Thursday, April 25, 2013

Or not

So, apparently Blogger can't seem to figure out how to let people post photos anymore so disregard the previous post.  There will be nothing serious on here after all.  HAHAHAHA!

Weirdness (maybe) to come

In my endeavor to make good enough grades to graduate from college, I have been assigned a project that has to be posted online.  On a blog.  So, the following post is going to be a bit out of the ordinary.  I simply mean that it will (hopefully) seem like I have a bit of education.  Also, it's serious.  Of course you are welcome to read it but feel free to also skip it if you like.  :)

Oh, I promise I will post something soon.  That's not a threat.  It's a promise.

Monday, October 8, 2012

Make the Next Legal U-Turn

Ok, so I said months ago...actually, I might have said it at some point in 2011...anyways, I said I was going to post about my GPS.  I've been busy with school and work and dogs and girls and the dentist.  I won't go into that now because I may need material for the next time I post which will probably be sometime in June 2013.  Assuming we're all still here and the world hasn't ended.  Anyways, my GPS.  She doesn't have a name because she's a crazy bitch and I really think she's trying to kill me.  I realize this isn't any different than anyone else's GPS.  I can only assume that GPS's are made by insane bitches in a basement somewhere who just sit around and come up with creative vehicular homicide scenarios.

It isn't just my GPS, either.  It is GPS's in general that hate me.  It doesn't matter who they belong to.  I was staying in downtown Atlanta for Momocon (the nerdiest of the nerd conventions that I go to.  Some people also call it an anime convention but the terms are interchangeable) on Spring St. at the Preferred Boutique hotel.  It was a nice hotel, let me just throw that out there but the only parking option at the Preferred Boutique is valet which is $25/night.  I was not aware of this when I pulled my 1996 Mercury Tracer up to the valet who just just finished parking someone's Porsche.  Don't ask for the specifics about the Porsche.  All I can tell you is that it was silver and cool and whoever drives it probably has a small penis.  I'm fairly certain the valet laughed when I handed him my keys.  He also filled out one of those little cards that has the picture of the car and they circle all the pre-existing dents and scratches on the car before they park it.  The card looked like a two-year-old had tried to write a novel on it.  Anyways, enough about my shitty car (his name is Freddy, by the way) and back to the GPS.  The convention was located on the campus of Georgia Tech.  My friend's GPS took me to the interstate.  The exit she told me to take was closed so I had to drive further up the interstate and turn around and it took us roughly 20 minutes to get from the hotel to Georgia Tech, which I found out much later was actually in walking distance from the hotel.

And yet! I trusted my friend's psycho GPS again that night when we decided to drive to Piedmont and have dinner at Cow Tippers a fabulous (and I do mean fabulous) steak house.  The GPS instructs me to get onto interstate 85 and take the next exit in .2 miles.  Now, I'm not sure if you've ever tried to cross 8 lanes of traffic in Atlanta in .2 miles but I did it.  We all thought we were going to die.  I'm sure the bitch in the GPS box was very disappointed.

My GPS is a little more subtle.  She tries to catch me off guard.  I was trying to find Chick-fil-a in Kennesaw and my GPS told me to turn right and then my destination was on my right.  Sounds simple enough except there wasn't anything on the right except a large field.  There was nowhere to turn into said field because I thought maybe it was on the other side of it, I don't know.

Sometimes she tells me to do things I was supposed to do five miles ago.  This usually happens when I'm in the middle of nowhere and my signal is weak.  In other words, the last place you want your GPS to stop working.  I'm sure the locals are sitting in their rocking chairs with their banjos in their overalls (the locals, not the banjos) watching my car roll by six or seven times before my GPS decides she's bored with the game we're playing and we move on to something else.

She also likes to get me lost.  Most days she brings me home from school up I-75.  But randomly she has me takes back roads as well, and this makes me nervous.  I am starting to suspect that she is secretly conspiring with my car to abandon me in the middle of nowhere in the dead of night.  Up to now Freddy has resisted because I try to be good to him.  One day, however he's going to get pissed and just shut everything down and the then...then the bitch wins.

What I hate about her most is that she's sooooo condescending.  If I miss a turn I can almost see her rolling her eyes.  "It was right there.  How could you miss it, moron? Take the next legal u-turn, I guess.  Dumbass".  The worst part is is that she gives me stupid directions on purpose so that I feel self-conscious when I have to turn around.  I do everything she tells me and suddenly, without warning, I'm "off track".  I have to make the next legal u-turn.

It's funny how I continue to trust her, though.  You would think at this point I would have learned.  One day I'll be in this situation:

GPS:  You are now in a corn field.  Please make the next legal u-turn.

And yet, I will forgive her because sometimes she actually does get me to where I need to be without getting me lost or giving me imaginary locations just to mess with me.

And that entire family of map applications exists to make you feel like an imbecile or just plain confuse you.  Here, let me show you a screen cap of this Google Maps search:

Clearly, as you can see, Google Maps is run by the Amish (ironic, all things considered) who do not believe in modern modes of transportation such as, oh I don't know....planes maybe? Well, why the hell would you fly to Hawaii when you could take a kayak? And of course after you have done that you should "continue straight".  Don't take a right at that bobbing flotsam or you might end up in Japan.

And GPS/maps love boats (haha, I almost typed goats.  They probably love goats, too.  Who doesn't love goats.  They're cute).  My friend was telling me how her brother's GPS had lead him to a river and the GPS instructed him to "board the ferry".  I hope he didn't.  She would most likely tell him to take a u-turn and try to drown him.

Why all the games, GPS? Why not just direct us into oncoming traffic and get it over with? Why pretend to be our friend and then lead us into uncertain disaster? It's hurtful.  Yet, we keep coming back to you because let's face it...without you, we would be completely lost.

Saturday, June 23, 2012

Grey Matters

I want to take a brief moment to talk about "Fifty Shades of Grey".  I die a little inside every time someone buys one but hey, I'm not one to judge.  At least people still know how to read, and that is an accomplishment in this day and age, truthfully.  It is astounding though the amount of enthusiasm this book has brought to what is essentially porn without pictures (which you can read on the internet for free, fyi).  It's sold more paperback copies than "Harry Potter" and is now the fastest selling paperback book of all time.  What this says to me more than anything else is that there are a lot of horny housewives out there.

I'll be honest, I haven't read it.  Well, not all of it anyways.  I read the first 20 pages or so and then skipped to the "good" part.  You know...just to see what all the fuss was about.  Cough cough.  Anyways, I was really interested in reading it until I found out that the X-rated trilogy started out as a Twilight fan fiction entitled "Master of the Universe" (it's ok.  You can laugh) starring the beloved Edward Cullen and Bella What's-Her-Name.  The author pulled the stories from websites and renamed the characters Christian Grey and Anastasia something-or-another.  It's really too bad she didn't leave them the way they were.  I would probably have read about Edward and Bella if they were into the whole bondage thing.  Honestly, anything would have been better than what Ms. Meyers wrote.  Edward and Bella could have been chimps in a zoo eating bananas and throwing poo at each other for the entire novel and I would have loved it.  Comparatively speaking, of course.

Anyways, Fifty's what cracks me up about it.  Two days ago I had a customer who ranted to me for 10 solid minutes about how her daughter's sixth grade teacher recommended (not required, but recommended) a book entitled "Boy Meets Boy" and how it was about kids being gay (she whispered this word like it was a dirty word which almost made me laugh but I restrained myself) and wasn't that just awful and how she was going to have a talk with this teacher.  The book, while featuring two gay characters, is actually about kids learning to like themselves and be okay with who they are and seeing as how the suicide rate among gay teens is very high, it seems like a relevant issue to throw into a book like that.  But that doesn't matter.  Not to this lady, anyways.  And she went on and on about how horrible it was and could I help her find a copy of "Fifty Shades of Grey"?  Well of course I can, I said hiding a smile.

Also, I wonder how husbands are responding to their wives reading this and then running out to lingerie/sex shops and stocking up on merchandise to spice up their marriages? They probably aren't responding well or at all because they're tied up and gagged in their basements.  This might be a dream come true for some but when, after twenty odd years of marriage, your wife comes home with handcuffs and a cat 'o nine tails that's gotta get you a little worried for your safety and/or livelihood.  Choose a safe word that's easy to say.  That is the only advice I can offer you.

Not everyone is keen on it though.  Libraries are banning it.  Here in my neck of the woods, Kroger doesn't carry it.  Wal-mart certainly doesn't carry it.  And this type of reaction seems silly to me for a few reasons.  The first being that the moment you tell people they can't or shouldn't do something, that's when everyone wants to do it.  I almost think it was the publisher's idea to ban them because as soon as that happened I could almost hear the stampede of mid-life soccer moms and housewives in capri pants and sandals thundering across our parking lot.  We have them on shelves and behind the registers (the books.  Not the moms).  You can't turn around without seeing that damn book.  Anyways, another reason banning this book (or any book, for that matter) is silly is because no one is making you read it.  You have to put effort into exposing yourself to the content of a book.  Ok, with television I sort of get it.  You don't have to concentrate on anything and suddenly, boobies are everywhere.  I get it.  Fine.  Regulate what we watch.  But a book you have to read.  You have to make a conscious effort.  So, here's a thought:  If you don't like the content of "Fifty Shades of Gray" (and hold onto your panty hose, folks because this next idea is pretty freaking insane) don't read it.  Holy crap! I know! It's so radical!

And it gets better.  They're making a movie.  I'm not really sure how they're going to make it unless they're planning a straight to dvd/hotel room pay-per-view release (brought to you by Hustler).  And celebrities are lining up around the block to star in it.  Rumored picks for the female lead include Kristin Stewart (no amount of eye rolling can express my enthusiasm), Amanda Seyfried, and Selena Gomez.  You know Selena Gomez.  The Disney Channel girl.  Some Disney Channel girls grow up to be Britney Spears and others grow up to star in soft core porn.  You decide which is worse.  It's a toss up for me.

Friday, June 1, 2012

My Thoughts On Recent Events (AKA, I'm bored and have nothing better to do)

So, I know it's been a while but get off my back.  I was in the hospital.  Ok, I was only in the hospital for a week but I almost died! What happened?! I hear you asking.  Well, I'll get to that because I consider that a "recent event" since I've only been out of the hospital for 2 weeks.  I am actually mad at myself that I didn't post while I was in the hospital because they had me on morphine and dilauded and that would have been an awesome post to read later on.  But now that I'm feeling better I thought to myself, "I better post something because the five people out there who read this blog are probably getting on with their lives now."  We can't have that.  Also, there's a lot going on and I have something to say about it!

1.  ZOMBIES!!!
Let's be honest, everything in the world takes a back seat to zombies.  The CDC has a zombie attack survival guide on their website.  There is a legitimate magazine dedicated to preparing for a zombie attack and you can order weapons etc. from said magazine.  Sure, it's all fun.  Or it was until May 26 when Rudy Eugene was shot and killed for attacking Ronald Poppo and eating his face.  I'm sure you've all heard about this by now but just in case you haven't, let me reiterate...he ate the guy's face.  Ate it.  Not only that, but the police report states that when the officer arrived on the scene, Eugene looked at him and growled and continued eating! But wait! There's more! When Eugene did not heed the officer's warning to back away from the victim, the officer had to shoot him "several times" before he died.  Now there's a lot of speculation going around about how it was some drug induced craze but I have seen Dawn of the Dead, Day of the Dead, The Walking Dead, Zombieland, and I have played Resident Evil and Left for Dead and this all seems like zombie bullshit to me.  Ronald Poppo survived the attack and is in the hospital.  I'm just saying...they need to keep an eye on him and put him down when he tries to bite the nurse.  Which he will.

2.  Puppies
Who doesn't love puppies? Everyone loves puppies even people who don't like dogs love puppies.  They're cute and fuzzy and they have little to no motor skills so they're hilarious and my emergency backup dog, Alice had 8 of them about 6 weeks ago.  And they were all of the above things for about 4 weeks.  Now they're just fuzzy, cute little poop machines.  I don't have an outdoor pen so I have fashioned a puppy prison out of coffee tables and a table I use regularly for beer pong so that I can at least control the area the poop is in and get it on paper and make the cleanup easier, right? Hahahahahahaha.  The puppies have this cute habit of playing with the newspapers.  It's so cuuuute.  They tear it up and then poop on the floor! CUTE! I take them outside and they poop on the porch! CUTE! I feed them right before bed time so they'll sleep for 2 hours before waking up and screaming.  I know, I know.  Puppies don't scream.  They whimper and whine.  Well, I have some bizarre cross of puppy/baby/screech owls because these puppies scream to the point that I think maybe one of the coffee tables has fallen over and squished them! Oh no! I run out of my bedroom and the screaming gets louder.  Haha.  I didn't think that was possible! And they're fine, of course.  Last night I slept a full 8 hours and woke up this morning thinking, wow.  The puppies sure are quiet today.  Of course, during the night they had staged the Great Puppy Escape and there were puppies everywhere! And of course, poop everywhere.  I love puppies.  Puppies are so cute.

3.  Near Death Experience
 So, I say it was a near death experience only because I nearly died, but it doesn't feel like I nearly died.  Ok, so here is what happened.  I left work to go the hospital because I had a kidney stone.  I've had kidney stones before so I knew that's what it was and I knew that if I didn't get to the hospital it wouldn't be long before I was curled up on the floor in the fetal position and crying like a baby.  So, I got  to the hospital and I told them what was wrong and of course they wanted what they always want:  a urine sample.  They always want a urine sample but they only want one when you don't have to go.  I told them I couldn't go to the bathroom but that I was in an extreme amount of pain and then I threw up in the little bag they gave me and said the following exact phrase:  "Please either help me or kill me."  They determined that I had a pulled muscle in my back and gave me an anti-inflamatory and a muscle relaxer and sent me home with a nice clean vomit bag since I couldn't seem to stop throwing up.  In fact, over the course of the following 24 hours, I threw up exactly 14 times.  While I was lying in my bed in sweat pants and a sweater, shivering with a bucket close by the thought occurred to me that I might need to go back to the emergency room.  I've never had a pulled muscle but it didn't seem like it should be causing me to throw up my guts every time I took a sip of water.  I got back to the hospital and they gave me a new vomit bag and this time they actually took some blood from me and without explaining anything admitted me into the hospital, stuck an IV in my arm and pumped me full of drugs.  As I was wavering between reality and sweet, sweet release I looked at the wall and saw the pain chart which reminded me of this and I laughed not only because this young woman is talented and funny but because they didn't have her pain chart on the wall and I definitely needed at least number 11 or even "too serious for numbers".  Within the next day I was x-rayed and poked and prodded and all this was fine because I was heavily sedated.  When I came to my senses, an actual real life doctor came to see me and I said "Can I go home now?" and she laughed at me and said "No."  Then she explained to me that I didn't have a kidney stone.  I had five kidney stones.  I also had a kidney infection, a urinary tract infection, blood poisoning and because I had become so dehydrated from puking my brains and my guts out, my kidneys had stopped working altogether.  She concluded this with saying, "If you had not come back to the emergency room, you would have died."  This seems serious but all I could think was, "This seems pretty extreme for a pulled muscle."  It just didn't seem all that serious to me because when people say, "I almost died" they usually mean they got hit by a bus or mauled by a bear or choked on a string bean or got tricked into watching all the Twilight movies in one sitting or got tricked into watching even one Twilight movie.  All of these things give a sense of impending doom.  Not that throwing up is fun or anything but I never thought "I'm dying" or even "I'm going to die".  This just goes to show you, you never know when you're going out and that's why I'm a smoker.  My kidneys are trying to kill me, not my lungs.  

Saturday, January 21, 2012

Womanese - Decrypting the Code

So, I got the idea for this post from a friend of mine who posed the question on Facebook.  Hopefully, SOPA isn't going to shut me down for using the word "Facebook" or for getting the idea from someone else or for getting/having an idea at all.  I guess we shall find out. friend asks on...that very popular social network that keeps changing shit that doesn't need to be changed and adding stupid shit like the TIMELINE to confuse us mortals if anyone out there speaks "womanese".  Several people then offered him advice and he responded to one of the women saying, "I'm pretty sure I can't trust're on the opposing team!" This got me thinking.  He's right, of course.  How can you trust the advice of a woman, really when you're essentially asking for the Enigma to our most secret means of communication? Duh.  You ask me.  A certified, card carrying lesbian (though, I have been informed recently by my...umm...not sure what to call her at this point.  We'll just call her my very very close friend, that my lesbian card has been revoked for not listening to Tegan & Sara).  Not only do I know the language but I have to rely on my fluency daily in order to keep my own head above water.  Now, you may be asking how you can trust me because isn't it true that the more that women are fed up with men, the better it is for me? Well, the answer to that depends on what your girlfriend looks like.  No! I'm kidding.  The answer to that is of course you can trust me because I can only handle one woman at a time.  And if you are smart, you will only take on one at a time as well.

Now, I'm not talking about answering questions like:  "Does this make me look fat?" because honestly, if you don't know how to answer this question I'm going to refer you to my previous post How To Talk to Women 101.  Understanding the language of women involves listening and in an almost trial and error sort of way, making the best educated guess.  There are certain things you must learn to "pick up on" or suffer the consequences.  Here are some things you should watch out for:

1.  What?
This may seem like a relatively harmless interrogative but the weight of this question is considerable.  Rest assured that unless she is 98, she heard you the first time.  The human female does not only hear everything you say, she hears the things you don't say and were never thinking to begin with.  In fact, it will astound you the things that we can come up with just from a sentence as simple as "Have you seen my black hoodie?" We are not without mercy, however.  That is why it is imperative that you understand the implications behind this simple question.  All this is really is a mulligan.  A do-over.  She is giving you the rare opportunity to rethink what you have just said and consider (carefully) if you would like to change your answer.  For example:

Woman:  So, Janice just called.  She and her boyfriend just broke up.  He was staring at some girl's ass at the mall.  Can you believe that?
Man:  How can she be so unrealistic about stuff like that?
Woman:  What?
Man:  He's a total asshole....

2.  The UNsuggestion
Sometimes your girlfriend/wife will say something that to any rational person sounds like a suggestion.  Women don't make suggestions.  We make demands.  Most of us don't want to sound like bitches, though so we disguise these demands in the form of "suggestions".  For example, we may say something like:  "If you have time, the grass reeeeally needs to be cut."  The inappropriate response to this would be "Sure thing, dear".  Many of you men have probably heard the best response to what women say is "Yes, dear", but this is a myth because women aren't stupid.  We know that you are only subconsciously reciting something that has been ingrained in you since you were toddlers.  We don't like yes or no answers.  A better answer would be:  "I will cut the grass at 3:32 tomorrow afternoon".  The best answer, of course is:  "I'll do it right now" because that's when she wants it done.

3.  The Observation
Contrary to popular belief, women don't just say things to hear themselves speak.  We make keen observations that, to the untrained ear and mind sound like idle prattle but they are very cleverly disguised traps.  The obvious ones would involve other women:  "Look how short her skirt is! You can almost see her butt cheek!"  Now, what you think is the correct response ("Pff, she's not even attractive") is a big no no.  You honestly think a woman's skirt is what she's talking about? Hahaha, you noob.  What you really want to say is, "What girl? I didn't even notice."  Other "observations" include, "Wow, the trash is getting full!", "-sigh- This microwave is so old.", and "This football game is really long isn't it? I mean, it's a good game but's so long!"  The correct responses to these respectively are:  "I was just about to take it out.  Let me do that now.", "Yeah, I think we should buy a new one", and "Let's watch something else".  

4.  Body Language/Facial Expressions
Body language is a very important part of womanese because women say a lot when they don't say anything.  For example my very very special friend says more when she's quiet than when she's not.  This makes me nervous because I feel like for some inexplicable reason, I'm in trouble.  This is difficult when you're on the phone but when in person, you have to learn to read the signs:

Raised eyebrows:  In normal languages raised eyebrows may denote surprise.  In womanese it means, "You really just said that?"  If you ever needed a Twix it is when the eyebrows go up.  If you're good at thinking on your feet, however you should be fine.

Pursed Lips:  Things are digressing because at this point the eyebrows are down.  Waaay down.  And the lips are doing the talking.  You know what I mean, smartass.  An acute lifting of the chin may also occur in this stage.  You can still talk your way out of it, though.   Now would be a good time to change the subject.  Even if you feel like you're "winning", which is laughable because trust me, you're never winning.

Averted Eyes:  At this point, Stevie Wonder can tell this girl is pissed off and you should be able to, too.  Now, many men believe this hogwash about "talking" it out.  No.  At this point you should let it go.  Unless of course she doesn't want to let it go and if this is the case then you should roll over onto your back in a submissive position and tuck your tail between your legs.  Also, don't say "Yes, dear" because what this means to a woman is that you don't really believe she's right, you're just saying it so she'll shut up.  While this might be true it will only make things worse.  You should convince her that you know you're wrong (even if you're not, you are.  Trust me) some other way than using the "Yes, dear" escape route.

Crossed Arms:  You should step back because shit's about to go down.

To wrap up, here are few miscellaneous things you should know:
-As I mentioned before, you are never right.  Even when you are, you're not.  The first step to understanding womanese is to accept this harsh fact of life.
-Never act like you know more than she does on any subject.  There are rare occasions when a woman might say to you, "I don't know anything about this.  Can you explain it?" and then you should, in a very non-threatening way explain to her that you have no idea about it either and maybe you could Google it together and it will be a great learning experience.  You could be a rocket scientist but don't ever ever act like you know more about rockets than she does.
-Yes never means yes.  It may mean yes initially but a woman reserves the right to change her mind without prior notice.  "Yes, we can have sex tonight" never means "Yes, we can have sex tonight", so don't get your hopes up.  What it means is:  "Yes, we might have sex tonight but probably not until some night next week.  Check back later."

Here's some quick womanese vocabulary words for you to memorize:
"Yes" - no, maybe, possibly, probably, probably not
"Sex" - sleep
"Pretty girl" - slut
"Your mother" - busy body
"My daddy" - God
"Potato" - sex (that's for some beautiful girl out there.  I hope it makes her laugh).

Sunday, October 23, 2011

Clifford The Big Red TERROR!!!!

I think back to all the things that traumatized me as a child like Jaws.  I probably shouldn't have watched it when I was five because I don't swim in the ocean to this day because there are things in the ocean that will eat you until you die.  Sharks are scary and I don't care how many cute movies they make about sharks that don't eat meat, they're still scary.  Strangely enough, I also watched Cujo at a very young age but I have never been terrified of dogs.  Probably because Cujo, while mean and frothy was not as big as a house which is why I have been wondering who thought up Clifford the Big Red Dog.  There's no way they thought this concept through.  Sure, he's cute and the little girl loves him, but look at him.  He's huge.  Realistically, the national guard would have blown that damn thing up within moments of him running off with a dinosaur bone from the Smithsonian (assuming they have dinosaur bones there.  I'm pretty sure they do, right?).  There are other things to consider, as well.  Like pooper scoopers for a dog that size.  There's also chew toys, vet visits, leash laws etc.  I'm just drawing on my experience with dogs here and Clifford is bound to be a lot of work.  That aside, I've never really considered Clifford to be a threat.  Until earlier this week.

Some of you already know that I work at a day care.  Usually I say preschool because that sounds better to me than daycare and insinuates that I do other things besides change diapers and wipe noses but that just about covers it.  I have a class of 8 (count 'em) two year olds.  I love them.  No, seriously.  Two is my favorite age because they say really funny things but they can't yet talk enough to drive you insane.  My class in particular is infamous for being quite fearless in that they like to climb on things that tend to fall over easily, smack each other in the face with toys and open the door and run down the hall into the great unknown.  They do not fear "time out" and they certainly don't fear my wrath because my "wrath" melts away when they say things like "I love you" when I'm trying to put them in time out.  Imagine my overall delight when I found the true weakness of the toddler.  Namely, Clifford.

Earlier this week we had a book fair at school and the book fair mascot, it was decided was going to be Clifford the Big Red Dog.  What this involved was a special visit to the school by Clifford himself, slightly scaled down to human size (thank God) but a dog as big as an adult that walks around on two legs is still a little much and needless to say, disconcerting to the children.  Having spent one Easter as the Easter Bunny at the mall, I had a pretty good idea how my kids were going to react to Clifford.  Although it turned out that I grossly underestimated Clifford's ability to terrify small children, I was still against having Clifford pay my kids a visit.  You know dogs, though.  Can't tell them anything.

As soon as Clifford set his big red foot on the playground, mass hysteria ensued.  There were toddlers huddled together in the plastic treehouse, crying.  Some were running around in blind panic.  One was sitting in the toy car just crying but obviously too afraid to move.  One girl just stood there alone screaming.  Two of my girls (the smart ones) immediately ran to me and clawed, cat-like into my arms (I have wounds) as Clifford stood there waving and making a show, seemingly oblivious to the chaos he was creating.  It was like watching Godzilla in stage format where all the actors were small children.  The best part was the person who was actually in the Clifford suit was a woman who works at the school.  Incidentally, her twin children are in my class.  Her son was one of the ones crying and running around trying to find a safe place.  So, in response to that she began to chase him.  Chase him.  Around the playground.  In the Clifford suit.  I already had two kids in my arms so I watched helplessly as the poor boy ran for his little life.  I was also sort of laughing as I watched.  What? It was kind of funny. 

Once Clifford realized that the children were going to go into shock if this continued, he (she, whatever) left and we began the long process of putting our lives back together.  As with any traumatic event, this was a long process and it was a good 15 minutes before the children in my arms would let me put them down.  When that was accomplished, I began the arduous task of pulling the children (unwillingly) from the plastic treehouse saying, "Clifford's gone.  He's gone.  He's not coming back."  Those poor children.  They believed me, too.  Hell, I believed it myself.  I thought, surely she won't come back after seeing the mess this caused.  HA! Ten minutes after I got everyone calm and collected and we had regained a sense of normalcy, she comes back out onto the playground! Well, to be fair, she just stuck her head out the door but it was a gigantic Clifford head and I said, "What are you doing?!" and she left.  The kids were on the verge of having another nuclear meltdown until I said, "It's ok, it's ok! I chased him off.  He's gone."  Suddenly, I was the hero of the day! I chased away the giant red dog with my holy, God-given powers of dog shooing. 

Later on as I was reflecting on the cluster fuck that all of this was, I realized that I now had power and there is nothing quite as relieving as having power over 8 two year olds.  Not only did I have super awesome Clifford shooing abilities, I also had the power to summon Clifford at will.  Not really, but they didn't know that.  So, that afternoon, while trying to get my kids to pick up the mountain of toys scattered around the room, I said, "Do you want me to go get Clifford?" The results were phenomenal.  I don't think I could have cleaned up the toys quicker than they did.  Anything to keep the big, red menace at bay! Only one boy did not heed my warning.  He opened the door and took off down the hall.  I yelled after him but he didn't listen because two year olds have this special substance in their ears that shields their brains from hearing the voices of adults.  All children have this and it stays with them until they graduate high school.  Sometimes longer, depending on the child.  Anyways, I threatened with Clifford, but felt hopeless that I couldn't actually produce Clifford.  Until the kid runs around the corner and bumps right into him.  It was providence, really.  He ran faster than I have ever seen anyone, child or adult, run.  All the way back to me at which time I said, "See? You better listen or I'll call Clifford."