Disclaimer: This post is an update on my last post. It will make absolutely no sense if you haven't read (and possibly re-read) the last post. Also, "NPC" means "Not a Porn Convention". That will save you some time. You're welcome.
So.....Biscuit Fest (NPC).......
Where do I begin.....
Let me give you the back story by saying that I feel pretty certain that ever since Knoxville secured the 1982 World's Fair, the city has had an inferiority complex and has convinced it's self that every event will be a complete failure.
Take Bacon Fest for example. Last fall, they hosted the event and only had four vendors supplying bacon.
Four.
For a city of approximately 183,000 people, they thought four restaurants would be plenty. *sigh*
I guess I shouldn't have been surprised when I showed up at Biscuit Fest (NPC) only to be told that they were SOLD. OUT. OF. BISCUITS.
*blink, blink*
Come on people. It's the SOUTH. How in the hell do you sell of out of BISCUITS?!
ANYWHERE?!?!
I called my friend She-she to lament the fact that I had completely missed Biscuit Fest (NPC) and she said, "So let me get this straight. It was BYOB, bring your own biscuit?"
At least someone could find humor in it, I guess.
However, don't think I didn't find the irony in the shirt sizing. I bought a large Biscuit Fest shirt and let me tell you...people who attend Biscuit Fest (NPC)and like to eat biscuits, DO NOT appreciate a shirt that is sized small.
I now have to remove the NPC to wear the damn shirt.
Monday, June 7, 2010
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Get Yer Biscuit On
Sometimes it takes moving from a place to realize how much of it has become you. You can live your entire life in one location and never know how the people or the place has impacted you or shaped your personality until you leave. You find that you are taking with you much more than you had anticipated and you treasure those memories, the people, the places and how you have been shaped by each.
Since our move to North Carolina, I'm the only one I've seen in our neighborhood wearing cowboy boots and a belt buckle. I own a hound dog. My dear friend and neighbor, She-she, calls me "Tennessee" and has a ringtone for me that is "American Woman". My favorite shirt says "Knoxville Girl" and was handmade at Yee-Haw Industries. I find myself saying things like, "Well that's about as useless as a gun-shy coonhound" and I show up at the morning bus stop drinking coffee out of a beer stein and wearing a holey 1982 World's Fair t-shirt. But the irony in all that is that I was raised a city girl. Fountain City, to be exact. It wasn't until I received my Knoxville Girl t-shirt from Jae that I embraced my heritage and found my true love for that place. (Despite the fact that I will forever be indebted to the University of Tennessee for my degree. Literally...)
It is with great pride that I can say that I have forced, er, positively influenced all of my new friends and neighbors with the "Tennesseeisms" that I feel are necessary to understand me. They have come to terms with the understanding that when a sentence is started with "God Love Em" it is going to be interesting and seem to have no problem with asking me to repeat myself when I get carried away and 'my old accent gets the best of me'. My current obsession, or, "enlightenment project" is to help them all to understand the beauty that is Yee-Haw Industries. (Go to their etsy store and check out their wares.)
Greeted by this picture upon walking up to the door, only ads to the charm one finds on the inside...
*snicker*
(I have put my favorite photos from the trip on my flickr page, so you can go view them there, if you'd like.)
They look like this:
While I was wandering around Yee-Haw and shooting some pictures, I noticed they were printing posters for the First Annual International Biscuit Fest. Intrigued, I came straight home and began researching the event and immediately informed all my neighbors. She-she may have been the most excited. She coined what has now become the catch-phrase (NPC), which stands for "Not a Porn Convention".
SNORT
I must admit, we have really enjoyed giggling over this until both of my sons began yelling NPC every time I mentioned Biscuit Fest. I'm not sure if, much like Deuce quoting Beastie Boys lyrics, this makes me an awesome mom or a horrible influence... The jury is still out on that one.
So, dear reader, if you happen to be in K-town this weekend, please come find me at Biscuit Fest (NPC). I shall be sporting my Knoxville Girl t-shirt and taking pictures of all things biscuit. Who knows, I may even rustle up a new shirt or two at Yee-Haw to help culture ya'll.
But, if my kids ask you, "NPC" stands for "copyright infringement".
Since our move to North Carolina, I'm the only one I've seen in our neighborhood wearing cowboy boots and a belt buckle. I own a hound dog. My dear friend and neighbor, She-she, calls me "Tennessee" and has a ringtone for me that is "American Woman". My favorite shirt says "Knoxville Girl" and was handmade at Yee-Haw Industries. I find myself saying things like, "Well that's about as useless as a gun-shy coonhound" and I show up at the morning bus stop drinking coffee out of a beer stein and wearing a holey 1982 World's Fair t-shirt. But the irony in all that is that I was raised a city girl. Fountain City, to be exact. It wasn't until I received my Knoxville Girl t-shirt from Jae that I embraced my heritage and found my true love for that place. (Despite the fact that I will forever be indebted to the University of Tennessee for my degree. Literally...)
It is with great pride that I can say that I have forced, er, positively influenced all of my new friends and neighbors with the "Tennesseeisms" that I feel are necessary to understand me. They have come to terms with the understanding that when a sentence is started with "God Love Em" it is going to be interesting and seem to have no problem with asking me to repeat myself when I get carried away and 'my old accent gets the best of me'. My current obsession, or, "enlightenment project" is to help them all to understand the beauty that is Yee-Haw Industries. (Go to their etsy store and check out their wares.)
Greeted by this picture upon walking up to the door, only ads to the charm one finds on the inside...
*snicker*
(I have put my favorite photos from the trip on my flickr page, so you can go view them there, if you'd like.)
They look like this:
While I was wandering around Yee-Haw and shooting some pictures, I noticed they were printing posters for the First Annual International Biscuit Fest. Intrigued, I came straight home and began researching the event and immediately informed all my neighbors. She-she may have been the most excited. She coined what has now become the catch-phrase (NPC), which stands for "Not a Porn Convention".
SNORT
I must admit, we have really enjoyed giggling over this until both of my sons began yelling NPC every time I mentioned Biscuit Fest. I'm not sure if, much like Deuce quoting Beastie Boys lyrics, this makes me an awesome mom or a horrible influence... The jury is still out on that one.
So, dear reader, if you happen to be in K-town this weekend, please come find me at Biscuit Fest (NPC). I shall be sporting my Knoxville Girl t-shirt and taking pictures of all things biscuit. Who knows, I may even rustle up a new shirt or two at Yee-Haw to help culture ya'll.
But, if my kids ask you, "NPC" stands for "copyright infringement".
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Captain Obvious
I've noticed more recently that parenting is full of those 'duh' moments. Originally, I assumed it was because I didn't have my mom around to teach me the 'here's-how-it-works-as-a-mom' sorts of things. (Although, looking back on it, I distinctly remember a time when I ran to the store and left Bonus, who was about three months old, with my mother. Upon returning, I walked in as she was trying to heat a bottle and yelling to my screaming child, "I'm coming, you bad baby you!" From then on, Bonus was our "bad baby".)
Ah, the memories...
Lately, I've found that my "bad baby" has been surprising me with his understanding of things. Part of it is just being six, but I'm worried that most of it that he's smarter than me.
A couple of nights ago, I was playing on facebook cleaning the house and heard a loud noise out back. Apparently, the piece of mulch that I so ingeniously used to wedge the downspout against the house had fallen out and the wind was making it rattle again. I went outside, repaired the downspout and returned to the porch feeling vindicated for winning the battle and proving to myself that I can handle any sort of household responsibility while Dorkfish is traveling.
Apparently, checking to see that the door isn't going to lock behind me, doesn't fall into the 'household responsibility' category.
Finding only the bathroom window unlocked, I texted my neighbor, Cameron, in hopes he still had my key and was up facebooking cleaning as well. Fortunately, he was and I was able to make it back inside.
The following morning, I recanted this story to Bonus. Feeling quite pleased with myself for solving both the problem of the gutter rattling and being locked out, I may have made my journey sound much more dangerous. (I think there was a loose tiger in our neighborhood...) At the end of my story, Bonus looked at me and said, "Momma, why didn't you just knock on my window and wake me up?"
"Well, actually, I had considered that option,but couldn't get the screen off your window to knock on it."
"Momma, why didn't you just ring the doorbell?"
*blink, blink*
This doesn't make him smarter than me, does it?!
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Deuce's "Birfday Week"
Deuce finally made it to four and we've always had a 'birthday week' rule around this house. (More specifically, my father spoiled me by insisting we celebrate the week leading up to my birthday and so now I not only expect it from others, but have passed this narcissism on to my children. I love you, dad!)
Unfortunately, this is one mandate that Dorkfish has refused to acknowledge. So we keep it on the downlow....
We celebrated birthday lunch with which ever fast food establishment Deuce chose, which sadly was Scottish food every time...thank you golden arches. We enjoyed ice cream breaks between meals. There were bike trips around the neighborhood and vanilla milk at Starbucks. It was lovely, and according to my thighs, successful.
In preparation for his actual birthday, I'd ask him every single day, "Deuce, are you ready for your birthday?!" To which he would respond with something equally as ridiculous as the question, "I'm ready like a pineapple."
(That one might rival me in absurd retorts.)
*****
My dad came over for the weekend to help us celebrate. I don't think he had any idea what he was walking into... The boys have gotten, let's say, a little more rowdy lately with Dorkfish working a lot and me giving up the will to live and all. But it was "birfday week", so I tend to overlook the lunacy for a bit.
All Deuce asked to do for his birthday was go to the circus. Of course, there isn't one in town right now. (Naturally.) So Dorkfish convinced him that bowling was the NEXT! BIG! THING! My dad agreed to join us even though it had been 'thirty-five years' since he had last bowled. Never mind the fact that got a spare in every frame.... I'm thinking there was a "King Pin" story in his past that he's refusing to share.
After two frames, Deuce was done. I tried to get him to finish his game, but he insisted, "Bowling wasn't my idea, you know."
(Dorkfish loves this picture... Heh.)
In an effort to make the next day more enjoyable, I convinced him that the zoo would be a good "birfday week" event. Little did I know, it had to have been the busiest day of the year...and there must have been a coupon in a WalMart somewhere. It was ridiculous. We spent three hours in the car to fight with thousands of tourists for the chance to see an orangutan scratching his ass. (And it was one of those that look like their ass is on fire from hemorrhoids. Ick.) At this point, it was impossible for me to even fake enjoyment. The "I wanna go home" started about an hour into the trip and the whining about the crowds and pollen continued until my dad and Dorkfish got me into the car.
But Deuce enjoyed it for a little while...
*****
For his actual "birfday party", we had all our neighbors and friends come to the park in our neighborhood for cake and ice cream. It was so amazing to see that many kids playing together and having so much fun. Not a single fight broke out and only once did I threaten to choke Dorkfish.
I think that was a win.
In all, the only casualty of the day was the turtle piñata.
The noose was the only option as it was too heavy to hang by the hook. (Sorry PETA!) But it was pretty damn funny to see it fall every time a kid hit it and one little piece of candy come rolling out. All 30+ kids would go running for it in a mad dash and one would walk away, victorious, with their Reese's while the others looked on in jealousy.
In all, I'm pretty sure the party made up for the crappy bowling and over-crowded zoo.
I believe the duck hat says it all...
Unfortunately, this is one mandate that Dorkfish has refused to acknowledge. So we keep it on the downlow....
We celebrated birthday lunch with which ever fast food establishment Deuce chose, which sadly was Scottish food every time...thank you golden arches. We enjoyed ice cream breaks between meals. There were bike trips around the neighborhood and vanilla milk at Starbucks. It was lovely, and according to my thighs, successful.
In preparation for his actual birthday, I'd ask him every single day, "Deuce, are you ready for your birthday?!" To which he would respond with something equally as ridiculous as the question, "I'm ready like a pineapple."
(That one might rival me in absurd retorts.)
*****
My dad came over for the weekend to help us celebrate. I don't think he had any idea what he was walking into... The boys have gotten, let's say, a little more rowdy lately with Dorkfish working a lot and me giving up the will to live and all. But it was "birfday week", so I tend to overlook the lunacy for a bit.
All Deuce asked to do for his birthday was go to the circus. Of course, there isn't one in town right now. (Naturally.) So Dorkfish convinced him that bowling was the NEXT! BIG! THING! My dad agreed to join us even though it had been 'thirty-five years' since he had last bowled. Never mind the fact that got a spare in every frame.... I'm thinking there was a "King Pin" story in his past that he's refusing to share.
After two frames, Deuce was done. I tried to get him to finish his game, but he insisted, "Bowling wasn't my idea, you know."
(Dorkfish loves this picture... Heh.)
In an effort to make the next day more enjoyable, I convinced him that the zoo would be a good "birfday week" event. Little did I know, it had to have been the busiest day of the year...and there must have been a coupon in a WalMart somewhere. It was ridiculous. We spent three hours in the car to fight with thousands of tourists for the chance to see an orangutan scratching his ass. (And it was one of those that look like their ass is on fire from hemorrhoids. Ick.) At this point, it was impossible for me to even fake enjoyment. The "I wanna go home" started about an hour into the trip and the whining about the crowds and pollen continued until my dad and Dorkfish got me into the car.
But Deuce enjoyed it for a little while...
*****
For his actual "birfday party", we had all our neighbors and friends come to the park in our neighborhood for cake and ice cream. It was so amazing to see that many kids playing together and having so much fun. Not a single fight broke out and only once did I threaten to choke Dorkfish.
I think that was a win.
In all, the only casualty of the day was the turtle piñata.
The noose was the only option as it was too heavy to hang by the hook. (Sorry PETA!) But it was pretty damn funny to see it fall every time a kid hit it and one little piece of candy come rolling out. All 30+ kids would go running for it in a mad dash and one would walk away, victorious, with their Reese's while the others looked on in jealousy.
In all, I'm pretty sure the party made up for the crappy bowling and over-crowded zoo.
I believe the duck hat says it all...
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
A day in the life of the Deuce
Today Deuce and I went shopping. He was okay with it for the first few minutes, but by the time I had him carrying around swimsuits in Banana Republic, the demasculinizing had set in...
"Momma, I don't wanna carry your panties any more."
"Deuce, those aren't 'panties'. It's a swim suit."
"Whatever they are, I'm tired of carrying them." And he began hanging them from every mannequin in the store...
It was at this point the sales clerk started dieing laughing and had to run to the back room. I tried to explain to him it was no different than what he wears to the pool, but the glare he gave me with one eye brow raised was just all too close to home.
So we left.
On the way home, he fell asleep. When he abruptly woke, he said, "MOMMA! I KNOW HOW TO RIDE A BIKE NOW!"
Just imagine my confusion when I'm taken from enjoying classical music and being lost in my thoughts to that statement...
"Momma, I had a dream that I was learning to ride a bike and now I know how! Let's go home and take off my training wheels!"
My neighbor, the one I lovingly call The Bitch, tried to convince me that my son may very well be some sort of prodigy who could will himself to learn to ride without training wheels unassisted.
So when Dorkfish came home from work, he removed the training wheels, put on the kid's helmet and helped him balance. Slowly, he removed his hands from the seat of the bike and with a huge exhale, sent our youngest bear off into the wilderness...
Where he promptly fell off the bike and cried.
So, the lesson to learn here is that when your child dreams they can do something, you should do everything in your power to assist them in their goals. Just make sure you hold back the laughter when wiping their tears.
Honestly, I'm just thankful he didn't have the 'naked' dream.
"Momma, I don't wanna carry your panties any more."
"Deuce, those aren't 'panties'. It's a swim suit."
"Whatever they are, I'm tired of carrying them." And he began hanging them from every mannequin in the store...
It was at this point the sales clerk started dieing laughing and had to run to the back room. I tried to explain to him it was no different than what he wears to the pool, but the glare he gave me with one eye brow raised was just all too close to home.
So we left.
On the way home, he fell asleep. When he abruptly woke, he said, "MOMMA! I KNOW HOW TO RIDE A BIKE NOW!"
Just imagine my confusion when I'm taken from enjoying classical music and being lost in my thoughts to that statement...
"Momma, I had a dream that I was learning to ride a bike and now I know how! Let's go home and take off my training wheels!"
My neighbor, the one I lovingly call The Bitch, tried to convince me that my son may very well be some sort of prodigy who could will himself to learn to ride without training wheels unassisted.
So when Dorkfish came home from work, he removed the training wheels, put on the kid's helmet and helped him balance. Slowly, he removed his hands from the seat of the bike and with a huge exhale, sent our youngest bear off into the wilderness...
Where he promptly fell off the bike and cried.
So, the lesson to learn here is that when your child dreams they can do something, you should do everything in your power to assist them in their goals. Just make sure you hold back the laughter when wiping their tears.
Honestly, I'm just thankful he didn't have the 'naked' dream.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Thank goodness she's not a runner...
After the Great Mams Adventure where she came to visit and was stuck here for a month, she finally volunteered to return. Yes, I fully took advantage of her senility and never mentioned it had only been a couple of weeks since I had taken her home.
Hush.
However, once we got to Tennessee, Mams decided she would just enjoy our visit there and not return back to North Carolina after all. Surprisingly, duct tape is more difficult to get off of 84-year-old skin than one would imagine.
But she's really enjoying her visit with us this time! She's helping the boys learn their words by making these big signs of the 'word of the week' and pasting them in her bedroom window. Apparently, the word of the week is "HELP". She's also been insisting on trying to get the mail so she could 'make friends with the mail lady', but I've been keeping her in the house so she doesn't fall down the front steps. I'm sure my 'assisting elderly' badge will be here any day.
I do have to admit that I'm tired of untieing the bedsheets. Although, she is getting good at making rope ladders out of them! Who said little old ladies only crochet?!
Hush.
However, once we got to Tennessee, Mams decided she would just enjoy our visit there and not return back to North Carolina after all. Surprisingly, duct tape is more difficult to get off of 84-year-old skin than one would imagine.
But she's really enjoying her visit with us this time! She's helping the boys learn their words by making these big signs of the 'word of the week' and pasting them in her bedroom window. Apparently, the word of the week is "HELP". She's also been insisting on trying to get the mail so she could 'make friends with the mail lady', but I've been keeping her in the house so she doesn't fall down the front steps. I'm sure my 'assisting elderly' badge will be here any day.
I do have to admit that I'm tired of untieing the bedsheets. Although, she is getting good at making rope ladders out of them! Who said little old ladies only crochet?!
Saturday, March 27, 2010
The Truth Fairy
Bonus finally lost his first tooth.
Well, technically, he didn't "loose it" so much as I convinced him that my friend Carrie was a dentist and therefore was fully trained on the fine art of tooth removal.
He did look a little concerned when she shoved a paper towel in his mouth and considering she had just been holding rabbits in the back of her pickup truck, I didn't blame the kid. (Yes, I miss my Tennessee life...)
In researching the current compensation for a tooth, I've found that you people are crackers. There is no way my kid is getting up to $10 per tooth. Hell, I'd already decided he was lucky if he got more than that handful of change I dug out of the couch last week when he thought dumping his piggy bank out on was a good idea...
(And yes, I fully planned on using his own money for the tooth fairy crap as I have been the one picking up coins for days.)
But then I came up with a great idea.... I wrote a letter from the tooth fairy to go under his pillow:
Dear Bonus,
I am so proud of you for being such a big boy and loosing your first tooth! Congratulations! The current rate is $1 per tooth, despite what your friends may tell you. Also, your girlfriend who said that 'when you loose your first tooth you get the Barbie you always wanted' was lying.
I have heard that you are trying to save up money right now to replace your bike tire that you flattened with a drill bit "just to see what a flat tire looked like". Considering you haven't been doing the chores your mother requested in order to earn that money back, I've decided to just give the dollar to your mother to help offset the cost of this new tire.
Maybe by the time your next tooth falls out, you will have worked that off and will actually get the dollar yourself. (You know, your mom only got a quarter when she was a kid...)
Best wishes and happy dental health,
The Tooth Fairy
Genius, right?! It's all sorts of parenting gold. Aside from keeping the fantasy going, he's getting a little lesson in the process!
Dorkfish refused to let me do it. He insisted it would 'scar the kid for life' or something.
These people just don't get my humor...
Well, technically, he didn't "loose it" so much as I convinced him that my friend Carrie was a dentist and therefore was fully trained on the fine art of tooth removal.
He did look a little concerned when she shoved a paper towel in his mouth and considering she had just been holding rabbits in the back of her pickup truck, I didn't blame the kid. (Yes, I miss my Tennessee life...)
In researching the current compensation for a tooth, I've found that you people are crackers. There is no way my kid is getting up to $10 per tooth. Hell, I'd already decided he was lucky if he got more than that handful of change I dug out of the couch last week when he thought dumping his piggy bank out on was a good idea...
(And yes, I fully planned on using his own money for the tooth fairy crap as I have been the one picking up coins for days.)
But then I came up with a great idea.... I wrote a letter from the tooth fairy to go under his pillow:
Dear Bonus,
I am so proud of you for being such a big boy and loosing your first tooth! Congratulations! The current rate is $1 per tooth, despite what your friends may tell you. Also, your girlfriend who said that 'when you loose your first tooth you get the Barbie you always wanted' was lying.
I have heard that you are trying to save up money right now to replace your bike tire that you flattened with a drill bit "just to see what a flat tire looked like". Considering you haven't been doing the chores your mother requested in order to earn that money back, I've decided to just give the dollar to your mother to help offset the cost of this new tire.
Maybe by the time your next tooth falls out, you will have worked that off and will actually get the dollar yourself. (You know, your mom only got a quarter when she was a kid...)
Best wishes and happy dental health,
The Tooth Fairy
Genius, right?! It's all sorts of parenting gold. Aside from keeping the fantasy going, he's getting a little lesson in the process!
Dorkfish refused to let me do it. He insisted it would 'scar the kid for life' or something.
These people just don't get my humor...
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