Can You Haiku?

My mother can't.

During my internet exile thanks to my computer's untimely passing, I spent a lot of time reading. I didn't read "real" books. I read trashy romance novels.

To be more specific, I read some of Cassie Edward's Savage Series. As a side note, I'd like to point out that calling these books fantastic fiction is a bit of a stretch. They are trashy, silly, and read like a 14-year-old's God-awful fan fiction.

But, it is all in good fun. My mother makes fun of me constantly for reading these books. (I also read a few of Bonnie Vanak's books, which were way, way, way trashier. Just sayin' Cassie, you may want to step up your game.)

The BEST part of the Savage books is that they usually start off with a Godawful Fan Poem. I am not making this up. This one is from Savage Trust.

Side by side they stand together,
so young so bold and brave
They care not what others think
or what someone may say.
Hands entwined and holding tight
two hearts beating as one
They prepare themselves for the fight
they know soon will come.
Coppertone skin against snow white
their love has been condemned
No one can ever tear them apart
it's true love until the end.

Before anyone points out my punctuation errors, I copied that EXACTLY from the book.

Can you see why I love these books?

Mom and I were driving around one day and after a quick stop at Dollar Tree (where I no longer work, thank God) I had a BRAND NEW copy of a Savage book that I only had to pay a dollar for. I read Mom the poem. She laughed until she almost wrecked into a mailbox. Then Mom suggested we write some poetry to send in to Cassie and maybe get published in a book. Mom suggested a haiku.

Haikus are really simple as proven by this internet-famous haiku. 5 syllable, 7 syllables, 5 syllables. All you have to do to be able to write a haiku is count.

Here is Mom's first attempt at a haiku:
Riding together
On a tall palomino steed
into the sunset forever.
5, 8, 8. Good try, Mom.

Attempt number two wasn't much better:
Riding together
on a midnight black steed
into the sunset for always.
5, 6, 8. She's almost got it.

Again, I pointed out that she had way too many syllables. Again, Mom gave it a try:
Riding together forever
on a midnight black stallion
into the sunset fralways.
8, 7, 7. Wait...what? What the hell is "fralways?" I asked. Her answer was that if you cram the words together into one word than it counts. Again I pointed out that it's the syllables not the number of words. And what happened to the very well done first line?

Mom's response was that it is true art when you bend the rules and she liked her haiku very much, thank you.

The woman is a nut. And her birthday is tomorrow! Happy birthday, Mom!

Why yes..

I did take over a month-long vacay!

I didn't really, my computer passed away and I just got a new one. The sad thing is some REALLY AMAZING stuff happened while I was gone from the internet.

I'm actually ill right now. I think I have swine flu. So I promise a post tomorrow by the latest.

Here's To Dad.

My dad has always been a bit of a "different" sort of guy. Not like a bad different, just different. For starters, my dad has a really off sense of humor. Not just finding certain things that others wouldn't think are hilarious funny, but wicked humor and an ability to lie with a straight face. So, in honor of my father's wicked humor, I'm turning the tables and outting the guy. Here's to Dad.

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I have always been absolutely terrified of snakes. I don't know if it's the lack of legs, the way they slither, or what, but they freak me out. My dad thinks this is hilarious.

When I was a child, there were a pair of chicken snakes that lived in the feed room at the barn. Everyone liked them because they kept the mice away. I hated them because they were huge and scary and liked to curl up by the door so they fell out when I opened it. On my feet! The way the feed room was set up, it was like a little shed that you just had enough space to step into (or lean if you are a scaredy-cat like me) to scoop out horse and cow feed. Since I would lean in, Dad thought it was a great opportunity to get me back for doing absolutely nothing to him, other than being a good little child. (Yeah, right.) So, Dad found a little stick, dipped the tip of it in water, and sneaked up behind me. He's surprisingly quiet for a man with a limp. He then ran the stick up the back of my bare leg while hissing like a snake. I jumped ten feet. He laughed. I cried. And then the trick was added to his bag of "Be Mean to Daughter" jokes and gags.

In addition to the stick-snake trick, Dad thought it was really fun to point at the very non-serpent garden house in the taller grass and shout "Watch out for the snake!" just to see me run. In fact, he still does this.

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Jeff Foxworthy has a bit about finding a couch on the side of the road and using it in your house next to your spool and road cone. That kind of character is my dad. He's not really a redneck, he just has a use for everything. This is the man who will cut across four lanes of traffic (in Houston), stop the truck on the shoulder (of an overpass), and instruct for one of us kids to run and pick up that perfectly good 2x4.

"Why do you need it?" Whoever was unlucky enough to say "not it" last would ask.
"I don't know! You can always find a use for a perfectly good 2x4!" was the usual answer.

It's not just pieces of lumber, either. There is a (singular) piece of St. Augustine grass in the front yard that Dad picked up on the road.

For some reason, after a horse show, we came home with a long, thin piece of steel tied to the outside of the trailer. Why did he need it? Nobody knows. Where is it now? Nobody knows that either. The general consensus is that it most likely disappeared into what is known as "Dad's Box."

Dad's Box is an old cargo box used for shipping goods on ships and trains and such. Why does Dad have one? To store all the crap he picks up on the side of the road, obviously.

*

When I was in elementary school, Dad had a ponytail. That part isn't so bad, right? Well, the top of Dad's head is completely void of hair. So, not only was my dad bald, he also had a ponytail. Sure, it was only a couple inches long, but that was enough.

Dad grew the ponytail solely because he thought it would embarrass us kids. And it did. Oh boy, did it ever. He was known as the old farmer with the ponytail. Then there was the day he was feeling exceptionally cruel. He went with us to the grocery store with his hair done in pigtails. Braided pigtails. Dad start your engines, let the embarrassment commence!

It wasn't until I was in junior high that he finally cut it off. Thank God it hasn't come back.

*

All in all, I love my dad. He's the man who told me he pushed me off my pony when I was a child so I'd learn to fall (and I believed him!), the man who taught me to drive, and the man who took the blame when I crashed the van into the barn. He can still say it is my fault, but Mom reamed him over it. Thanks, for everything Dad!

As Seen on TV

I have a problem. Well, I have lots of problems that relate together to cause one big glaring issue. It started when my laptop power cord broke and my computer ran out of juice before the new one could arrive from eBay-land. Then, it continued when I discovered Qubo is its own D-TV channel. With my addiction to Jacob Two-Two came a startling realization. Qubo doesn't have typical commercials. All the commercials are either for Qubo shows or As Seen on TV products. I think I've died and gone to Heaven. I'm fighting to not spend my paycheck on this stuff.

My addiction to As Seen on TV stuff started a long time ago. Late at night, when I'm unable to sleep, it's like a whole new world. Chef Tony and his knives. Billy Mays and Kaboom! Set it and forget it with Ron. I know it's crap. I know it is. But I'm still outrageously addicted to watching infomercials for the ugliest purse thing ever.

The really sad thing is, I've bought some of this stuff. I think I need an As Seen on TV Anonymous club, because I own a Magic Bullet. I can do pretty much anything with the Magic Bullet. I can make an omelet. I can make a smoothie. I can make a delicious pesto sauce! And for a while I did. I drank smoothies every day for a month. And now my Magic Bullet is sitting in the box on the top of the refridgerator. I mean, it's like actual WORK to use the thing. I love it, but at the same time I don't want to have to pre-chop everything to blend it all together. It does pretty much work though...pretty much.

My former room mate bought Bumpits so that she could actually style her own hair before going out. She couldn't make it work. Everyone else could, but she couldn't. So the Bumpit is still on the fence. Maybe some people just aren't meant to have big hair.

There is absolute trash that gets to be marked with the little red and white As Seen on TV logo. This junk does not deserve that label. Smooth Away. Worst ten bucks of my life. I spent a week letting my leg hair grow out to the recommended length for optimum smoothing away and it didn't take any of it off. None of it. But I keep on watching As Seen on TV.

I have a list of things I want, as well. Never mind that it's Summer and I live in Houston. I want a Snuggie. Sure, I could wear my bathrobe around backwards, but it's just not the same. I also am addicted to baking and I desperately want to get my hands on Big Top Cupcake. Hello, 25 times the size of a normal cupcake. Who wouldn't want that? Plus it has a thing so you can put ice cream inside your ginormous cupcake. This thing could bring about world peace. Wouldn't you stop a war for a gigantic cupcake filled with ice cream? I thought so. I also want, no need, an H2O Mop. If only to encourage myself to clean more regularly.

When the show Pitchmen started I was even more in hog heaven. I love this junk. Maybe one day it'll be me up there selling the Perfect Pancake. Until then, I have my dreams....and As Seen on TV products hidden beneath the sink.

"I should hold clinics!

We live on a farm. Since we live on a farm, we have flies. Flies tend to go wherever they want which includes into the cars when a window is left down or the door is opened.

In addition to my mother's wacky ability to talk to animals, she also has perfected a way to get these pesky creatures out of our vehicles. According to Mom, you have to open the window and gently waft at the innocent insect with the back of your hand. The back of the hand is important, according to Mom, because approaching the fly with your palm signals to the bug that its death is imminent. In typical Pavlovian response, the fly will bolt from your open palm in order to preserve its life. By using the back of the hand, the fly will guide willingly and without fear.

But wait, there's more. It's important to not move rapidly. Moving slowly and deliberately and wafting with the back of your hand means the fly will allow itself to be guided out the window.

I didn't really believe in Mom's theory. And then when we went to swim the horses the other day, we left the windows down at Brett's and a fly got in the truck. I was trying to get it out by swatting (or as Mom said "using aggression") when Mom told me to use the back of my hand. I rolled my eyes, and did as she said. And the fly flew right out the open window.

Mom smiled at me beatifically, "I should hold clinics! I could make millions!"

Battle at Buc-ee's

Tonight we went out to a lovely family dinner at one of my fave Chinese restaurants. It went down the usual way, with the little brother being incredibly rude to the waiter and taking a decade to eat his meal because he has to struggle with chopsticks.

On the way home, we stopped at the new Buc-ee's gas station to fill up the truck before my Dad and little sister go out of town for a softball tournament tomorrow. While at the fuel pump, my other little brother was filling the tank up.

One of the things my dad hates the most is when people pull up in their cars with rap music blaring loud enough for everyone in the city to hear, especially when the music isn't clean. One of these lovely folks pulled up next to us.

Dad, after a fit of sputtering, turned on his radio to the kind-of-local classic country station he loves. Unfortunately, most of the time this station is static-filled. Such was the case this evening. Mom turned it down, Dad turned it back up, and it went like that for a minute.

Until Dad asked "Where the hell is my Dujka Brothers CD?" Oh yeah, Dad, nothing like polka to shut up the kid in the Camry next to us.

He couldn't find the Dujka Brothers CD. So, he went with the next best thing, Johnny Cash. An elderly woman in her SUV catty-corner from us was pointing at Dad. Joey leapt into the cab and Dad pulled away from the pump, turning the radio down. The hardcore rap next to us had gone silent. Dad won.

And then he looked down at the fuel gage. Joey had only filled the truck to 3/4 of a tank full. So, tomorrow, it looks like Dad will be making another stop at Buc-ees.

An Advertisement

Hello, blog. Long time no see. A quick update before I get to today's feature. I am now a college graduate (woo!) and still jobless (boo!). In case no one has figured it out yet, the economy and job market kind of (for lack of a better word) suck right now. But, I'm not letting that get me down and I'm doing whatever I can to find a job to hold me until I can start a career.

Dear Cosmopolitan Magazine Houston Chronicle Wal-Mart Anybody,
Please give me a job.

I've also done the most loseriffic thing in the world and moved back in with my parents. Yes, it is hilarious. But, the main issue so far in the few days I have been back home, sleeping on my parents' couch, is that my younger brother has also returned home from his first two years of college.

When my older sister, Elizabeth, and I were younger, the last thing we wanted was a little brother. The very last thing we wanted was an annoying little brother. Yet, we have one. As farm kids, we knew that the best thing to do when something wasn't working out was to sell it. Elizabeth had an art kit. Mom had a trip to the grocery store planned. We had a mission.

We created a sign: "Free To Good Home: Brother" and taped it to Eddie's back. Mom wasn't thrilled when people were sniggering and pointing in the middle of Wal-Mart. Elizabeth and I were threatened with grounding. Apparently, simple signs taped to the item for sale/free isn't the way to go about advertising. Now, we have the fabulous world of Craigslist to attempt to sell or give away items.

Here is the ad I am considering submitting to the site:

"Free to Good Home: The Worst Brother

Newly home from an uncompleted two years at a junior college (he is lacking an Algebra credit) we find that we simply do not have the time or patience that this particular brother requires. He is a good looking brother. He is tall and 20 years old. He has brown hair and eyes. He is fit and is a former high school soccer player (Junior Varsity Midfielder/Benchwarmer).

His hobbies include showing paint horses (horse is not included) in All-Around events, playing war/conquest computer games (Not WoW!!!! This kid is a STEAL!!), and dressing up on the weekends and running around a field (Civil War Reenacting). He also cleans religiously, but only in his areas such as his bedroom. He will leave the restroom, living room, and kitchen messy. He is quick to pass the blame and will gripe endlessly about this, however.

He also uses his newly acquired not-quite-completed two years at a junior college to showcase how superior he is to the world. Not only does this include acting superior to actual university graduates, his parents, and his siblings, but also gas station attendants, movie theatre ticket takers, grocery store employees, and waiters/waitresses. (I suggest checking your food and/or beverage for any bodily fluids at restaurants).

Furthermore, this particular brother enjoys watching his war movies such as A Bridge Too Far or WWII movies in German with English subtitles as loudly as possible in the living room, despite having his own television and DVD player in his bedroom. Sometimes he will even leave the room, and when the movie is stopped he will return and throw a world calibre hissy-fit.

He is also incredibly selfish. He will use every pan in existence to cook/burn a large breakfast of eggs, ham, bacon, coffee, and toast for himself. He will not attempt to make a meal for the family but expects any other member of the household to offer that courtesy to him.

In fact, this brother came with a warning from the parental units that he is "kind of difficult to deal with." While my mother and I went and spent an hour waiting for him to load his stuff at the junior college, I saw this for myself when he complained that I wasn't helping him move his belongings. I was helping, you see, until he couldn't pay attention to the person walking behind him to go into his dormitory and slammed the automatically locking door in my face.

This brother also comes with The Worst Cat. The two are inseparable.There is a small rehoming fee for the cat."