Put Your Hands Down Will You, You're Embarrassing Us i. jones, jr.

I've waited almost 20-years. . . .

I'm glad I did!

I Like to Think of Jesus as a Mischievous Badger cal naughton, jr.

The massage school I have been attending for almost the past 3 months has deemed it safe for me to start placing my magic hands on the public. Today is the day I begin that journey. In fact, I'm booked for my time today.

Wish me luck. Or my future clients luck. Whatever suits your fancy.

When All Else Fails, Read the Directions

So.

Mr. Gecko-Lizard-From-the-Wondrous-&-Deadly-Outdoors:

For four(4)-weeks I completely loved and protected you; gave you shelter in our home. Even while many a dog sought and found you. Include the wily cats whom also hunted and located your green leetol bum. I would pick you up and place you on higher ground. Always. I then banished my kitty to a separate room - for weeks. All in the name of safety for Mr. Gecko who found his way from outside inside.

I made sure you had fresh bugs for lively gourmet meals. I thought this was our unsigned agreement: you eat the indoor insects and I made sure that no one stepped on you. I also made sure to find you each and every day to be sure you were still alive and kicking. If I could not locate your scaly arse, I was deeply saddened - ask the husband, I was. I hadn't called the pest control man for fear of killing you with all things fumy. I did not mind you staring at me as I typed on my computer. If you fell, I gently picked you up. I cleaned your poo - and I have enough of that currently going on to last the rest of my life, believe me. I vacuumed up your shredded shedded skin. I found you heat and water. I let you sleep in my family room throw.

The husband helped sustain your life as well. He was like a pro-wrestler keeping the dogs at bay. Without us, you would have been bird food by the second week of your birth. For serious.

Yesterday, I almost stepped on you - curses to you and your chameleon-like ways. Obviously, this meant you were on the floor. So, again, I bent down to protect you from the hounds-of-hell - - - jaws that were just waiting for a good chomp of you. You were a bit squirrely as you had not had your coffee for the day either, but I managed to get you up off to higher ground. I then ever so tenderheartedly put you down. . . . . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . where you promptly turned and unnecessarily bit my finger. Hard. Unflinchingly hard. You suddenly and unbelievably had a sustained spasm of your masseter muscle. I didn't even know geckos had such a thing, but you were strong, let me tell you. I could not get you to LET GO of my precious and, might I add, cute finger. For 5-minutes I pried and pried; where I only to manage to shred my own finger. That was not cool, Mr. Gecko. Not cool at all.

And, that frackin' hurt.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . outside you go, you little b*st*rd.

Warmest Regards,
~Jen-who-used-to-trust-geckos-with-her-life-and-finger(s)

P.S. To any beastly-evil-spiders that may be reading this message: while I may be tolerant of almost any creature who dwells in my home, you best hope the husband finds you first, b/c I will squish you into a pile of spider mucus without thinking twice about it. I hold a doctrine that determines my race is superior to as well as has the right to rule yours. Eight-legged-freaks, I will have none of it. So, beware - there is no lifeguard on duty for you here. Unless, of course, it's the husband. He has taken pity on your souls.

Cloak-and-Dagger

In case you hadn't noticed, I'm indisposed and will be even more so over the coming weekend . . . . more later.

In the meantime, because someone asked nicely,
here are a few photo's from the past week:

Opening a couple of birfday gifts.

Jen, this is your life.
One of the best gifts ever
was received when I opened this scrapbook made by my mom & dad.
[Can someone explain why one of my nicknames in the 1980's was Hair?
I just can't imagine.]


Lastly, things that make you go, "hmmm"?

I hope all ya'll have a super-fab weekend! . . . . .Definitely don't forget your mom's. If your mom is like my mom, then your mom rawks! Hugs to all the mom's out there. If you're interested, here's my tribute to my mom from last year. A new one will be forthcoming, but not until after this weekend.

My Dad Said You Were a Drama Queen

. . . . . running late for the early morning Sunday ride, the husband needs a lift in the truck. I'm not allowed to brush my hair or do anything remotely human-looking before driving the husband to meet 30 of his friends. Nothing. To make me look slightly presentable. With zombie breath in tow and my bewbies hanging to my knees - I just had a birfday, people - I jump into the driver side of thy truck. I'm a good sport. Mostly.

**********

. . . moseying on down the road; driving along in my automobile . . .

the husband: drive it like you stole it.
me: I just woke up and therefore it's probably a little dangerous for me to be driving like that ***wild-eyed abandonment***
the husband: ***snickers*** I know, right?
me: what are the chances that there is someone at the 4-way stop at this time in the morning . . . . . . who, I guess, isn't even going to bother to stop?
swerving around the old man whom, mind you, didn't stop at the 4-way stop himself
the husband: you're going to be turning right up here. . . .
me, slowing down to pull in behind old guy to make the right hand turn up ahead
the husband: punch it!
me: ***punching it*** that old geezer is thinking, "effing* kids these days!"

Come to think of it, maybe the old guy was late for the ride too? I mean, he turned so quickly at the 4-way stop, because, if you remember, he never even stopped, which in turn made him swerve into the other lane of traffic before righting himself back in front of me in my lane. B*st*rd.

Maybe he was just drunk. Double b*st*rd.

Finally, I'd like to finish by pointing out it was far too early for me to be pulling out my Kimi Raikkonen moves, which I flawlessly performed in a truck. But all's well that ends well. I'm safe and back at home with my hair now up in a pony-tail and my pegs are brushed. I can now go out in public. I'm safe. All ya'll are safe.

*technically, this is not exactly the word I used, but I'm a lady. So there.