever happen again. If this does ever happen again I will be forced to steps things up to the dreaded Tit for Tat game. (Note: Let me just say at this point that I have knowledge, Mother knowledge, from your youth, that you probably don’t want shared with the public. Eye witness accounts, pictures, and yes, even video.) Looking forward to your apology, preferably served up with a hefty helping of groveling. Oh how I love the groveling.

Love from your Mother,

Queen B.