A case of "foot in the mouth" syndrome

Last night I started moving into my new apartment! Yay! It's super cute and big and in North Scottsdale which is about a minute from my work. So I took some friends with muscles and a truck and drove all the way out to Scratchy J to pick up my bedroom furniture. My parent's are moving this week also so it's been pretty insane.

I arrive at their house after an hour drive on the freeway and the family that have purchased my parent's house are there measuring and just being a pain in the ass. Can't they wait until we are done moving for crying out loud? I'm running around the room and this little blonde girl, had to be no more than 4 years old, is standing in the doorway and staring at me. Like creepily. I keep looking at her over my shoulder, because Jenn and kids are not so mixy. She just keeps staring, apparently too young to get the "go away" look of a grown-up.

So I turn and sit on my bed and begin staring at her. She doesn't say anything. And she's not going away. I finally ask her, "where's your mommy?" To which she replies, "My mommy's dead." Um...ok. What? Great. I just stare at her and the audacity at what I had just said. Crap! So I try to recover and ask, "Where's your grandma?" She says, "I don't have a gramma."

Sigh... I realized that this conversation was going nowhere and got up from my bed to start folding things. I step around a box on the floor and into a garbage pail. My right foot is now lodged in a pink flowery garbage pail. I shake my leg, it won't come off. I look back and Poltergeist Girl is still staring at me, not even fazed. So I reach down and push the pail off my leg and the shoe comes with it.

I want to cry at this point. I just take off the other shoe and sit back on the bed and stare at the little girl. Two can play this little game! Ha ha! (enter evil laugh here) I lost. She eventually left. I got my shoe out of the trashcan and went home to my new apartment. I made my bed and realized I didn't have dinner. I went to the store at 11pm and bought some food. I got home and discovered I don't have any bowls, plates or silverware. I went to bed hungry.

A big ol' bucket of Childres Luck

I'm looking back at the past year and I realized what a giant suck-fest it was. Let's recap, shall we?

It all started with the damn meningitis. Supposedly. I needed a doctor like House but I ended up with Old Man River's ex wife who was a hundred and seven years old and tried to kill me on a daily basis. Then there were the tattoos. They got infected and almost killed me as well.

During this time I purchased a house in Texas with all the money I had and hoped to make a little money on the side. Why, oh why. With the best of intentions. Yeah. That house just got sold by auction last week when they foreclosed on it.

And I can't open my mouth because of TMJ. And I have 3 different dentists that have given me 3 different bite pieces that each charged me over $1000 for them. Oh, and I still have big ol' holes in my gums from getting my wisdom teeth out. And instead of the tmj specialist trying to make me better, he yelled at me for listening to the other dentist. That he sent me to. To get my wisdom teeth out. Bastard.

So I got sick again and I moved in with my parents and I was going to work part time since they live in the middle of no where and I find myself driving an hour both ways to work during rush hour. Cuz I ran out of money.

Needless to say, I have a lot of time to think now. And I was thinking about what bad luck I have! Then I remembered that on a day, not too long ago, I went with my dad to a store to return something big that he had to lift into the back of his truck. We pulled up to the store, on a Monday no less, walk up to the front door to find it locked. They were closed on Mondays. And only on Mondays. I looked up at my dad and said, "That's the Childres Luck for ya." And he laughed because he knew exactly what I was talking about. Dammit.

I got the Childres nose, the Childres good taste in vehicles, and a big gigantor truck load of Childres crap luck.

Cow Love

This past weekend I went to E-rock's mom's house for Easter. Actually, with 3 horses, 3 goats, 2 chickens, a dog that looks like it's been run over a few times and 4 cows, it's more of a ranch than a house.

Casa Grande is an interesting place. It's like an Apache Junction upgrade...not much of one, but an upgrade nonetheless. Like when you drive down the un-graded roads and you pass a neighbor you do the "AJ Wave" (as in “Apache Junction Wave”) where you don't even bother to lift your arm up and wave. You just barely lift two to four fingers up in the air and slightly nod your head.

So back to the animals, namely the cows. One in particular cow was absolutely in love with me. Seriously. He is brown and looks like a "Spanish bull" so they named him Tony Bandana (sort of like the Casa Grande version of Antonio Banderas). He's all serious and broody. As we were watching E-rock's mom and her boyfriend try to give a horse a bath (that's a story for another time), I would start to feel the coldness of a murderous stare on my back. I glanced over to see Tony and his beady cow eyes giving me "the look". Like the "undressing me with his eyes" kind of look. He wanted to have cow sex with me.

It was like a scene in a Quinten Tarantino movie. I look across a crowded square…of cows...all minding their own business and see Tony Bandana standing there, completely still, staring at me with those Latin Lover eyes. Like a stalker, or a private eye hired by a stalker, dreaming of my naked body. Tony's probably over there in Casa Grande right now cutting pictures out of those wedding magazines and gluing pictures of our heads over the heads of the happy couples. If he had hands instead of hooves. And opposable thumbs, I suppose.

Sure he's got the Ethiopian kid fly syndrome and a tiny brain...but he's only got eyes for me!