Saturday, October 25, 2008

Weekly Warning 10/26/08

Tailgating a corpse is a moving violation in the state of Georgia.

This happened several years ago. I was rushing home through Atlanta traffic. I was working as a foster care caseworker and had just dropped off a kid at a new group home. It was a Friday afternoon in late July. A quick rain shower was causing steam to rise up on Interstate 85 through the heart of Atlanta. My air conditioning was out and I was sweating in my hose. I was desperately trying to ventilate my little tank top underneath the business suit. My hair was frizzing like a badly dyed Bozo wig--I was going through my blond phase. To be blunt, I looked like I was one tattoo away from an arrest for prostitution.

And so I was 20 or so yards from an ambulance with its lights on but no siren, aka, dead body on board. Then it happened, sirens behind me. An Atlanta PD car snaking across traffic to pull me over.

Officer P. Poole ungraciously informs me that I was tailgating an ambulance. Apparently, I should have been 25 yards and he proceeds to write me a ticket for "tailgating a corpse". Yes, I'm the only person in history to be fined for a moving violation involving a dead body. Jerk--I mean the cop, not the corpse, may he or she rest in peace.

Saturday, October 18, 2008

Weekly Warning 10/19/08

Children are actually sent from outers space to test the limits of maternal patience.

Regan, Regan, Regan. My curious, beautiful, stubborn five year old daughter is now in my Sunday School class. For the past six weeks, she very covertly has been influencing her fifteen classmates.

Week 1: Regan announces that Jesus should be a fisher of both girl and boy trout.
Week 2: God does not like peanut butter treats but rather chocolate.
Week 3: Jesus should have included cookies when he fed 5000 people fish and bread.
Week 4: Poor Jesus, no one brought him a Nintendo DS in Bethlehem.
Week 5: The cry room is a perfect spot to hide from your mommy and daddy.
And the grand finale: Week 6: Regan recites her version of the Lord's Prayer.

"Our Farter, whose art's in heaven, hollow by my name, my kingdom come, my will be done, on earth and every where else, give me your daily Fred, and forget us our treasures as we forget others who treasure against us. And lead us not into the basement but liver us from MMs."

By the time she finished, her fifteen little followers who cannot remember my name after six weeks, were chanting "Our Farter" loudly. Great, I'm teaching kids that God has gas. And you should not go into the basement of houses, Fred apparently has been sold into slavery every day, and everyone should bow to Regan's will. Which has happened to her mini-cult followers.

Saturday, October 11, 2008

Weekly Warning 10/12/08

Puppies have no control over their bladders.

Who can resist a baby wienie dog? A co-worker brought in her newly adopted puppy and of course, I immediately kidnap the cutie and hold it the entire staff meeting. My annual site visit from the state child abuse prevention office was later that morning so I needed some canine stress therapy.

Apparently, little wienie dog girl wanted me to accessorize so she peed on my shirt while she slept. Not much but enough to scream "Dog Urine".

Because I know and expect stuff like this to happen to me, I whipped out my extra shirt before the auditor arrived. Only by spraying Febreeze (also an emergency contigent) all over myself did I mask the smell of puppy pee.

FYI, the audit went fine and the puppy chewed only one part of my report.

Saturday, October 4, 2008

Weekly Warning 10/5/08

Don't leave brightly colored Play-Doh on your fireplace hearth.

Regan did and Zack, our enormous Collie, wolfed them down like it was a hunk of pork butt. She not only left her clay but the four packs I bought for her teacher.

Never mind that Play-Doh wrappers are sprinkled around me house. I found a couple in my bed, on the couch and downstairs near my computer.

Never mind that I have to go buy more for the class.

What is really annoying is that a couple of days later, the crayons made their way through Zack and now our backyard has several mounds of fluorescent speckled poop. We have our own personal solid waste Aurora Borealis that smells three houses over.

Dave said at least we don't need flashlights to navigate the mind field.