The good, the bad and the ugly.

I had strawberry freezer jam on toast for breakfast... again. I'm not a breakfast person but I will make an exception for strawberry freezer jam on toast, again and again and again. My nephew wanted to make a sandwich. He opened up the silverware draw. It didn't rattle as it normally does because it was empty. My steadily diminishing population of flatware had since been relocated to the dirty side of the counter. I deduced that information immediately upon entering the kitchen. My nephew needed time to stare into the drawer, taking in it's emptiness to process the possibilities.

"Keep staring, something might re-appear," I suggested as I helped myself to another cup of coffee. And so he did... for another full minute, just standing there staring at the empty drawer organizer. Finally he shook his head and shut the drawer, then dug through the dirty dishes for a knife to wash. It took a while but I think he's catching on.

I'm blogging with a wounded mouse. The left clicker has been amputated, no doubt during one of Zack's late night battles with his WOW buddies. He replaced the little panel but it doesn't stay in place, sticking to my finger every time I press down upon it. I'm going to go out on a limb and guess that Zack was not victorious in his conquest last night, thus inflicting the mortal wounds to the mouse. Sad times indeed.

Oh well, I suppose I've procrastinated enough and better get busy. I've got a huge splattering of pooh on my car to clean off. Some dang bird emptied it's cargo bay right over my beautiful little car while I was at work. There was so much ick all over the poor Impala that it almost drowned. My initial suspicions were that Big Bird forgot to go to the bathroom before leaving Sesame Street and chose my car as an emergency evacuation location but Big Bird can't fly, so now I'm wondering if maybe there is a California Condor cruising the friendly skies above my store. I was able to clean the junk off of the windshield but had to drive home with it oozing all over the rest of the poor little car. And let me tell you, it's very distracting to have two big splatters of bird crap dripping down your window as you're driving. It was there the whole time in my peripheral vision like a bright neon sign that flashed out 'Look at me, I've been shat upon!' Grrrrr!

Today I'm staking out the parking lot. I'm going to find that dang bird and I'm going to shoot a cork up it's tail pipe. Crap on my car will you? I don't think so!

TOO MUCH OF A GOOD THING?

Strawberries are on sale right now so I grabbed a bunch to make freezer jam. I got enough for 1 recipe then decided to make 2 batches so I bought some more strawberries. (what can I say, it's some gooooooood stuff!) I started crushing berries and measuring them out, and wouldn't you know the first batch of berries I bought was the perfect amount for 2 batches of jam. Which meant that I had a bunch of left over berries.

I still have a bunch of left over berries. Every time I seen an Oompa I remind them to eat the strawberries so they don't go bad. It's gotten to a point where I'm almost ordering them to eat the berries. I think they're starting to avoid me. Who would have thought I'd have to order my kids to eat strawberries! At any rate, I have 11 jars of strawberry freezer jam, which puts me pretty close to Strawberry Heaven, except for one little problem.

The Oompas ate the last of the bread and I have nothing to spread my strawberry freezer jam on!

I'm trying to justify making a special trip to the Grocery Store down the way to get a loaf of bread but Al Gore's image and warning about Global Warming haunts me.

That's okay, that's what spoons are for! Mmmmmmm good!

Dickidoo left for California on Friday. He decided to fly rather than to ask me to borrow the car. Actually I think he did it just so I wouldn't try to sneak one or more of the Oompas and maybe the Shithound into the trunk without him knowing. I haven't talked to him since his lay-over in Denver that night. I'm thinking he's having all kinds of fun and is not sharing. I'm thinking 'out of sight, out of mind'. I'm thinking at least one of us is having fun and it may as well be him... although I'd have rather it be me.

I hope he eats a real Fuji burger and maybe a Carnita's burrito for me. And maybe he can track down those folks from Killer Shrimp...

But he's not going there for the food. His brother's son is graduating (with honors! Yay Michael!) and Dickidoo wanted to be there for the celebration. And he will also be able to visit with friends and relatives he hasn't seen in years. I guess I should be happy for him instead of pouting because he left me home... with the Oompas... and the Shithound... and no real Fuji burger or Carnitas burrito... and no Killer Shrimp...

Yeah, at least one of us is having fun and it may as well be him!

THE OOMPAS STRIKE AGAIN,

and this time it's one of their own!

Life in LoompaLand is in a time warp. With all of the Oompas back in the nest it is like old times. The house is loud and messy. Someone is always hungry. We never have enough toilet paper. Coffee is the scent of the day.

I watched Gabe grooming his hair from the bathroom doorway yesterday. He is trying to grow his hair back to it's pre-Army length, down to his waist. In the mean time it is at an uncontrollable length that is just beginning to curl over his ears. So he mousse's it down.

'Do you know why I had to buy my own mousse?' Gabe asked as he slicked back his hair in front of the tacky turquoise faux marble vanity. 'I used the girl's gel the other day and when I got to work Dad looked at me funny and asked what I had in my hair. When I looked in the mirror my hair was covered with glitter. At first I thought I just got a little glitter on me, but then I realized that my hair was covered with glitter.' He turned and shook a tube of hair gel at me.

'This is fricken glitter gel! I went to work with fricken glitter gel in my hair!'

I laughed long and hard. I'm not sure if I was laughing harder at the thought of my big tough son showing up at work with his dark wavy, neatly groomed hair sparkling brightly in the morning sun, or the thought that he had become a victim of his own siblings.

Yep, it's just like old times.

Sticks and stones...

Some bratty t'weenaged kid called me a 'b-i-t-c-whatsit' the other day at work. In the first 47 years of my life nobody had ever called me a 'b-i-t-c-whatsit' to my face, and now all of a sudden it's almost as if it's written on a name tag on my forehead because everyone is calling me it.

I accept the moniker with professional pride.

Today is the last day of school. Ironically I'm not dreading it like the past. There's no on going count-down to the re-opening of school posted yet. With the Oompas being older and able to fend for themselves I will probably rarely see them between their busy schedules and my work. It's that way even now. I'm usually still asleep in bed when they leave the house in the morning and they're usually in bed by the time I get home from work.

Not to worry. The Oompas have never observed the sacred boundaries of my bedroom. If Dickidoo isn't lying on his side of the bed while I'm there, it's fair game for the girls and their late night re-caps or sleepy, morning breath conversations with me. Even the boys make a point of staying up on occasion to talk to me.

I feel for the bratty t'weenaged boy's parents because I doubt they will have such fond memories of conversations with him. I've seen him talk to his father and it was laced with profanity, not quite the thing fond memories are made of.

Today is the last day of school. Tomorrow is the first day of Summer Vacation and I am actually looking forward to spending some time with the Oompas. Of course, by the looks of their dry-erase calendar I may have to settle for those late night re-caps and morning breath scented conversations in bed.

More stuff n' such.

Dickidoo is going to California next month for our nephew's graduation. I don't get to go due to inventory, and besides I went on the Cross Country Pajama Party in March. I get to stay home with the Oompas. I heard from a little birdie that Dickidoo has made plans. He's made plans that include me and my cute little Impala. But as most of Dickidoo's plans that include me go, I am always the last to know. Apparently Dickidoo plans on driving my cute little Impala to California, most likely because of it's excellent mileage. And since a few years ago when he bought himself the Hemi for my birthday which coincidentally I can't reach the clutch because I'm only 5'2 and by the way, in case you haven't heard... I'm not very clutch friendly... Gabe gets to drive the Hemi and I get to drive....


The Pimp-mobile!


Okay, I know I'm not fooling anyone, I really want to drive the Pimp-mobile. I'm just wondering how long it will be before Dickidoo shares the plan with me. I'm predicting that if he doesn't read this blog first, he probably won't tell me until just days before the trip at which time he will swear he thought he discussed this with me already.


I'll be posting a new picture of myself... soon? Becca gave me a mid-life-make-over. She cut my hair and colored it. My hair is now just below my shoulders instead of just above my butt... And while it is still brunette, there's no white hair! Okay, so maybe some of the hair is a little (a lot) lighter than others, but it's not definitely, starkly, pure white!


Everyone has complimented me on my new look except for Dickidoo, whom I really don't think has even noticed. And he hasn't said anything about my new figure either. Grrrr! It's a good thing I'm not doing this on purpose because I'd be really ticked off by the wasted effort. As it is I'm just ticked off.


Look at me, dammit! Say something! (hey, easy! Be nice!)


A little boy, maybe 4 years old, smiled at me the other day and said 'Oooooo Mama!', just like that. That made my year.


Maybe I'll get a mohawk and dye it red while Dickidoo is gone, and pierce my belly button (which isn't as big as it used to be!)... think Dickidoo will notice then?


Nahhhhhhhhh, probably not.

Jubi-doo

What happens when a Shit-hound eats glitter? It lays shiny shit. We have shiny shit all over our back yard. Of course it's perpetual shit, Jubi ate the glitter and shat, then ate the glittery shit cos it was shiny and it tasted good(?) And then she shits the glittery shit, and then eats it again and... well, you get the picture.

And I have a shitty but glittery back yard.

Let me fill you in about our not so little basshit hound. For starters she has ADD... I didn't know dogs could have an attention deficit disorder. Jubilee cleared that misconception up real quick. She can't even pee without being sidetracked by a leaf blowing across the yard or a bug flying past. While her paws are some what clumbsy, she has velcro lips which suck in and latch on to anything within 6 inches of her jawls. She may only stand about 2 feet high but has a 4 foot reach. That means anything on the lower three shelves of the pantry, the bread box and the table are pretty much fair game when nobody is looking.

Jubi-doo is highly intelligent and is playing on our simple human minds. She does tricks for us, she can sit, and lay down. She shakes hands and gives high fives. More importantly, she has us trained to give her treats when she performs these silly little antics. But we love her for it and toss her a bacon-bit on command.

She is learning how to howl. So far she only does it by accident. So far it's still cute. I'm sure I will be fussing about it before long, but for now it really is quite adorable.

Summer is almost upon us. The Oompas only have a couple more weeks of school. I'm not dreading it that much this year. Perhaps it is because I'm pretty sure they will be gone most of the time. The girls both have steady boyfriends, and then there's their busy marching band schedule. Art hopefully will have a job by then and between that and time spent with his pink haired girlfriend he'll probably never be around either. Zack is seriously thinking about moving out to New York to help out on my sister's yak farm. And Gabe, who is now working in the same building as Dickidoo, is hoping to be out in his own apartment in a couple of months. My nephew will most likely be rejoining his family back east so it will just be Dickidoo, me....

Oh yeah, and the shit-hound!

1 rhinoceros, 2 rhinocerosesssss....?

There is a Community White Board at work full of important notices, Employee recognition and useless trivia. Two days ago, in the block reserved for useless trivia, was the following: A group of rhinos is a 'crash'. I actually found that interesting. (what can I say, I am easily amused). That little tidbit got my gears turning and promoted more questions, as any good bit of trivia will.

I love Google!

My first question was the obvious. How the heck does one spell the whole word? 'Rhino' only brought up encyclopedia entries for 'rhino'. I had to speed read through several pages to find 'rhinoceros'. Okay, so what is the plural for 'rhinoceros'?

I should have been happy with knowing the correct spelling and the knowledge that a group is called a crash. Wiktionary doesn't even know for sure. Acceptable options include 'rhinoceros', 'rhinoceri', 'rhinoceroi', 'rhinocerotes' and 'rhinocerot'.

Hopefully I will never encounter the need to use the plural for rhinoceros in this lifetime.

Thought for the day: 'Swine flu' is the past tense for 'When pigs fly'. (thanks Art)

Technically retarded

retarded: (adjective)
Delayed in development.

I lovingly refer to my kids as 'techno-geeks'. They are, but it's not genetic that's for darn sure. Dickidoo, in a moment of jealousy, purchased himself an ipod nano in an attempt to keep up with the Oompas. He was entranced by the possibility of having thousands of songs at his finger tip. Being as Mother's Day was right around the corner, he got one for me as well (in purple!)

That was Quarto de Mayo... May 4th. It is now Ocho de Mayo, May 8th. Neither one of us has a single song loaded on our ipods.

Did you know that before you can load music on to an ipod, you must transfer your music to iTunes? No biggie. All you have to do is select 'add folder to library' and iTunes can transfer it all over. It started off quickly, then a little box popped up. Did I want iTunes to convert my .wma files?

Sure, why not!

6 hours and 4434 files later iTunes sent me an error stating that I didn't have enough room in my iTunes library for all of the files (really? it's only 23G or 11 days worth of music... yes, it calculated all of that).

I don't even know 434 songs in my lifetime let alone 4434! I did a quick scan of my incomplete library. iTunes had loaded every sound file it found including little sound effects ( is that what those .wma files were?) When I get tired of listening to the soothing sounds of Kenny G. I can listen to 'body falling in snow' or 'car backfiring'.

4 days later and neither Dickidoo nor I have a single song loaded on our ipods. I'm thinking we probably should have saved ourselves some time and money and gotten portable 8 track tape players. (in purple of course!)

I CAN BREATH!

My nose has been running a marathon since the first thaw this spring. I don't mind. It could be worse. I could be full of snot and NOT have a runny nose. In my book congestion is worse than free flow.

But there is an absolutely disgusting gadget on the market these days to help combat nasal congestion. If you get congested a lot you have got to try it out.

It's a squirt bottle that you fill with a saline solution then you stuff the nozzle up one nostril and squirt the liquid up your nose. The saline goes up your nose, into your sinuses, and out the other nostril (and your mouth... don't swallow!), taking snot and mucus from your sinus cavities along with it. If you're not sure that it is actually doing it's job, just look in the sink as the saline pours out of your nose and into the basin. Yep, chunks and sludge!

As disgusting as it sounds, it is instant relief for this allergy suffering old lady and her pollen ravaged sinuses. Even the sinus headaches are gone. I feel positively rejuvenated. Sure beats the booger-ball that sucks out the mucus and your eye balls as well if you're not careful.

Now I can enjoy the fragrance of a warm spring morning, the roses, the lilacs, the Water Treatment Plant down the way...

Ah, spring time! I love it!

pensive...

Today was one of those days that started off good, kept getting better and then 'poof', I had to ruin it all by going home.

Sometimes I think my family is selfish. Then I feel selfish for thinking so. Either way, it sucks like a big bad baby. I have found that I get over it more quickly now days. Perhaps I've matured and learned to accept things that I cannot change... blah blah blah. Maybe I've become complacent and it doesn't matter that much. Or maybe I've become callous and I just don't care.

Either, or, and all of the above. What ever.

I sat alone on the patio while the others ate the meal I rushed to prepare as soon as I got home from work. Even the clouds were against me. But when I squinted real hard I saw that despite the gloomy over cast sky, the stars were still bright and shiny, as always. That made me smile. That always makes me smile. And when I turned around to go back inside I saw a sliver of the moon glowing softly in the dark.

Never saw the moon when it wasn't beautiful. 48 years and it still takes my breath away.

'Poof' and the evening ended well... as always.

And the answer is.....

GABE!

He rode in on the late Greyhound bus, looking just as good as he did the last time we saw him. Sadly this trip was made alone... no Kim, no Ryott or other little ones. It's a long story, sad story. It would make a good country 'somebody done somebody wrong' song, or a plot for a soap opera. At any rate, Gabe is here, Kim and the boys are 'there', and it looks like that is the way things will stay.

It was a white Easter here in the Springs. The snowflakes drifted lazily to the ground. I like standing outside when it's like that, no wind, just a faint wisp of motion as the flakes descend from the sky. I know I've mentioned this before and many people think I'm crazy for saying it, but the snowflakes really do make a tinkling sound as they fall. It's a soothing, peaceful sound. It sounds like home.

My boy is finally home.

I hope everyone's Easter was a wonderful as ours.

pssst!

The Easter Bunny is bringing us Easter Eggs and Peeps on Sunday morning. But guess what the Easter Grayhound is bringing us on Sunday Evening?

Go ahead, guess!

Bubble Wrapped

A while back, more like two decades ago, a good friend of Steve's and mine died tragically in a car accident. Up until then the only deaths I had to deal with were from elderly relatives by natural causes. The fragility of life and the finality of death shocked me to the core. There would be more to come, some only months apart... until a rainy night took one of our dearest friends from us and I cried until I was sure I had used up my very last tear.

I did not. That would come in 2000 when a young friend, almost as close as any of my sons, lost his life. The pain that I thought could not get worse... did. The tears I thought for sure had dried up... flooded.

That was when I decided that I could not take any more. I distanced myself from friends. I held back from new acquaintances. I wrapped my heart in a cocoon of bubble wrap to ward off any further pain.

The bubble wrap worked. A good man, one that I enjoyed talking to when ever we met but never went out of my way to seek out, died last week. From within my protective wrapper I was unaware that he had even been ill. I did not know he was gone until a week later. Upon hearing the news I struggled to recall his face and to hear his voice. My mind drew a blank and no tears fell.

I pulled up the obituary, for the third time this evening. I saw the kind and gentle face, the rumpled hair I liked to make fun of. In the back of my mind I heard his voice as he talked about hunting. We would both take turns poking fun at Steve. We should have been friends.

I should have known that he was ill. A friend would have known.

I read once that feeling pain every now and then lets you know that you are alive. I have been suffocating myself in an effort to shield myself from hurt. I need to know what it is like to be a good friend again. If it hurts from time to time, I am sure it will have been worth it.

In the quiet of the house, unprotected by bubble wrap, tears of sadness and regret finally fell and it felt good to feel again.

He was a good man, and a good friend.

Some things never change...

I was just reading my previous entries and realized that in the picture of my three sisters and me, I was the slob of the bunch. They all had neatly combed hair, charming smiles... and purses! Then there's me, with yesterday's ponytail, my 'ahhhh, hurry up and take the picture already!' grimace, lopsided glasses perched on my crooked nose, and an over-drawn debit card in the closest to a purse I have... my butt pocket. I was, still am and probably will always be a mess!

But my sisters don't mind because I make them look good.

And I don't mind because they make me feel good!

Weigh off!

A word of advice to any weight conscious people out there: Never step on an unfamiliar scale!

While traveling cross country and during one of my many Rest Stop visits, I stepped on a brightly decorated scale. For a mere quarter it promised to give me my accurate weight and monthly horoscope. Sucker that I am I stepped upon the platform and deposited a coin.

It lied! I do NOT weigh... what ever it said I weighed, and opportunity did not knock on my motel room door at any point during the trip!

I want my quarter back!

Upon my return home I rushed to the bathroom and pulled out my favorite (broken) scale. I dusted it off and set it gently on the floor. I stepped on it's peeling surface and watched the dial turn first one way and then the other before it kindly settled with the little arrow pointing very definitely at 148 pounds.

Yes!

The fact that everyone who steps on my scale weighs 148 pounds is just a coincidence. My scale is in perfect working order.

Honk if you pick your nose!

I was noticing on my little continental road trip, that people sure do like to pick their noses while they're driving. These same people probably wouldn't dream of stuffing their index or pinkie finger (the most popular digit due to it's smaller size) up their nostril in public, but for some reason they don't consider their vehicle with windows on 3 sides allowing a clear view to the other motorists zooming beside them on the asphalt to be 'public', so they dig away.

Equally puzzling is the spectator's disgusted fascination. I must admit that despite my distaste of the spectacle, I found myself mesmerized and unable to tear my gaze away from the scene as it unfolded beside me, one lane over.

'Oh no, you are not going to eat it!'

Oh yes, he did. They always do. Or they wipe it on some surface just out of view. Occasionally they will flick their catch of the day out the window and our eyes might meet. They might even smile. They still believe that they possess the ability to become invisible when they pick their nose. I can only imagine the pile of nose pickin's on the floor of the vehicle.

I always wondered where those little pebbles on the little floor mats came from.

Now I think I know...

So any way, I was driving home from work this evening and without even realizing it, my right index finger sought out my right nostril in the dark.

I came to my senses before I violated my nasal passage, but I heeded the warning.

Goober drilling is contagious!

'Flick it, don't eat it. No snacking between meals, you'll ruin your appetite!'

Ahhhhhh....

In all of our excitement, the Aunties/Sisters forgot to get a picture so we enlisted the help of a kind random stranger at the airport to capture the moment for us before Lisa boarded her plane. This morning I put Val on her plane to return to the Yak Farm and a surreal feeling came over me as life grudgingly returned to normal. I had such a wonderful time with my older sisters and am so grateful that we are close enough physically and emotionally to be able to continue a relationship with each other even after we have moved away and made separate lives with our own families. I cannot stress enough to the Oompas how important family ties are... now and in the future.

Don't waste time over petty differences. Always love each other.

Having said that, it really is nice to be back home. Dickidoo had gifts for us girls from the Denver March Pow Wow which we had to miss. And while he didn't say so, I choose to believe that his familiar smile meant that he missed me, even just a little bit. After all, he saved us some of the ribs he was bragging about the other night while we feasted on luke warm hot pockets for the 2nd night in a row.

Zack barely acknowledged us when we entered the door, never even taking his eyes of the WOW screen. When I nagged him, he grinned but snarled in his customary style . It was obvious that aliens had NOT abducted him, same old Zack. Oddly enough his goofy snarl was missed and it was nice to hear it again after 11 days of not.

Art probably missed his Pink Haired Girlfriend more than he missed anyone else, which is as it should be. His own plans for a trip to Oklahoma had been cancelled due to the blizzard so he spent most of the time baby sitting his Pink Haired Girlfriends little Purple Haired Brother... and Jubilee!

Jubilee grew while we were away. And she has learned a new trick, to lay down on command.

She still eats shit. Grrrr!

I think even my Nephew missed me a little and he followed me around sharing his adventures of living the 'Bachelor Life' and other bits of random trivia. I mess with him a lot and sometimes he drives me nuts... Okay, he drives me nuts A LOT! But I missed him too.

But one thing I missed without realizing until my return was my toilet.

I had been in more different restrooms in the 11 days of my trip than I had been in all of 2008. Some were fancy, some were not so fancy. One boasted of being the Cleanest on I80. One claimed to be 'pretty' (it was!). The farm had a motion activated light which shuts off after 15 minutes. (really cool unless you're taking a 16 minute shower). A couple of the motels had a heating lamp which I used on occasion.

But none was as comforting or welcoming (or custom fitted) like mine right here in Loompa-Land. When I finally sat down on my throne after such a long absence I knew that I was in fact home.

My butt sighed. (excuse me!)

Ah, Pocket Yahtzee, right where I left it.

Cross Country Pajama Party, Day 11

11 days and about 450 miles later our Cross Country Pajama Party came to an end. By the Grace of God, Mother Nature and the Impala we made it home safely. The girls were amazing and with the exception of their excessive gas and random bouts of singing obnoxious songs, were no problem at all.

On this trip we made several major discoveries;

* Loveland, Colorado has one of the coolest McDonald's we'd ever been to.

* It only takes half an hour to turn 20 oz. of soda pop into 1 gallon of pee.

* 5 people can eat the same thing but their farts will all smell different.

* 'Imaginarily' is a word if you use your imagination.

* It is impossible to distinguish pig and yak pooh from mud when it rains.

* Adults and teenagers sound the same when they are having fun.

* It is possible to eat too much chocolate.

* Drivers are usually frowning as they drive until someone (even a random Oompa) smiles and waves at them at which time about 80% of them will return the smile.

* Booger drilling is a common past time while driving.

* Snowflakes are sharp and hurt at 75 mph.

* Even a hard mattress feels good after 10 hours on the road.

* A messy home is a welcomed sight after 11 days.

* Sisters and Oompas ROCK! (so does Art's Pink Haired Girlfriend)

Almost home...

Do NOT be fooled, they are NOT angels! (But they were pretty darn good on the trip in Oompa terms.)

World's Largest Truck Stop

We made it to Iowa just in time for a snow storm on Saturday night. With 6 hours under our belt we were already ahead of schedule so we called it an early night and pulled in to the next exit. Iowa 80 was hard to miss with all it's lights and signs, and trucks.

It was a fricken maze! I turned into the parking lot to explore the possible supper options. Of the three visible restaurants, at least one person in the car had an objection to every one. Not to fear, the signs along the interstate promised many more, some where in the area known as Iowa 80. The place is so big it probably has it's own zip code! As soon as I got into the parking lot I was immediately dwarfed by the hundreds of big rigs. With about 4 inches of snow and slush on the ground there was no telling where or what the markings on the ground were.

Lost in a sea of monster trucks I picked one and began to follow it out. After 15 minutes that felt like an hour we pulled up in front of the Econo Lodge. All cravings for Taco Bell, McDonalds and Wendy's were gone and Hot Pockets were the unanimous choice being as they were as close as the cooler in the trunk. We parked, checked in and settled in to our room. And the Hot Pockets were delicious, until Dickidoo sent a picture of the BBQ ribs he and the boys had for supper. Grrrr!

Morning light brought sobering confirmation that our decision to stop for the night when we did was a good one. Abandoned cars and trucks speckled the roadside like carcasses. In the back seat the Oompas giggled and waved to passing motorists. In the front seat my sister and I thanked our blessings. The passing motorists... not so much.

'Honk if you like cheese'
'Honk if you like muffins'
'Honk if Yoda you like.'