<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19955004</id><updated>2012-02-16T09:42:11.226-06:00</updated><title type='text'>What Would Naomi Do</title><subtitle type='html'>Advice and answers from a woman who will never admit she has no idea what you're talking about.  Send your questions to fenwaysmum@gmail.com and wackiness will ensue.  I promise.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whatwouldnaomido.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19955004/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whatwouldnaomido.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Lori H</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05423942071046704238</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/img/191/1405/640/gaiman%20edited.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>20</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19955004.post-4473959718893694478</id><published>2009-11-27T08:32:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-11-27T08:32:39.164-06:00</updated><title type='text'>She's back!</title><content type='html'>After YEARS of going without my wacky mother, she's BACK!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To give you a quick update on Naomi, and how she's doing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She has admitted that she has a hearing problem, which was a big step for her.&amp;nbsp; She's yet to admit that she doesn't remember anything, but we're getting there.&amp;nbsp; She still doesn't ask us to repeat things, she just goes with what she thinks she heard.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She's moved!&amp;nbsp; Last month mum and my aunt Connie moved into an apartment and out of the house.&amp;nbsp; She just couldn't keep up with a house that size, and it was one step away from being on Hoarders.&amp;nbsp; My husband and I moved in and are in the process of giving it a little TLC, but may just walk away from it.&amp;nbsp; We're not sure yet.&amp;nbsp; Depends on a lot of things, including our sanity.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And of course, she's still crazy.&amp;nbsp; That's never going to change.&amp;nbsp; Ever.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, stay tuned, and if you have any questions or need some advice, send those to me at &lt;a href="mailto:fenwaysmum@gmail.com"&gt;fenwaysmum@gmail.com&lt;/a&gt; and I'll get them over to her and up here!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19955004-4473959718893694478?l=whatwouldnaomido.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whatwouldnaomido.blogspot.com/feeds/4473959718893694478/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19955004&amp;postID=4473959718893694478&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19955004/posts/default/4473959718893694478'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19955004/posts/default/4473959718893694478'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whatwouldnaomido.blogspot.com/2009/11/shes-back.html' title='She&apos;s back!'/><author><name>Lori H</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05423942071046704238</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/img/191/1405/640/gaiman%20edited.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19955004.post-2892265644699911349</id><published>2007-05-23T18:55:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-05-24T18:15:53.286-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Do Zombies Reproduce?</title><content type='html'>This is a question that has been floating around my group of friends for a few months now, especially since Skippy and I can't seem to agree on this.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I grew up in a household where not only did we watch "the Westerns" every weekend, but it was okay for me to see violence and ghost rape, but not the gratuitous boob shot in European vacation.  Basically, if it served my mother for me to watch horror movies Saturday morning with her, then they really weren't that damaging to a small child after all.  My mother has seen all horror movies at least once, and more than likely two or three times if it was by Hitchcock or Romero.  Zombies, of course, being one of her favorite genres since she was born and raised in Western Pennsylvania.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When asked this week if she wanted to see 28 Weeks Later, she wondered which movie that one was, and I said the new zombie movie that takes place in England, you know, the sequel to the one with Cillian Murphy's wang hanging out.  My mother being a zombie purest simply replied, no, no, that's a VIRUS, they aren't zombies.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The woman knows her stuff.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I decided to ask the expert herself about zombie nookie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Mom, gotta question for you."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Can zombies procreate?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Huh?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Can zombies procreate?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, I don't know, why?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No reason, just answer the question."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I have no idea, I've never met a zombie.  But they're dead.  But then again in that Dawn of the Dead movie the girl had a zombie baby....but she was already pregnant.  Are you asking me if they can get pregnant once they're zombies?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yeah.  Sure."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, no, not unless you count some of my relatives.  They're dead Lori."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So there you go.  My mother the expert weighs in on the topic.  It saddens me that she doesn't see the simplicity of zombies beyond them just being dead.  I know I'll find someone to agree with me.  I just know it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19955004-2892265644699911349?l=whatwouldnaomido.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whatwouldnaomido.blogspot.com/feeds/2892265644699911349/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19955004&amp;postID=2892265644699911349&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19955004/posts/default/2892265644699911349'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19955004/posts/default/2892265644699911349'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whatwouldnaomido.blogspot.com/2007/05/do-zombies-reproduce.html' title='Do Zombies Reproduce?'/><author><name>Lori H</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05423942071046704238</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/img/191/1405/640/gaiman%20edited.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19955004.post-3363531478058423158</id><published>2007-05-13T16:32:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-05-13T16:37:58.076-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Mama's got a brand new job</title><content type='html'>Which is to say she really doesn't have one at all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm getting her set up.....AGAIN to check her email, but in the meantime, send your questions and pleas for advice to naomi.kilburn@gmail.com&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I check that email if you're thinking of sending any death threats for me to that email address.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mom IS working part time now, so you might see her tooling around at her previous employer once again.  She's just working in the gift shop now though, not the same as before.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you were wondering how she's doing, she's doing great now after a pretty bad fall in England busting up her shoulder and noggin pretty bad.  This year she had a small stroke which made her slow down and realize that her medication really IS important to take.  Thank goodness Uncle Sam (and her fellow taxpayers) are paying for it since she's not really working much on anything other than my nerves.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, have no fear, she's fine.  Nothing is wrong other than some short term memory loss, which after all is what we love about her.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19955004-3363531478058423158?l=whatwouldnaomido.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whatwouldnaomido.blogspot.com/feeds/3363531478058423158/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19955004&amp;postID=3363531478058423158&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19955004/posts/default/3363531478058423158'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19955004/posts/default/3363531478058423158'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whatwouldnaomido.blogspot.com/2007/05/mamas-got-brand-new-job.html' title='Mama&apos;s got a brand new job'/><author><name>Lori H</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05423942071046704238</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/img/191/1405/640/gaiman%20edited.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19955004.post-116430547717644584</id><published>2006-11-23T12:05:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-11-23T12:11:17.186-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy Thanksgiving</title><content type='html'>I asked my mother today what she was Thankful for, knowing that she wouldn't dissapoint.  Here's her list: &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The cuckoo clock she got for her retirement from Chris since I hate it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Medicare.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Zoloft.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Senior citizen discounts at Kohls.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Flight benefits.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Her church.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Her family.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BBC America, HBO, and HGTV.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Harrison Ford movies.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Remote controls.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Running water. (I'm not sure, maybe she felt the need for a bath.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mince meat pie.  (BLECH!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And last, but certainly not least, telephones.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So there you go, a list of things from a woman who is surely showing early signs of Alzheimers.  When I told her that she needed to get on Alzheimer medication today, she told me to go get chemo and radiation for the cancer I might get.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thanksgiving: the holiday to tell your family that you hope they die a horrible death.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19955004-116430547717644584?l=whatwouldnaomido.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whatwouldnaomido.blogspot.com/feeds/116430547717644584/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19955004&amp;postID=116430547717644584&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19955004/posts/default/116430547717644584'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19955004/posts/default/116430547717644584'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whatwouldnaomido.blogspot.com/2006/11/happy-thanksgiving.html' title='Happy Thanksgiving'/><author><name>Lori H</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05423942071046704238</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/img/191/1405/640/gaiman%20edited.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19955004.post-115731327008763652</id><published>2006-09-03T14:39:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-09-03T14:54:30.100-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Groundhog Day?</title><content type='html'>Well, it's official.  The old lady is retired and already driving me crazy.  This week's antics included:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* Her retirement party, where she neglected to tell me where it was, and after telling her four or five times to keep her phone on her in case I called didn't answer the phone the four times that I called her.  Then, didn't understand why I was upset by it...you can't stay mad at someone who just retired though.  It's their speed pass to Alzheimers after all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* We watched movies last night with my friend Anna.  Anna has never been around my mother during one of her "moments."  We watched Capote, the new Dawn of the Dead (which the horror queen loved, but Anna only liked it when I said the people were gonna do it, and the zombie baby showed up.  Anna was not impressed with Zombies) and then we watched V for Vendetta.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We weren't even thirty seconds into the movie.  We were still listening to Natalie say, "...remember, remember the fifth of November..." when I asked my mother if she knew what Guy Fawkes day was.  She looked at me confused, and said, "Groundhog Day?"  I almost mentioned that no one would make a movie about that, but then realized how dumb that statement would be.  Anna commenced laughing so hard that she had tears in her eyes, and I was laughing so hard I couldn't even pull the Raider out.  My mother sat there so confused that she decided to read her newspaper until we stopped.  Then I busted out with, "remember remember the second of February..." and we lost our shit again.  Still confused my mother was getting upset I hadn't explained it yet, so finally we broke it down for her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She didn't in fact know what Guy Fawkes day was.  She does now though.  She liked it by the way, and is a fan of Alan Moore, even though there was a long discussion about the Watchmen and how she wouldn't like it but wants to read it anyway.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*  Today, DirecTV came out to fix her box in her bedroom before replacing it all together.  She calls me after to ask me where Mandy was adopted from.  I said, &lt;a href="http://www.campwolfgang.org/"&gt;Camp Wolgang?&lt;/a&gt; And I told her the website.  She said the guy didn't have internet.  Still confused, I asked her what guy, and she said the guy that fixed her cable box because he loved animals as much as I did, and she got his number so she could call him and tell him where to adopt a German Shepherd.  I asked her if she was trying to set me up with the cable guy, and she said yes because he was tall.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Evidently we've reached the point in my life where a guy is good enough for me based merely on his stature.  Doesn't matter how smart he is, how he treats women, etc.  As long as he's tall, he'll do for me.  Her daughter.  Her ONLY daughter.  Her baby girl.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I could end up at the bottom of a well pleading for my life and screaming for a dog named Precious so I don't get made into a human hair-piece, but my mom wouldn't suspect anything as long as the guy was tall.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's it for this week, stay tuned as I'm sure the hilarity will ensue.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19955004-115731327008763652?l=whatwouldnaomido.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whatwouldnaomido.blogspot.com/feeds/115731327008763652/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19955004&amp;postID=115731327008763652&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19955004/posts/default/115731327008763652'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19955004/posts/default/115731327008763652'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whatwouldnaomido.blogspot.com/2006/09/groundhog-day.html' title='Groundhog Day?'/><author><name>Lori H</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05423942071046704238</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/img/191/1405/640/gaiman%20edited.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19955004.post-115138846193321182</id><published>2006-06-27T01:06:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-06-27T01:07:41.943-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Defrost?</title><content type='html'>Last week, my mother was driving my car for a few days.  Why, you ask, would I let my precious, precious hippie mobile to be put in the hands of a slow-driving lunatic?  Well, her A/C went out, and I can't handle my poor mother burning up in the Texas heat.  Ahh….I know, sometimes I have a heart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The problem was that the air was cool, it just wasn't coming out of the vents.  I had something similar happen in a previous car and knew that it probably meant the fan was out which was far less expensive than replacing or fixing the entire A/C unit.  I've done that too, and it was more expensive than the car was worth.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, the plan was she was to drop her car off on Thursday, I would come and get her, give her my car and on Saturday while I was in Houston my friend would come and pick her up to get the car when it was finished.  Well, Thursday night, she drives her car home and has no problems and told me that it was fixed.  I was amazed at the mechanics efficiency and left it at that.  She offered up no other information, and I thought that was that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then when I came home from Houston on Sunday, she told me that she had to tell me what was wrong with her car.  I was hesitant to ask since last time this happened she had backed into someone in the parking lot of my job costing her $2,000.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What followed has to be the funniest mom story ever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The night before the horrible A/C going out incident of 2006 it had rained out, and mom's windows were fogging up so she had turned on the defroster things because she couldn't see.&lt;br /&gt;I bet you know where this is going, don't you?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, she drove home, turned off the car, went inside and didn't think a thing of it.&lt;br /&gt;Next day, got in car, started it, and the A/C wasn't working.  Of course it wasn't working, it was on defrost.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She spent three days worrying and fretting about getting her A/C fixed, when all she had to do was actually turn it on.  Thank God the mechanic didn't charge her for this, since he got more than enough payment in seeing the look on her face when she realized what she had done.  I'm sure it will be a story that goes 'round for years.  I know I'll certainly spread it around that long, and pass it on for generations.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19955004-115138846193321182?l=whatwouldnaomido.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whatwouldnaomido.blogspot.com/feeds/115138846193321182/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19955004&amp;postID=115138846193321182&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19955004/posts/default/115138846193321182'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19955004/posts/default/115138846193321182'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whatwouldnaomido.blogspot.com/2006/06/defrost.html' title='Defrost?'/><author><name>Lori H</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05423942071046704238</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/img/191/1405/640/gaiman%20edited.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19955004.post-114982181295664686</id><published>2006-06-08T21:37:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-06-08T21:56:52.966-05:00</updated><title type='text'>So what if it's been four months?</title><content type='html'>What's it to you?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love CNN, and when I go to sleep, I have it going on my TV, just in case I wake up to pee, and something has happened.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To you it might be crazy, but today it proved not such a crazy quirk after all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I woke up around 4:00 to go potty, and saw "Holy crap, breaking news, the world is coming to an end..." banners on CNN. In reality, al-Zarqawi had been killed which in itself is big news. It is, the president says so.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But that's beside the point. This website is about my crazy mother, isn't it?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I talk to my mother every morning before she goes to work. Really, it's her talking, and me grunting as I'm still asleep and just talking to her until she stops yammering and I figure I will call her later to find out what she really wants to talk about. It's normally nothing, but she's my mother, right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So this morning, in an excitement that normally only Christmas morning brings, she proclaimed to me that they finally had bombed Zimbabwe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, she said Zimbabwe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thankfully my CNN watching habits serve me well, and I knew what she was talking about so I was able to to play with her a bit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I then asked, "the entire country?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No, just Zimbabwe."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"The country, they bombed the entire country?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No, just &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Zim-bab-we!&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, I'm this evil.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What did Zimbabwe ever do to us?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh...you know, the terrorism and stuff!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Zimbabwe? The country in Africa? I didn't think they were known for their terroristic activities!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No, no, no, the guy...the Bin Laden guy...you know, Zim something or other."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At this point I let the poor soul off the hook, and I told her that I knew what she was talking about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, contrary to popular Christopher theories that my mother just can't hear &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;me&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; because I have a whiny voice, so he says, she really can't hear anyone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There's a dose for you. I know that there are letters piled up in my email from months ago, that have since tapered off since people think my mother was being aloof and didn't answer them, we've just had a busy couple of months.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In other Mumsy news, she is officially one step closer to retirement, and as promised she will be plugged in and ready to correspond with everyone and give her advice first hand. She now has a laptop that she's really unsure of how to use, but she's able to check her emails which impresses me beyond belief.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19955004-114982181295664686?l=whatwouldnaomido.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whatwouldnaomido.blogspot.com/feeds/114982181295664686/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19955004&amp;postID=114982181295664686&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19955004/posts/default/114982181295664686'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19955004/posts/default/114982181295664686'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whatwouldnaomido.blogspot.com/2006/06/so-what-if-its-been-four-months.html' title='So what if it&apos;s been four months?'/><author><name>Lori H</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05423942071046704238</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/img/191/1405/640/gaiman%20edited.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19955004.post-114024012930248744</id><published>2006-02-17T23:08:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-02-17T23:22:09.313-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Marlene or Marlena</title><content type='html'>Alright, another fun one with an explanation. She didn't get what I was asking as normal, but this one kind of ticked her off when she figured it out. My mother is horrible with names. Marlena will always be Marlene no matter how many times I tell her the correct way to say it, but boy does she know how to say Ben. I dated a guy for SIX YEARS and she called him Scrappenini when his last name was Scarpellini. I'm glad we didn't get married after all because she never would have gotten my name right. Odd thing is, she gets REALLY upset when people say my name wrong since she thought of it all on her own.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, here's the second one for tonight:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Dear Mum,&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;What's a nice way to tell a lady that you work with that's she a horrible moron for not being able to remember your name?She can remember my husband's name, but always call's me Husband's Wife when she comes in or introduces anyone to me... Thanks in advance.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Signed, I Do Have a Name You KNOW!&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I had pizza for dinner on Sunday, and it always upsets my stomach. I'll take some mashed potatoes though."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Are you serious?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yeah, I bought some of the flaky kind."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(It took everything in me not to make a comment on her similar mental condition, but I held it in.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Mother, listen to me. SHE'S CALLED THE WRONG NAME."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"So?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"THE WOMAN CALLS HER THE WIFE!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What woman?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What WOMan?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Alright, this dumb woman calls her the wife. She works with her. How can she get her to call her by the right name."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Whose wife?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Does it matter?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, yeah, I mean, is her name hard?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I don't know. It doesn't matter. Her name could be 32 vowels in a row and it wouldn't matter. The woman makes no effort to learn her name."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Some people forget names. They remember a face, but they can't remember a name. It's not the woman's fault, she just can't help it."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I know. Trust me, I know. So, how does she tell this woman to remember her name without getting fired?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Her boss should know her name!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"It's not her boss, it's a coworker."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, then she can't get fired, can she?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Will you answer the question?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, she just just refuse to acknowledge her until she calls her by the right name, or at least attempts to."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And for once, I think she's right. So Marlena, next time you see my mother, you should do the same.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19955004-114024012930248744?l=whatwouldnaomido.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whatwouldnaomido.blogspot.com/feeds/114024012930248744/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19955004&amp;postID=114024012930248744&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19955004/posts/default/114024012930248744'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19955004/posts/default/114024012930248744'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whatwouldnaomido.blogspot.com/2006/02/marlene-or-marlena.html' title='Marlene or Marlena'/><author><name>Lori H</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05423942071046704238</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/img/191/1405/640/gaiman%20edited.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19955004.post-114023930576997991</id><published>2006-02-17T23:02:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-02-17T23:08:25.780-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Woops</title><content type='html'>Well, this one was actually answered a long time ago, but I kept forgetting to put this on here. Now that the holiday is over, I'm glad I didn't. I'll tell you why in a second.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Dear Mum,&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;I have a wonderful husband who does so many wonderful things for me for holidays and birthdays that sometimes I think he's a robot. He's very good at getting the things that I want as far as gifts go, but I usually have to tell him what I'd like him to get. He doesn't make decisions about what to get me very often. He usually justs find out what I want and gives it to me, rather than surprising me with something that he thought of on his own. My question is, I'd like him to send me flowers for Valentine's Day, but since I'm not really the "loves getting flowers" type of girl, I'm wondering how to subtly let him know that I'd like flowers, without having to tell him to get them for me, which sort of defeats the purpose of a loving gesture. Your thoughts?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;- Happily Married, But Wants Some Surprises&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm telling you folks, when she wants to hear, she can. This was her response:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Is that Ben?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, yes, it is actually."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I'm just going to call him and tell him what he needs to get that girl. Why doesn't he know a girl needs flowers?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"He's a guy. And a good one at that."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, she didn't call Ben but not because she didn't try, she just couldn't figure out who he was in my phone (Benholio if you must know.) Marlena got the flowers however, and it didn't even take the intervention of my mother, which makes me all warm and fuzzy knowing he did it on his own.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So that's it for this holiday. I will tell you, that not only is Saint Patricks day my favorite holiday after Halloween, it's my mothers after Christmas....hint, hint. The woman may be Scottish, but she swears that you can't be Scottish without a bloody Irishmen getting in the way.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19955004-114023930576997991?l=whatwouldnaomido.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whatwouldnaomido.blogspot.com/feeds/114023930576997991/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19955004&amp;postID=114023930576997991&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19955004/posts/default/114023930576997991'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19955004/posts/default/114023930576997991'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whatwouldnaomido.blogspot.com/2006/02/woops.html' title='Woops'/><author><name>Lori H</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05423942071046704238</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/img/191/1405/640/gaiman%20edited.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19955004.post-113977652083358593</id><published>2006-02-12T14:21:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-02-12T14:35:20.846-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Valentines day</title><content type='html'>Alright, so I've been out of town....again....and been delayed in getting these out. But, here's the first of many questions we have regarding Valentines Day. If you want a diatribe of anger deceit, &lt;a href="http://theflamingolegion.blogspot.com/"&gt;come see me &lt;/a&gt;tomorrow. You'll get your fill. But for now, dating advice from my mother.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Dear Ask Mum,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How can I find a nice woman to settle down with? I've gone to every bar in town, hung out at every strip club, and even went to the Laundromat even though I didn't have any laundry to wash!! My Mom suggested to go to Church, but you know what they say? you should only go where you would want to meet someone like you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I need a girl who isn't afraid to wear edible undies.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Help!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Signed,&lt;br /&gt;Lonely On Sunday Evening Regularly&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm just going to say, I cringed at the thought of asking this one. I don't know if my mother knew what edible undies were, and quite frankly I didn't want to know either. So thank you for that. I know who you are, and I know how to contact your mother.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I used to be Catholic, but then I became Methodist. I like that church that Chris goes to, the kids show is funny."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"And why aren't you Catholic any longer?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I'm just not.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well...okay then. But how does this person meet a girl?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What does that have to do with church?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Because their mother told them to go to church, but they want someone who wears edible undies. Do intentionallyally not listen to me when I'm speaking, or can you really not hear me?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I heard you. Girls who wear edible undies don't go to church!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I can't believe I'm going to ask this, but you go to church, have you ever worn them?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No, I haven't had sex since they've invented them."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Okay, then can we leave that alone? I'm sure that even someone who goes to church has worn them, but what they want to know is where to meet a girl. They don't want to go to church."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, where do you hang out?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"The bookstore, bars, comic shops, and wherever Marlena or Chris are."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Then they need to go there."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well...why?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Because you need to meet a man."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Thanks for reminding me. But, I KNOW this person, and I don't think they're the type to date someone like me."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Why?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"We're just going to leave it at that. Anyway, what you're saying is, go to places that I go to so you they can meet me. What about the other women of the world?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I don't care if they get married, I care if YOU get married."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, okay then.  We'll see what we can do"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"If someone wants to date you, they can email me."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Why?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"So you won't ruin it."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"And you'll make it go well?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I'll get the basics covered so you can just jump in.  You don't do that well.  You mess it up."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Thanks Mom.  I thought you were supposed to be on MY side, not Chris's?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, he's right."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So there you have it. Unless you're wanting to date me, my mother has no answer for you. And if you are wanting to date me, please don't tell my mother.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19955004-113977652083358593?l=whatwouldnaomido.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whatwouldnaomido.blogspot.com/feeds/113977652083358593/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19955004&amp;postID=113977652083358593&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19955004/posts/default/113977652083358593'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19955004/posts/default/113977652083358593'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whatwouldnaomido.blogspot.com/2006/02/valentines-day.html' title='Valentines day'/><author><name>Lori H</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05423942071046704238</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/img/191/1405/640/gaiman%20edited.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19955004.post-113834329804052356</id><published>2006-01-27T00:22:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-01-27T00:28:18.050-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Valentines day</title><content type='html'>Yes, there are three questions in the line to be answered, but my mother had a very specific request today and she said she wanted to do this before answering questions. Evidently her head is getting big, and she thinks she can run the show now. I can't imagine what life will be like once she retires. (should be in the next month or two, so expect some regularity to her posts. I might even teach her how to do it....but the humor will be lost I believe.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Since I hate Valentine's Day, and she loves it, she wants us to join together to solve all of your love problems, and to teach me that this holiday isn't so bad after all. If you need some advice in the arena of love, why not ask the woman who has been divorced for over 20 years, and her single daughter who can't even date well? We'll see how this goes. I see a trainwreck in our near future.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As for the other three questions waiting to be answered, her majesty the queen of the non sequitur responses will respond shortly. She promised me once I do her taxes. Lord help us.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19955004-113834329804052356?l=whatwouldnaomido.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whatwouldnaomido.blogspot.com/feeds/113834329804052356/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19955004&amp;postID=113834329804052356&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19955004/posts/default/113834329804052356'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19955004/posts/default/113834329804052356'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whatwouldnaomido.blogspot.com/2006/01/valentines-day.html' title='Valentines day'/><author><name>Lori H</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05423942071046704238</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/img/191/1405/640/gaiman%20edited.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19955004.post-113799077559039229</id><published>2006-01-22T22:29:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-01-22T22:32:55.600-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Frosty</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Dear Ask Mum,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’m hoping you can settle an argument between my girlfriend and I. When eating at a fast food restaurant, is it proper etiquette to eat your French fries first, or should you eat the burger first? I say either is fine, and prefer to eat my fries first, but my girlfriend says the burger should be eaten first, as it is the “main” part of the meal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also, is it bad manners to dip your fries into your girlfriend’s Frosty? Should I just buy my own, even though I don’t want all of it?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We have ten dollars riding on your answer. Thanks!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sign me,&lt;br /&gt;French Fry Lover&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, would you use it for his nose or arms?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just left that one alone. For once, that just made as much sense to me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19955004-113799077559039229?l=whatwouldnaomido.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whatwouldnaomido.blogspot.com/feeds/113799077559039229/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19955004&amp;postID=113799077559039229&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19955004/posts/default/113799077559039229'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19955004/posts/default/113799077559039229'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whatwouldnaomido.blogspot.com/2006/01/frosty.html' title='Frosty'/><author><name>Lori H</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05423942071046704238</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/img/191/1405/640/gaiman%20edited.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19955004.post-113772095652544556</id><published>2006-01-19T19:29:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-01-19T19:35:56.536-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Klondike Bar</title><content type='html'>I know we have a backlog right now, but this one really got me chuckling, so I had to get it out quickly. I have a few to ask her tonight, so expect an update soon. She's also got a new profile on &lt;a href="http://www.myspace.com/49225215"&gt;MySpace&lt;/a&gt;, so go check her out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Dear Mum,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What would Jesus do for a Klondike bar?&lt;br /&gt;-Confused Catholic&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"(blank stare)"&lt;br /&gt;"Mum, what would Jesus do for a Klondike Bar?"&lt;br /&gt;"What kind of moron thinks that Jesus even drives a car?"&lt;br /&gt;"Well, he is all knowing or something right? I'm sure he can drive a six speed."&lt;br /&gt;"(blank stare suddenly turns to hostility)"&lt;br /&gt;"What, he's 'all powerful' and stuff, I'm sure he's got a mean ride! Jesus ain't driving no pinto, man!"&lt;br /&gt;"Â"&lt;br /&gt;"What?"&lt;br /&gt;"Who asks that kind of question? And you're going to burn in Hell. I raised you better than that."&lt;br /&gt;"Yeah, and horror movies are acceptable viewing for a four year-old."&lt;br /&gt;"Hey, you were mature for your age."&lt;br /&gt;"And now my soul is dead because of it."&lt;br /&gt;"Don't blame being a heathen on me."&lt;br /&gt;"I blame it on the Jesus."&lt;br /&gt;"Would you stop it?!?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-at this point, I had to rope her in because she was getting upset. There are some things you joke about with my mother, but Jesus apparently isn't one of them.&lt;br /&gt;"Mum, I'm kidding, kiddingÂ.no, the question was what would Jesus do for a KLONDIKE BAR?"&lt;br /&gt;"(hysterical laughter)"&lt;br /&gt;"Dork, it's a t-shirt. Someone was lacking creativity."&lt;br /&gt;"Do they come in red?"&lt;br /&gt;"Well, I don't know. Why?"&lt;br /&gt;"Because I want one for Mother's day."&lt;br /&gt;"(shaking my head in frustraion)"&lt;br /&gt;"Buy me one!"&lt;br /&gt;-and I had better, or the Jesus will get me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19955004-113772095652544556?l=whatwouldnaomido.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whatwouldnaomido.blogspot.com/feeds/113772095652544556/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19955004&amp;postID=113772095652544556&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19955004/posts/default/113772095652544556'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19955004/posts/default/113772095652544556'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whatwouldnaomido.blogspot.com/2006/01/klondike-bar.html' title='Klondike Bar'/><author><name>Lori H</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05423942071046704238</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/img/191/1405/640/gaiman%20edited.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19955004.post-113694885006247447</id><published>2006-01-10T20:59:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-01-10T21:07:30.070-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Regifting</title><content type='html'>Well folks, sorry for the delay. In case you've been in a cave over the last two weeks, I've been in Japan, and although I talked to my Mother several times while I was gone, it was at five in the morning and our conversations consisted mostly of how to get her email what I had to eat, how nice or mean the Japanese were, and what I bought her. Oh yes, and how to re-order checks because that seems to be something that has completely passed her by.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know how seriously you should take her advice, but here goes:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Ask Mum,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I received a gift for Christmas from a friend that I know was regifted to me. You see, I gave them this gift three years ago, and it still has the tag I put on it! I guess they forgot to take it off the bottom, but when I turned it over, there it was.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How should I handle this? Should I tell them I know they gave me my own gift back, or should I just keep quiet and regift it back to them in a few years?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thanks for your help.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sign Me,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It Was A Sucky Gift In the First Place&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I didn't do that!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No Mother, it's not an accusation, it's a question."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Why is she worried about this weeks later?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, she sent this a while ago, I was gone. Remember?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, right. Well, what was the question?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What does she do about something being regifted back to her."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I don't buy anything for someone that I wouldn't want myself."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, okay...but...can you focus?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I am. She should only buy things she would want herself."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"That's not the problem. The problem is she got a gift from someone else that she bought them."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"That's why you buy stuff you want, so if they give it back you can keep it."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"....okay....so, does she say anything?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well yeah! That's just rude! I would send them an email if I knew how."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"So, it's okay to regift as long as it's not back to the person who gave it to you?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What kind of moron regifts it BACK to you?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Are these people your friends?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, they were."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19955004-113694885006247447?l=whatwouldnaomido.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whatwouldnaomido.blogspot.com/feeds/113694885006247447/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19955004&amp;postID=113694885006247447&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19955004/posts/default/113694885006247447'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19955004/posts/default/113694885006247447'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whatwouldnaomido.blogspot.com/2006/01/regifting.html' title='Regifting'/><author><name>Lori H</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05423942071046704238</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/img/191/1405/640/gaiman%20edited.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19955004.post-113583211647392240</id><published>2005-12-28T22:52:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2005-12-28T22:55:16.480-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Brief hiatus</title><content type='html'>I know that there are a few questions that have been submitted with no replies, but be patient.  Things around here are nutty this week.  I will be in Japan until the 6th of January, so there probably will not be an update until then.  I promise you when I return the first thing we will do is address your concerns.  There are plenty, including my mother's need for a hearing aid.  Or drugs. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, in our absence, think of some more questions, drink some alcohol and kiss a nerd for me as I will be on a plane for New Years and not get to do either.  Be careful, have fun, and come back to see us in a week!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19955004-113583211647392240?l=whatwouldnaomido.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whatwouldnaomido.blogspot.com/feeds/113583211647392240/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19955004&amp;postID=113583211647392240&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19955004/posts/default/113583211647392240'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19955004/posts/default/113583211647392240'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whatwouldnaomido.blogspot.com/2005/12/brief-hiatus.html' title='Brief hiatus'/><author><name>Lori H</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05423942071046704238</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/img/191/1405/640/gaiman%20edited.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19955004.post-113561564056136877</id><published>2005-12-26T10:37:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2005-12-26T10:48:57.540-06:00</updated><title type='text'>The day after Christmas, and we've all survived</title><content type='html'>I think anyway.  So things around here were nutty.  My mother bought her "grand-dogs" a remote control car for Christmas.  Nothing is funnier than seeing two Cocker Spaniels jumping over the Germans Shepherd to get away from it, while the German Shepherd pulls the Scooby Legs to run away as well. I laughed, a lot.  I will cherish the gift for years to come.  So, since we're now done with Christmas, we've got some questions on how to handle the holiday clean up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thanks to all of you who have sent your questions in.  My mother hasn't felt this important in years.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Dear Ask Mum,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What is the proper way to dispose of a fruit cake? Do I have to contact a HAZMAT team, or can I just throw it away? My garbage man said he wouldnÂt take it, is this legal? What should I do? Thanks for your help!! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sign me, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hates Fruit Cake&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I don't have a house cat but I still eat my fruit cake."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Right...but....you know, normally I can figure out what you're trying to say, but I'm lost. What are you talking about?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You don't have to have a house cat to eat your fruit cake.  What kind of statement is that?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, I don't know.  That's not what they said, and I'm not sure what you think they said."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"They asked what kind of house cat you need to eat fruit cake right?  Because you don't need one.  One doesn't have to do with the other."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You're right, I know, but let's think about how to get rid of fruit cake."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Huh?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"GET RID OF FRUIT CAKE!?!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You eat it."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Okay, I realize you have an unnatural affection for fruit cake, but what if someone doesn't like it and their garbage man won't take it."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Whywouldn'tt he take it, they take my leaves."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What, they do?  What's this person's problem."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Coming to you for advice I think."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What did you say?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Nothing.  Okay, so you're saying throw away the fruit cake since the garbage man takes leaves?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes.  Or eat it."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Can they just mail it to you?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Ooooh!  Yeah, I LOVE fruit cake!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And we love you too.  So there you go folks.  If you have extra fruit cake this holiday season, and you have no way of disposing it, send it to my mother.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19955004-113561564056136877?l=whatwouldnaomido.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whatwouldnaomido.blogspot.com/feeds/113561564056136877/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19955004&amp;postID=113561564056136877&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19955004/posts/default/113561564056136877'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19955004/posts/default/113561564056136877'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whatwouldnaomido.blogspot.com/2005/12/day-after-christmas-and-weve-all.html' title='The day after Christmas, and we&apos;ve all survived'/><author><name>Lori H</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05423942071046704238</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/img/191/1405/640/gaiman%20edited.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19955004.post-113552646026828453</id><published>2005-12-25T09:41:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2005-12-25T10:09:46.250-06:00</updated><title type='text'>The Christmas special</title><content type='html'>Merry Christmas from the crazy Kilburn household where today we watch dogs eat presents and have sammiches as our grand feast.  This Grinch hates Christmas and is glad that it's over, but Mum on the other hand is beaming with present giving joy.  Today, two questions both relating to Christmas.  For those of you who enjoy this day, I hope you have a wonderful one.  For all my fellow grinches, we'll get 'em next year!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lori&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Dear Mum,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wanted to know if you could tell me about the history of mistletoe. Why &lt;br /&gt;do people kiss under it? Why do strangers suddenly feel that it is OK to &lt;br /&gt;touch lips with me just because they're holding parasitic leaves over my &lt;br /&gt;head?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank you for clearing this up!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Mistletoeless Joe &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, it's not nearly as entertaining when she actually understands me, unless of course she's reminding me once again of her disappointment of me and my marital status.  Read on my friends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I'm sure it's pagan or something, don't you?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, Joe didn't write in to know what I had to say, he wants to know your opinion."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well look it up on the computer."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You mean the internet?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, I guess.  Whatever."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At this point we did a short amount of research to find out that it's either Celtic, Greek, French, or North American. Sometimes it was for weddings, other for fertility, and then again just so some homely chicks could get some. None of which seemed to please her, and she was frankly more interested in opening presents.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, what do you want to tell Joe."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"First of all, why is he so worried about people hanging balls over him in the air, and kissing him?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, some people aren't into that.  Are you sure you haven't been using the internet to look at porn?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What, I don't eat popcorn, my colon remember?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Right. How could I forget. Again, what do we tell Joe?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Tell Joe if he's single, to come down here and get under the mistletoe with you. You need a man, and you need to be fertile."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Really, why's that?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Because you're 28 and single, and I need a grandchild."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Mother, you have three already, why is it my duty to repopulate the family again just because you want more grandchildren?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I think you just need to get laid."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think we can leave it at that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Tomorrow is Christmas.  I don't have a fireplace.  How will Santa come in my house?  I'm sad that I may not have anything in my stocking tomorrow morning.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Granny panties."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Granny panties.  Really?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Out of that whole long sentence, you got granny panties as a response?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"She asked what I wanted in my stocking, right?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No, she....okay, step by step.  If she doesn't have a fireplace, how does Santa get into her house?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Does she not know Santa doesn't come through the chimney?  He comes through your credit card statements?  How old is this person?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Thanks for ruining Christmas for everyone."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, by the time you're old enough to use the computer, you should know that Santa isn't real."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Mother, YOU don't know how to use the computer, but I bet that Jordan does (my friend's 2 1/2 year old daughter.) and she doesn't know Santa isn't real."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well....okay, what did she ask about stockings."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"She said she's afraid Santa won't leave her anything due to her structural problem in the house."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Huh?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"NO CHIMNEY!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh.  Well, tell her to do what I do.  Go to Target and get it herself.  If you wait around for some mystery man to fill your stockings, you will live your life in a world of disappointment."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You know what Mum, for once you're right."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have a Merry one everybody, and enjoy your time with your mother.  I know I will!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19955004-113552646026828453?l=whatwouldnaomido.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whatwouldnaomido.blogspot.com/feeds/113552646026828453/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19955004&amp;postID=113552646026828453&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19955004/posts/default/113552646026828453'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19955004/posts/default/113552646026828453'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whatwouldnaomido.blogspot.com/2005/12/christmas-special.html' title='The Christmas special'/><author><name>Lori H</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05423942071046704238</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/img/191/1405/640/gaiman%20edited.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19955004.post-113541079358717289</id><published>2005-12-24T01:45:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2005-12-24T01:54:12.440-06:00</updated><title type='text'>How many licks</title><content type='html'>Here we go folks, another installment.  If you would like to send some coupons for hearing aids, I would appreciate it.  Remember, this is funny in small doses, but EVERY DAY, the SAME conversation...it can wear you down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Dear Ask Mum, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just how many licks DOES it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lickin In Las Vegas&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I like ginger ale."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Really, well, I like Dr. Pepper, but what does that have to do with licking a Tootsie Pop."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What's a Tootsie Pop?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"The big fruit-flavored suckers with the Tootsie Roll goo in the middle."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I don't think.....a what?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"The commercials.  They had an owl in a tree.  Owls are smart.  How many licks....you know, the owl?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"OH!  Those things!  I hate those things!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, that's good.  Will you answer the question."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I did, ginger ale.  I like ginger ale when I'm sick."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No...good grief.  Okay, the question was, how many licks to the center of a tootsie pop."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I don't know, 45?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Sounds good to me."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So there you go, what does an owl know.  It officially takes 45 licks.  How she came to this scientific conclusion, one will never know.  What we DO know, is she likes ginger ale when she's sick.  I can vouch for her on this one, she digs the ginger ale.  Especially the cranberry kind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That is all.  Goodnight.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19955004-113541079358717289?l=whatwouldnaomido.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whatwouldnaomido.blogspot.com/feeds/113541079358717289/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19955004&amp;postID=113541079358717289&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19955004/posts/default/113541079358717289'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19955004/posts/default/113541079358717289'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whatwouldnaomido.blogspot.com/2005/12/how-many-licks.html' title='How many licks'/><author><name>Lori H</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05423942071046704238</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/img/191/1405/640/gaiman%20edited.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19955004.post-113520787976557921</id><published>2005-12-21T17:25:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2005-12-21T17:31:19.773-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Shampoo and little red balls</title><content type='html'>So, this is how this works.  Email my Mum a question, I read it to her and then write down her response.  If she read them, she would probably understand what is going on.  Otherwise, she's clueless.  We already have a submission, and boy was my mother lost:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Dear Ask Mum, &lt;br /&gt;What kind of shampoo and conditioner does President Bush use?  His hair always looks great.  &lt;br /&gt;Thanks! &lt;br /&gt;Just Wondering in Texas &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Her answer:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, I don't have a pool, but if I did I like those bushes with the little red balls.  Actually, I like the ones with the big red balls....the Buford Holly I think."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Aren't they called berries, not balls?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, they're round.  Sorry, I had the wrong word."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"But that's not what I asked you.  What kind of SHAMPOO does president BUSH use.  Not what type of BUSH to put around the POOL..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"How the hell should I know that?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know Mum, but thanks for answering.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you would like to join in the insanity, send your questions to mum@lawrenee.com.  She loves to answer the questions!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lori&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19955004-113520787976557921?l=whatwouldnaomido.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whatwouldnaomido.blogspot.com/feeds/113520787976557921/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19955004&amp;postID=113520787976557921&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19955004/posts/default/113520787976557921'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19955004/posts/default/113520787976557921'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whatwouldnaomido.blogspot.com/2005/12/shampoo-and-little-red-balls.html' title='Shampoo and little red balls'/><author><name>Lori H</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05423942071046704238</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/img/191/1405/640/gaiman%20edited.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19955004.post-113485776004950505</id><published>2005-12-17T16:12:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2005-12-21T17:24:56.776-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Welcome</title><content type='html'>This is why she's getting her own blog. A conversation with my mother when she called me for the 18th time to see how I was feeling since I was home sick from work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: well, I got my gift from Dad and Bonnie.&lt;br /&gt;Mum: what did they get you?&lt;br /&gt;Me: cookies like always and a Santa snow globe (no, my father doesn't have a clue)&lt;br /&gt;Mum: does it fit?&lt;br /&gt;Me: what?&lt;br /&gt;Mum: does it fit? Did they buy the right size?&lt;br /&gt;Me: well, I don't plan on wearing a snow globe, so I guess not.&lt;br /&gt;Mum: Oh. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At this point, I thought she had figured out what I was talking about. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A few minutes later, further into the conversation, this time about my dog Biko and his new talking King Kong toy that no longer has an arm. She often goes back to other conversations without any warning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mum: why won't you wear a robe?&lt;br /&gt;Me: I wear one every day, what the hell are you talking about?&lt;br /&gt;Mum: The robe from your Dad and Bonnie, why won't you wear it?&lt;br /&gt;Me: it is a SNOW GLOBE, not a robe.&lt;br /&gt;Mum: a sandy colored globe, that's odd. &lt;br /&gt;Me: ...no, SANTA SNOW GLOBE!&lt;br /&gt;Mum: why the hell did he buy you that?&lt;br /&gt;Me: what, a sandy robe made more sense?&lt;br /&gt;Mum: well, at least you would wear that. You're not going to use a snowglobe, you're not a child anymore.&lt;br /&gt;Me: Mother, you have a snowglobe on your nightstand.&lt;br /&gt;Mum: yeah, but not a SANTA snowglobe, that's just silly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And that is why I love her.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19955004-113485776004950505?l=whatwouldnaomido.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whatwouldnaomido.blogspot.com/feeds/113485776004950505/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19955004&amp;postID=113485776004950505&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19955004/posts/default/113485776004950505'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19955004/posts/default/113485776004950505'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whatwouldnaomido.blogspot.com/2005/12/welcome.html' title='Welcome'/><author><name>Lori H</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05423942071046704238</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/img/191/1405/640/gaiman%20edited.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
