Friday, I Beckon Thee

Finally - Friday. I have survived the week….though the day isn't over yet and it's valiantly trying to bring me down.

Exhibit A - Dylan creeping in to my room like a ninja at 4am to tell me he saw a car in our driveway. I bolt out of bed (while Pat snores the sleep of the dead) ready to murder anyone on my property line. Dylan says "the car is blue and verrrrrrry big, Mama." Something clicks in my barely-aware brain - "is it MY car, Dylan? Is that what you see?" Silence then……."yes. Remember today is Orange Shirt Day, Mama. I need an orange shirt."

Exhibit B - cafeteria credit card processing registers are SHUT DOWN. So that means CASH ONLY. The year is 2010. Who the F carries cash anymore? I am currently involved in an internal struggle of 'do I risk life & limb and head out in to Tysons for lunch OR do I die of starvation after I have already polished off the ketchup packets and straggler M&Ms I found in my desk?' NoVa friends, I'm gonna need someone to run a sandwich or something hearty - your choice - up here to McLean. We're besties. I know you can handle that. See you soon…..hello? Lazy bitches.

Exhibit C - this was the shirt I wanted to wear to show solidarity with my brother over in Afghanistan.

It was designed by my very talented cousin, Joe Otto, and every member of my family has one. However, it did not go with the cute ankle boots that I am sporting today but it will get some usage this weekend. Do you not get it? Do you find it offensive? You're a hippie...here's your sign.

Altar Boys?

Dylan now attends a solid Catholic school. We wanted our kids to have the best education as well as create a good relationship with God and religion. From this conversation that happened on the ride home tonight, you can see our dreams, and then some, are all coming true -

Sawyer: Poop. Butt. Diapers. Butt. Dog poop.

Me: SAWYER DANIEL! Stop saying dirty words.

Dylan: Mama, God does not like it when you say bad words.

Mama: (impressed & immediately patting herself on the back for shelling out big St. Joe bucks) That is RIGHT, Dylan! What else does God say?

Dylan: God created everything. God created animals and Red Robin and people and tractors and the night and my favorite food, shrimp.

Mama: Ah, Ok. Well yes.

Dylan: And God has one eye and no mouth.

Mama: What the....?

Sawyer: GOD IS A CYCLOPS?!

Mama: (losing control of conversation) No, no, no.......

Dylan: And God has angels and they do favors for him.

Mama: (relieved) Yes, they...

Sawyer (interrupting) Like get God BEER?

Dylan: NO SAWYER! Guardian angels watch over us on our shoulders and take care of us and make sure you are not a naughty boy!

Sawyer: Well I have 1 guardian angel AND I have Wolverine on my shoulders. And THEY BOTH WATCH ME and THEY WATCH YOU SO YOU DON'T TAKE MY CARS!

See - good, solid Catholic boys.

Punkins for the Punkins

Ah, pumpkin carving....such a seasonal tradition steeped in stencils, valiant attempts, bloody fingers, swear words and so much eff'g pulp that the dogs ALWAYS eat and then barf in my hallway.

I am over you, pumpkin carving.

Enter: MR. POTATO HEAD PUMPKINS!

Meet Pretty and her Princess Pumpkin!

Enter Wackadoodle and his...er, Skeleton Pig (?) Pumpkin. This had a Sling Blade feel to me.

Lastly, there's a wide-eyed Tickle and his Pirate Pumpkin - ARGGGGH MATEY!

Note: Dylan and Sawyer both made frequent mention that this pumpkin resembles Bucket. I made helpful mention that sometimes Bucket disciplined us while wearing an earring and yielding a knife. Another story for another day.

In full disclosure, I have to say we did this activity at 6:10am, hence the pajamas.

Crap. That is a lie. It was 1pm and I was too tired to pick out clothes for these monsters or myself. HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

Not Just Another Tuesday

I am usually known for my profanity-laced, sarcastic postings about rearing rabid children and dealing with my life which is like a frickin' tornado but today is not that day.

Today Uncle Brendan leaves for Afghanistan.

We are scared. Nervous. Apprehensive. Angry.

We will deal with confused children who want to see their uncle and cannot.

We will miss him each & every day and pray relentlessly for his safety.

But....

He goes with courage.
Bravery.
Determination.

We miss you already, Homis, and are praying for your fast & safe return.

Remember, just like Dad taught us -
Kick Ass. Brain On.

I Am An Egomaniac

(Recently distributed email to colleagues requesting weekly project information) -

Guys - I recently obtained my BPM certification (please hold all of your applause until the end of this presentation). Obtaining this certification has left me analyzing every process in my path which makes me a force to be reckoned with on this team. It also leaves me drunk with power and a bit delusional.

I decided to put together a P chart and detail my satisfaction with the cafeteria here in McLean. It is lacking in ingenuity, variety and who in the hell puts onions in mac & cheese, I ask you?! This is what we in the BPM biz call an 'out of control' process. You will note the high levels of satisfaction with the food in May of 2010 for 1 full week. It was Baked Potato week at the Action Station and I killed it. Yet it has never come back. This instance of unsatisfactory data is categorized in a special BPM group termed "jacked up." Random peaks of high levels of appreciation are of the 'special cause' variety and indicate days when maybe I just ate 3 bags of Doritos or screamed at the sandwich guy to make me "Thanksgiving dinner ON MY SANDWICH." His restraining order is totally uncalled for and results in a drop of unbiased data.

You know what would REALLY be fun - to chart your reasons for late slides. I have heard every reason known to man "bad connectivity, travel, t-ball practice" (yes that happened - you know who you are). My BPM approver actually suggested doing that. I just told him you all have late slides because you hate me. Truly I think he gave me my certification because he felt bad for me…and I started to cry when he asked me what "attribute data" is.

9pm folks.

The Greatest Day of my Life

This little submission requires a smidge of background:
Back in 1989, Dan & Krissy decided it would be a super life experience to move us to St. Louis, MO (actually, I really remember my mom screaming, "I'M NOT GOING, ASSHOLE" but Dad bought her some shiny jewelry and we became Mid Westerners for a time). Brendan was in 3rd grade and I was in 5th and we were pretty nervous to be The New Kids (not on the block). Brendan's first week consisted of a spelling test…which he totally bombed. His teacher was not impressed with his backwoods Virginia education as he spelled white - WHYT and he spelled doughnuts - DOGNUTS. He cried all the way home while my mother attempted to look up the patron saint of spelling. This was also The Greatest Day of My Life as finally Brendan had screwed up and Mom was researching therapists for him & his spelling perversions. I could, for once, stuff my buck toothed chubby face in solitude without Brendan narcing to our mother that I had eaten 9 chocolate chip cookies.

Cut to the present. I ride Brendan's ass about this specific incident at any & all times…..mostly when I'm drunk though. I get everyone to ask him how to spell "white doughnuts". He huffs & puffs and gets 9 shades of pissed off and everyone laughs at the super hero Captain America figure that has the spelling abilities of a pine cone.

Some of you know that Brendan and his team are currently being filmed for a reality project about a deployed EOD unit and their experiences. I have had a hard time with this as 1) If anyone in this family is going to be a reality star, it should be me. Hello. and 2) I'm not sure how I feel about someone waving a camera in Brendan's face while he tries to work out how to disable a damn bomb. Being the obnoxious, pushy, older sister that I am, I tracked down the show's producers and emailed them.

I let them know that Brendan is more than some potential reality sensation. He's not the Living Hurt Locker or some indestructible entity. He's my little brother, my parents' only son, Amy's husband and a fantastic uncle to my children. He is an essential, important part of my family. He is not the next "Situation" or some jackass from "The Real World" because it doesn't get much realer than Afghanistan. I asked them to back off of his team while they are deployed, to get the hell out of their way and allow them to be safe, to think and to survive. For this, I would be grateful. For this, I would give them a gift……I told these producers that if they wanted to get a real reaction out of Brendan as he is notoriously closed off and appropriate at all times - ask him how to spell "white doughnuts." This is the phone call I just got from Brendan:

Brie: Hi Br---
Brendan: SHUT THE FUCK UP! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT JUST HAPPENED?!
Brie: Uh, no. Are you O---
Brendan: SHUT THE FUCK UP! I was just mic'd and had 2 cameras on me and lights in my face and the producer lady sits down and says "are you ready?" and I say OK and put a big fake ass smile on my face and she says, "OK, the first question is…..how do you spell 'white doughnuts?" and I STARTED SCREAMING, BRIGID! I SCREAMED, WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU JUST SAY?
Brie: Oh. Tha's not go--
Brendan: I yelled, "who have you been talking to?" and the producer laughed and said, "I can't reveal my sources"and I said, "you've been talking to MY SISTER, haven't you? MY SISTER!" and she was LAUGHING, BRIE! LAUGHING AT ME!

I was wrong. I thought a crisp fall day in 1989 was the best day of my life. Nope.

It was today because today I proved to my smug little brother - I can get you Any where. Any how. Any time. Oh and that I love you and would do anything in my power to keep you safe including emailing reality show producers. But mostly - I can get you. That is the main point here, fool.

Archachar, bitch!

Go Maroon Team!

I am not in to sports. I don't take pleasure in screaming at the television about flags being thrown or obsess over players' stats (though I relish in their scandals). This is basically Pat's nightmare as he watches his precious sports and I contribute stellar comments like, "those colors DO NOT GO WELL TOGETHER.....isn't he dating Kim Kardashian? Hell, who ISN'T? Snort. High five!...when is this overrrrrrrrr?"

This, however, does not dampen Pat's enthusiasm and this weekend, he forced us all to REPRESENT: Pat started talking about team history...loyalty and pride...I just zoned out and thought, "hey, I look good in maroon. Suh-weeeeeeet. Wait, what's a Mike Shanahan? Is he NASCAR? Honey, why is your face purple?"

Anyway, we went to the Brown's house to watch the game. Pat acted like Natalie was now unrecognized as a member of the human race because she liked the Eagles. Why? Eagles are nice flying birds and oh.....it's a team. Natalie basically has an alter to her precious team at her house and I was a bit worried about sacrifices when the score started to climb. I contributed very little to football-oriented conversation and just ate chips. However, one conversation worth noting and is 100% accurate:

Brie: Wait, Michael Vick is a quarterback? When did that happen?
Ben: (insert most crazed, dumbfounded, disbeliving face EVER) Are you…can you actually….I just….get out of my house.

*In my defense, I totally would've known Vick's position had he dated Kim Kardashian.