Trophy Wife

Monday, March 20, 2006

calling all roosters

This is Chantze. He is a boy not a rooster. But try to tell my dad's rooster that he is not a rooster. The rooster won't believe you. My dad has a beautiful rooster. It is yellow, brown, and orange. This rooster is actually pretty nice compared to the other roosters we've had growing up. This one doesn't attack anyone except Chantze. Everyday when the rooster is out Chantze has to run from it while the rest of us walk right up to it.

One day, Ray was waiting in the van for Chantze. Chantze was wearing a bright orange sweatshirt. Ray saw Chantze in the side view mirror making horrible faces and then he heard him scream and run. Ray jumped out of the van and saw the rooster chasing Chantze across the yard. Ray started running after the rooster. So now, close your eyes and picture what is going on. A small boy screaming and running from an even smaller bird. Then a big man running after this small bird. Wouldn't this just look funny?

Another rooster story...
My Uncle Sam was painting my sister's house when he saw her father-in-law, who is very small and 80 yrs old, walk out of his house to the chicken coop. Now, my sister had a mean rooster. This rooster would attack anything! A few minutes later, Uncle Sam goes into my sister's house and told her that he is sure he saw her father-in-law just killed their rooster. Come to find out, he did kill the rooster. The father-in-law killed it with his cane.

Saturday, March 11, 2006

the crazy gene

My dad loves his chickens. He feeds them, waters them and he even lets them out of their coop to eat bugs. Every night he takes them back to their coop so they will be safe from the animals outside. What lucky chickens.

A few months ago, dad would come out to feed the chickens and he would find a dead chicken ripped to shreds. Only the bones would be left. This was happening almost every day. The chickens began to roost as high as they could and as far away from the right side of the coop as they could. Dad would have to shove the rooster and yell, "Get in there you crazy rooster!" Then dad started to leave the lights on for the chickens hoping that whatever was getting the chickens would stay out. Didn't work.

It became routine for the chickens to try to back away from the coop while dad shoved them in there, yelling at them and calling them stupid chickens. One night as dad was yelling and shoving the chickens and the rooster to their death, he saw some bags in the corner of the coop. He decided he would clean it up. The chickens were staring at the bags and were making a bunch of noise. Dad paid no attention to them. He started to throw the bags in a pile in front of him when suddenly he saw it. It poked its head out. He tried to hit it with a bag but it didn't do much good. So he grabbed a pitchfork and stabbed it over and over. I can almost hear him yell, "die! die! die!" as he stabbed. The chickens all stayed as far away from dad as possible but still it seemed as though they were rooting him on as they were making lots of noise (maybe they were yelling, "die! die! die!"). Then finally, there stood dad, pitchfork in hand, and a dead possum at his feet.

The chickens are now safe but dad still leaves the light on for them. That same night, he brought the possum into the breezeway to show my 5 yrs old twins and my 10 yrs ago son. They stared, wide-eyed and mouth open, then one squeaked out, "what happened?"

Now, I have told you 2 stories of my dad, one about a demon (see below) and the other about a stabbing. Do you think my mom is worried? Is my dad going crazy? Well, let me tell you, my mom is not worried because dad has not changed a bit. My mom married a crazy man.

Is craziness genetic? I don't know, maybe you should ask Ray.

Thursday, March 09, 2006

The pretend microphone works best for me

I love to sing. I also love to tell stories so let me tell you a story of me singing. Most of my family has heard this story before.

My twin sister, Wendy, my cousins, Kenny and Randy, and me were all at a karaoke bar. After a few drinks, Wendy talked me into getting up on stage with her and Kenny. It was our turn. We all walk up and grabbed a microphone and waited for our song to come up.
"Rockin Robin by Michael Jackson"
Kenny yells, "I am not singing a Michael Jackson song!"
Wendy and I convince him that it was not a Micheal Jackson song by saying, "Micheal Jackson is from the 70's. This is a 50's song". So then we sang our hearts out. The song ended and the audience yells, "BOOO! Get off the stage!"

Later that night, I saw a friend of mine and she said, "you sucked".
I replied, "ha ha ha, I know."

Am I discouraged? Nooo. Ray and all of his family lies to me to encourage me to sing. But you know what really keeps me singing? It's when I am all by myself with the radio cranked loud, I'm playing my pretend guitar or piano, depending on the song, and the crowd thinks I sound great through my pretend microphone. I the only one that sings through a pretend microphone?

Tuesday, March 07, 2006

this is bethany

Sunday, March 05, 2006

a shriveled pear?

Brooke is the one in the purple dress and Paige is the one in the white. One night, I decided I needed to start exercising again. I like to watch TV while I exercise so I was deciding what movie would be nice to watch. Brooke came into the room and stood behind me. Here is the conversation that took place:

Brooke: "mama, you have a fat butt"
me: "that's why I am going to exercise"
Brooke: "nothing else is fat, just your butt. How does your butt get fat and not anything else?"
me: "I don't know, I guess I'm a pear"
Brooke: "mama, it's just your butt. nothing else is fat. your butt is big..."
I interrupted and said "oookkk, Brooke. I'm going to exercise now."

A couple days later, Paige and I were in the bathroom together. I was looking in the mirror and Paige said "mama, you don't look old"
I asked "I don't?"
Paige responds, "no, you look fine. You don't have wrinkles like meemaw."

Out of the conversations I had with my girls, I have come up with the conclusion that they believe I look like a pear but not a shriveled pear...yet.

Friday, March 03, 2006

my dad and...the devil?

This is my dad. He is so great. I love him dearly. He is a man of faith and has encountered God many times. BUT he has also encountered demons, which I witnessed once when I was a kid.

Are you ready for a story? A story that may change your skepticism on the spiritual realm? Here is that story...

One night, my son, Chantze, stayed with his papa. Before dad went to bed, he told Chantze to make sure he turn the TV off before he falls asleep. Dad then went upstairs to bed. In the middle of the night, dad woke up and went downstairs to use the bathroom. He saw Chantze sleeping on the couch and the TV still on. He turned the TV off, used the bathroom, and then went back upstairs. A few minutes after he lay down, he felt something in the bed with him. He asked, "Who's there?" At that moment, his cat's head popped up and said, "It's me, papa." Dad yelled, "Oh, Yeah!" then grabbed the cat around the neck, pushed it down, flipped the covers over it and punched it in the head. Whatever was under those covers yelled "it's me, papa! Chantze!" And then started to giggle.

This is what really happened...after dad came back upstairs and lay back down; he didn't realize he had fallen asleep. While he was asleep, Chantze climbed in bed with him. The cat always slept with my dad. When dad woke up, he thought the cat was demon possessed. And by the way, it was Chantze's head that got punched not the demon possessed cat.

Well? Are you spooked?