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Wednesday, March 9, 2011

Brad Paisley-I'm Still A Guy (With Lyrics)

“Girls are harder than boys.” I heard a young mother tell her friend at the soccer field the other day. “With boys, you don’t have to deal with all the drama.”
I snorted in an attempted to conceal my laughter. It became clear to me as the two young mothers continued their conversation, simultaneously agreeing that girls were harder AND there was no mental difference between girls and boys besides how they are raised, that these women had not been parents long enough to know what they were talking about OR taken basic anatomy. Living in a large household, I have been able to witness firsthand the differences between girls and boys. It has NOTHING to do with how they are raised. Girls play house while boys fight zombie bears and girls dress like princesses while boys dress like ninjas and cowboys. There are times when the two seem to get roles mixed up and my little sisters play batman and robin or the boys demand a tea party. The idea that their minds work the same though, the idea is absurd to me. An example: yesterday while we were drawing pictures at the kitchen table, Lysee, Natylee, Naithen and Layne were all diligently designing their master pieces. After several moments of hard work, they brought them to my inspection. The conversation is as follows:
Natylee: “See! It is a princess and her knight in their castle. That is me and Nate!”
Me: “Is that his crown?” *points to bubbly thing on Nates head* where he hung suspiciously suspended several feet above “princess Natylee’s” head.
Natylee (age 4) : “No.” *rolls eyes* “That is his helmet. He is an astronaut!”
“OHhh… Lysee, what is yours?”
Lysee (age 2) “Natylee, Nate, me, flower, goat, baby…”
Naithen (age 6): “Mine is a man!”
I examine his carefully crafted picture for several moments, puzzling over the large black bump on his head.
“What is that bump?”
“Oh, he was bitten by a vampire.” Naithen flips the paper over to reveal a bloody battle scene on the other side.
Layne (age 8): “Do you know what mine is?” I glance at his image. The picture appears to be shot from the view of a man looking down the scope of a rifle at a very anatomically correct naked man.
He doesn’t give me a chance to answer. Laughing giddily he explains: “It is a naked man shaking his bum at another man, but the other guy has a gun… which he doesn’t know because he is to busy waving his bum.”
These children have all been raised by the same to parents in the same house with the same basic stories, schedule and nutrition.

Another example of the differences in the way men and women think is portrayed in this song which I find highly amusing by Brad Paisley. Country music never bothers to butter up the worlds issues or cater to the whiners. Men and women are different.

Thursday, March 3, 2011

You can't park on a sidewalk

I don’t speed… let me rephrase. I don’t get caught by cops because cops scare me. I know, I know: Policemen are there to help us and protect us. That doesn’t mean they aren’t scary. Maybe I just have one of those faces. One of those faces that screams “Hey, I should be tossed in prison to rot because I parked my car on the crosswalk.”

But a girl can’t be too careful. I avoid police officers, not only because they stalk me and yell at me, but also because I have one of those faces.
At the library I was approached by a young girl (14 or so) she leaned against the shelf as I was neatening books and struck up a friendly conversation.
“So, they have you shelving books, huh?”
“I hate shelving. I would rather sort the dvds or anything else.”
“Yeah… it’s kinda boring.”
“So how often do you come for community service?”
“Oh, once a week.”
“That’s IT?! Wow, you got off easy.”
*shrugs* “Well, it’s just going to take me longer to get in my hours.”
“How many hours are you doing?”
“WOW! That is a lot! What are you doing time for?”
At this point I gave her a puzzled look. “Doing time?” And then I noticed her orange jumpsuit and the cop standing guard at the end of the row.
“Uhh…” I thought quickly. “Poisoning.”
“Poisoning?!” She gave me a slightly fearful, admiring stare.
“Yeah,” I sniffed and put a book back in its place. “A guy was bugging me at work, asking me all kinds of questions. I got fed up and grabbed a pencil from my purse. I stabbed him in the eye. Apparently the eye is especially susceptible to diseases because he got led poisoning.”

“Oh.” The girl backed away. “I… I just remembered I have to go… do something else.” She walked quickly away and her escort followed stiffly. I didn’t have much time to revel in my badness before a crazy cop stormed into the library yelling (and oblivious to the shushing of the librarians) that I could not park my car on the sidewalk and must come move it immediately.

Wednesday, March 2, 2011

Goats don’t like nicotine

Goats don’t like nicotine

I always enjoy “kidding season” here on the farm. Every spring our goats have new babies, and it is so much fun to watch them bounce and frolic. As much fun as baby goats are to snuggle and pet and squeeze, my favorite thing to do is take them out… out on the town. Nobody ever gives a dog or a cat a second glance, but you get the most amusing reactions when it is a goat you are walking down the sidewalk.

Yesterday I took my favorite baby goat, Sky, to the coffee shop with me. As I sat outside on the sidewalk with my coffee and my goat, a group of high school kids exited the convenience store down the street. I watched them open a packet of cigarettes and six pack of energy drinks. I was perplexed to see one young man light his cigarette and place it behind his ear like a pencil. Amused I wondered if somehow the nicotine would simply seep into his brain while scorching his Beiber cut. As I recollect this image, an old slogan comes to mind “smoking isn’t cool”… ok, maybe I just made that slogan up, but it’s true. Nothing turns a girl off like “hey babe, I wear cigarettes as accessories and I’ll not only kill myself with these things, but probably kill you with smoke inhalation just by carrying on this conversation because my breath smells like a burning building.”

Anyway, for the 15 minuets I sat watching these antics, they never once seemed to notice me, but the second I started to leave I hear shouts of “Holy F*ck!” (What does that even mean?) “Is that a goat?”
“Dude, it’s a F*cking GOAT!”
The next thing I know I am surrounded by a group of boys with no knowledge of personal space, personal hygiene or the basics of balanced nutrition and exercise.
“Can I pet your goat?”
“… Yeah sure.” As they extend their hands, the goat (a bottle baby) leans out, searching for a finger to suck.

“Will it bite me?”
“No… well… probably not.”
Three boys pull their hands back quickly, but the fourth seemed oddly brave (or stupid) He extended his hand to the goat. She sniffed his finger curiously and wrinkled her nose in disgust. Good girl.

So kids,smoking is bad for you. It will make you smell so bad even a goat won’t want to hang out with you.