I Chilled For A Few Days

I unplugged.

I know, so odd but I was in a place that didn’t have wireless and healed from the strep throat even though I’m still having trouble hearing. It’s better though and that is of the good.

You know how unplugged I was? I will tell you. Homer had to tell me at Big Daddy’s yesterday that Jesse Helms had died.

We mourned Bozo though although when we were kids, Bozo wigged out a smaller and suspicious Homer who thought clowns were evil. Of course they are but Bozo seemed okay. The funny thing is, our uncle would buy her clown stuff all the time. Clown pictures, clowns in general, clown dolls. It surprising that she hasn’t gone mental from the clown crazies.

Yeah, when I drop out of the human race, I drop out.

Back to our regularly scheduled blawging.

White People And T Shirts

This post is pretty much exclusively for my sis, Homer, and her husband, Squeegee Monkee.

Many people and cultures view t-shirts as a simple piece of apparel that can be acquired cheaply and worn in casual situations. For white people, it’s never that easy. The t-shirt is one of the most complex and expressive items in their entire wardrobe.

Your choice of casualwear says a lot about you, and there are stringent rules and hierarchies associated with T-shirts that you must know before venturing into any white-dominated social situations.

From Stuff White People Like.

(Homer and the Man-Child-Boy-Monkee that is her husband of like a thousand and 12 years own a screen printing shop. That would probably make more sense to you as why I’m posting this. I am, possibly inaccurately, that this post will make them laugh.)

Homer As Dr. Seuss

Ahh, the craziness of Wednesdays that are my life. Wednesday is the busiest morning of my week and usually makes me want to pull my hair out. This morning, if it hadn’t been for Adams and Ron, I would have seriously thrown loved ones and gadgets .

Hump Day indeed.

With that said, I had to take a picture this morning with a bunch of kids.

It’s Homer as Dr. Seuss. I think she was there to teach people how to read or something. She might have just scared the pre-schoolers into unconsciousness. She even has Think One and Thing Two as her entourage. She’s a regular Brittney Spears with her posse. Oh, and the little boy’s name is Ricin. (I know.) He’s still a cute ass kid.

Either way, I think she looks absolutely adorable.

Homer On Pundits

Homer and I were talking this morning about pundits while we were watching CNN.
Me: (thinking greedily about getting paid millions to just sit around and talk incessantly about politics, Britney Spears, Gene Simmons’ sex tape and the health benefits of beef jerky. I have lofty goals. Shut up.) “Ahh, the life of a pundit.”

Homer: “How does one become a pundit?”

Me: (dead silence as I pondered this) “Umm, I don’t know.

Homer: “You can’t major in punditry, can you?”

Me: “No. I think you just have to be loud and think you are right no matter what you are saying.”

Homer: “You’d be perfect then.”

Me: (trying to muster up a good case of stinkeye to throw at her) “You’re saying that sarcastically, aren’t you?”

Homer just smiled.

I love my family.

Homer For President

I sat down in an exclusive interview with my sister, Homer, who is president of the PTO. I felt that because she had held this office for two years, with a term as treasurer and V.P. for a time as well as cleaning up popcorn, Dippin’ Dots and possibly children’s sick after events that she could give us some insight on the political races for Prez of the United States.

Me: “How do you like being president?”

Homer: “It’s pretty good.”

Me: “How did you seek this office? How much money did you pay in campaign dollars? Which corporations backed you?”

Homer: “I didn’t pay anything. Hell, Trace, I don’t know any corporations. I sort of got recruited into it. I wanted my kids to have a voice and learn to how to use their voices. That’s why I decided to be active in PTO.”

Me: “You’re lying.” (She glares at me sometimes and I get scared and she also knows that I’m not very good at being Chris Matthews or Glenn Beck so I cowered as I am wont to do when she gives me stink eye.) “Umm, you love your kids?”

Homer: “You are an idiot. Yes, I love my kids and I wanted them to have opportunities. We have to raise money for things and I just wanted to be a part of their childhood. I want them to have fun being kids, so that’s why I’m president of the PTO.”

Me: “So, who will you be supporting for president?”

Homer: “Of the PTO?”

Me: “No, for the United States of America.” (Cue National Anthem and theme to the movie Independence Day for dramatic effect.)

Homer: “I’m not going to tell you because you’ll put it on Newscoma.”

Me: “I’d never do that.” (When I lie, my eye twitches. She saw it right away just as she did when I use to rat her out when we were kids.)

Homer: “I’ve been reading up on the candidates, douche. Isn’t that what you are supposed to do? At least that’s what I think people should do because then they know the issues. So, I’m liking what a couple of them have to say. Interview over.”

Me:  “So, you are saying ‘No Comment.'”

Homer: “Shut up.”

Me: “That’s no way to end this interview.”

Homer: “You want to eat something half way decent tonight?”

Of course, she knows me.

Not Sharing The Secrets Of Chicken Salad

An actual Christmas conversation with Homer:

ME: How do you make that chicken salad thingie you make?

HOMER: I use chicken.

ME: Killa wants it because she told me this today. She likes it. I bought it. How do you make it?

HOMER: I get chicken. I put stuff in it.

ME: What do you put in it?

HOMER: SweetTarts.

ME, sighing because Homer does this to me: And Skittles?

HOMER: No. Pay attention. You aren’t listening.

ME, sighing again because my little sister can drive me to drink … : Do I put Gummie Worms in it for Christ’s Sake?

HOMER: No, that goes in the Tuna Salad.

The office party should be interesting tomorrow.

Umm, help.

“Doh”

I would love to sit here this morning and tell you that Homer, the sis, has a favorite blog and it’s mine.

But, alas, it isn’t true.

I haven’t seen much of Homer lately due to an insane baskeball/softball schedule of the oldest niece and I’ve been a nutbar due to work (although we had a lovely afternoon yesterday which was all sisterly and so lovely that I almost couldn’t stand it.) Homer brought to my attention something about being on the peripheral sidelines of the blogosphere and I had a couple of reactions. She didn’t catch the importance of what she said, but I did when it came to readers in this digital age.

Now, I have met Busy Mom a total of one time and liked her immediately. She’s really cool, and quite honestly, she immediately reminded me of my sister. I told her that Homer loved her blog, we smiled about it and then we both went on our way at a bloggers meet-up the summer before last.

My conversation yesterday went something like this:

Homer: “I commented on Busy Mom’s blog a while back. It was the first time I’ve ever done that other than here one time. She’s really good.”

Me: “Neat. She is cool.”

Homer: “She’s nice. She sent me an email back. I didn’t expect that.”

Me: “That’s really groovy. What name did you comment under?”

Homer: “Well, being that you’ve christened me Homer, I commented under Homer. She figured out it was me. I honestly thought it was really neat she knew I was Newscoma’s sister.” Looks at me like I have something hanging out of my nose.

Me: “Okay.”

Homer: “Her blog is the best. It’s my favorite.”

Me: My head shot up and I looked warily at my beloved sister. “Doh.”

Homer: “Don’t get me wrong, yours is pretty good, I guess.”

Me: “Doh.”

There are two lessons here. The first one is that non-bloggers appreciate feedback from the authors of blogs they read. It really is something that we should all do and I’m the worst about it. Non-bloggers read these things and I can remember feeling all weird about commenting back in the day. I remember when Atrios sent me an email and I felt on top of the world about it. Busy Mom made Homer’s day, but in all honesty, she’s loved going to BM’s place for a long time. She relates to her and this is of the good.

The second lesson here is that I’m going to have to hit her like we used to do when I was in sixth grade and she was in third grade. I believe when you hit someone on the arm and leave a bruise, it’s called giving them a frog.

Heh. 😉