My family is CRAZEEEEEE

The following is an excerpt from an e-mail I got from a near relative. Believe it or not, it was part of a Christmas greeting. I love said relative, but let's just say we stand on very different sides of the political fence. He frequently regails me with new ideas and theories he has picked up from talk radio. Sometimes I'll take the bait and rebut, but more often I just let it go.

But I don't even know what to make of this one. For what it's worth, I've changed the names of his wife and daughters. "Alice" is the wife, "Suzi" is the 15-year-old daughter, and "Monica" is the 22-year-old daughter.

Taxi driver in San Diego yesterday morning was a "Political refugee" from some "Small Shad-Like country" Elytra?? in Africa,
He is one of the thousands that I question , worry about and let Suzi know she needs to worry when in large cities. He has been here since 1986 and before the priest signed his U S Immigration documents he had been in the "War' of that nation since 1970" had both parents and siblings murdered and burned; joined the "Rebel forces' and was a "Killing Machine" my interpretation of 50 questions he answered for me killing anyone his rebel leaders told him to kill prior to him being 20 years old. Back in his day there was no DOPE just guns and blood!
He was the third African, one Eithopian, one Sudanese and him all have been allow in the country since 1986, two from "Rebel armies"
That is one very simple reason I pick up my "Concealed weapon permit" tomorrow cause I have already done the first coarse, as Monica and Alice have, and plan to do 8 courses!

What the hell is that supposed to mean? Lordy. Methinks he forgot to take his crazy meds. . . Best I can tell, he's using an African immigrant taxi driver, who has apparently been in this country legally since 1986, as his justification for needing to carry a concealed weapon. But I can't be entirely sure.

And what, exactly, does "DOPE" have to do with any of it?

God help us all.

Fuck you, Rubik. And your damn cube.

Davy and I had a great time in Chicago. The weather was unseasonably warm while we were there and our hotel accomodations were AMAZING. I simply can't recommend the Palmer House Hilton highly enough--especially the executive level in the towers. It was fantastic!

My mom stayed in Austin to take care of the girls while we were gone, and they seem to have had a great time with minimal meltdowns, although that is surprising considering how much they did while we were gone.

Unfortunately, Mom took them to see Santa while we were away, which is always a disaster in the making after wishes have already been communicated and accomodated. But, well, what are you going to do?

Both girls had previously asked for Nintendo DS's and a couple of other small items, all of which had been purchased and prepared for Christmas Eve. But, as always happens when you let a child talk to Santa right before Christmas, they came up with some new ideas on Santa's lap.

In addition to the Nintendo DS, a certain Webkinz, and a skateboard, Mia suddenly developed a desperate need for a "real" magic wand. Can you imagine the havok that would be wrought if Santa were to go around giving out real magic wands? Oy ve. We pointed out that it could be very dangerous if a magic wand were to fall into the wrong hands. Mia agreed with this idea, but she pointed out that she was only planning to use it for two things: to get a cell phone and to fly.

She didn't get a real magic wand. . .

And then there was Zoe. Zoe wants to play the double bass (aka bass fiddle or string bass) and she's wanted to for years. Trouble is, the bass is an enormous instrument and miniature versions (1/8 scale) are relatively rare and quite expensive. Plus, kids outgrow them pretty quickly and have to move up to 1/4 scale and then 1/2 scale in a matter of a few years. So, with her agreement, we've put it off until she's a little bigger. However, while sitting on Santa's lap, she came up with a brilliant idea. "Santa," she said "I know it's kind of late notice, but I was thinking since miniature bass fiddles are so hard to find, maybe your elves could make me one."

Luckily, we were able to find a *really* miniature wooden bass in Chicago--two inches tall. . . We put it in her stocking and she thought it was very funny. She's not sure if Santa misunderstood or if he has a really good sense of humor. But she admitted that she got "exactly" what she asked for.

At least they didn't ask for a pony. . .

Experience is a strange word.

Think about it for awhile. Say it a few times. I think you'll see what I mean.

That's what it's like inside my head. . .

Ridiculous!

To my ever-growing list of things that drive me NUTS, I'd like to add the following: catsup.

I don't care if it IS a valid spelling. It's ridiculous. Ketchup is also a valid spelling, and much less ridiculous.

Use it.

Dumb Kids

I often forget how fortunate I am. All the children in my immediate circle of friends are very, very bright. They are, without exception, charming and fun kids with whom I enjoy spending time. However, they've spoiled me for "regular" kids. And I'm always stunned when I'm forced to face the reality of a child who is, um, not so smart.

For those of you who think every child is gifted, well, perhaps you should stop reading now. Or you and I could agree to disagree. Because I'm going to be blunt .

My daughter (and I'm not going to tell which one at the risk of outing the child in question) has a friend who is not smart. In fact, she's just plain dumb. I'd say she's dumb as a rock, but frankly, that would be giving her far too much credit and the rock far too little. This child is not developmentally delayed. Apparently she's perfectly average at school. She's hitting her benchmarks, blah, blah, blah. But she doesn't have the sense God gave an earthworm. Critical thinking skills? They must be banned at her house. Along with curiosity, humor, and books. She's perfectly nice, and I can take her in small doses, but after a few hours she tries the absolute limits of my patience.

Man. I love my kids. And if you're reading this and you have kids, I love yours too. But the dumb ones?

Not so much.

There's. A. Dead. Rat. In. Front. Of. My. House.

Legs up in the air.

Dead.

I'm afraid I have to move.