The road to hell...

When I posted a couple weeks ago, I said that I intended to post a Buncha Books post within a few days of ending my student teaching.  HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!  I do have myself some grandiose ideas.  And when I couple those ideas with good intentions... well, I find myself on that proverbial road quite often.

First of all, have I printed thing one for either of my unit plans, which I have to hand in tomorrow?  Here, let me answer that for you... NO.  Have I prepared for the final exam review I volunteered to give (out of the "what was I thinking" goodness of my heart) my college students tonight despite the fact that TECHNICALLY there are no more classes until the final?  Again... NO.  Have I made Christmas cookies, gotten and/or put up and decorated a tree, made any sort of preparation for Beth's birthday which is NEXT WEEK and for which she wants to have a SLUMBER PARTY?  NO, NO, and HOLY CRAP NO.

Have I gotten any teacher gifts yet, which, while I always suspected should just be giant bottles of vodka, now I KNOW should just be giant bottles of vodka?  Also, NO.

So, in conclusion, my Buncha Books post is on hold, but it's coming eventually, I promise.  Because there is a 4-foot high stack of books that I would like to be able to put away, but can't until I review them, and I'm tired of bumping into it, knocking it over, and having to re-stack the books.

Hello, hello? Is this thing on...

Wow. It has been almost two years since I've posted here. I'm alive (though barely). "Why are you back now?" you ask. Or I ask, in an attempt to fool myself into thinking I am actually talking to someone, that all of my readers haven't cleared out their subscription list. Well, in true Picklebottom form, I am procrastinating and it's the other person's move in all my "Words With Friends" games. "What are you procrastinating?" you wonder. Well, I have spent the last year trying to get to the point that I have almost gotten to, so now that there are two weeks left, it is time to start putting things off until the last minute. "Hmmm. What have you been up to over the last year?" you ask. All the questions! Aren't you nosy? Well, since you're obviously not going to drop it, I'll tell you.

Mr. Picklebottom lost his job almost two years ago. He still has not found anything, which SUCKS, but that is just a tangent to my story, though it was the stimulus. A few months after he lost his job, I began working as a special ed aide sub at an elementary school which then led to a full-time special ed aide job. I loved it and wish I could still be doing it. Sadly, the job did not come with benefits, so I had to keep looking. Everything I found that would make use of my master's degree in math also wanted the candidate to be a teacher. The fact that I had taught on the college level did not count; they wanted certification. So I called a local college and discovered that I would only need to take four courses and then student teach for a semester to get my certification for 7th-12th grade. So I signed up. I finished out the school year as a special ed aide and went to school at night. Just as my student teaching stint was to begin this fall, I was contacted by the local community college to teach a course or two. Because we needed the money, I took a course, though the advisor for student teaching practically flogged me for it, saying trying to have a job while student teaching was a HUGE mistake. My stress level over the last few months has proven him right, but don't tell HIM that, because it appears that I MAY actually finish this whole thing successfully.

So now I'm down to my last two weeks of student teaching. I have two unit plans to put together, but that's not a big deal since it pretty much just involves printing all the lesson plans, activity descriptions, worksheets, tests, quizzes, and project descriptions out, taking a picture of bulletin boards that I (still need to) put together, and then organizing them chronologically. Then I just have to make sure all my lesson plans, reflections, and whatnot are organized as well. Doesn't sound too bad, but I have some catch-up to play, and I need to be ready for all my crap to be looked at by my supervisor on Tuesday.

It will happen, and then if I'm lucky, all the hair that fell out from the stress will grow back and the weight I lost will stay gone. Since I'm rarely lucky, though, I'm guessing the hair will remain thinner than ever and the weight will come back within a week... in fact, I think this weekend I recovered some of the weight that had been lost.

So I'm almost done. Then maybe I'll be able to check in here on a more regular basis. Maybe I'll even be able to get back to my Buncha Books review posts... they were the only way I was able to keep track of what I read, and the piles of books around here from lack of time to read are getting ridiculous. Possibly even dangerous, as whenever one of my children isn't accounted for, I have to consider whether a pile of books toppled over and buried her.

I'm not going to make any promises, but I will make an effort. To give me a little push, I will say that my intention will be a Buncha Books post within a few days of my completion of student teaching. Until then, if your holiday decorating involves the use of a ladder, don't fall off.

A conversation

Me: I bought that t-shirt.

Meg: Which one?

Me: The one that says, "If you consider the set of all sets that have never been considered, does it disappear?".

Meg: You're such a dork.

(short pause)

Meg: You should go on "What Not to Wear". They pay $5000.

Me: Why should I go on "What Not to Wear"?

(pointed look)

Meg: I love you.

(end scene)

Well, hello.

Been a long LOOOONNNG time. I don't really have anything to say, but I thought I'd report that every cloud does indeed have a silver lining. The silver lining to the water-pouring-through-our-roof-into-our-attic-yesterday cloud is... HOT ROOFER GUY.

Marching to the beat of her own drum... and harmonica and guitar and cymbals and...

Recently, I was told that while some kids march to their own drummers, Beth has her own one-man band.


Photo credit: Found this photo here.

Thank you!

After leaving my last post up for a week, I am taking it down, as I do not want it floating out there for any longer. I appreciate all of your comments and emails. Some of you gave me some interesting things to look into and I was touched by the thoughts and well-wishes. Despite my lack of posting, I do still have some readers, and they are AWESOME ones. Thank you!

Turn it off! Turn it off!

There seem to be a lot of posts out there (I'd link, but don't feel like making the effort today) mentioning celebrities that you (a general you, not necessarily YOU specifically, unless you've written one or more of these posts) like, love, admire and/or would sleep with given the opportunity despite any existing relationship. I even wrote a post like that the last time I posted. So today I am doing something a little different. Today I will list those celebrities who simply, by the virtue of their existence, annoy the hell out of me. To the point that I would rather stick hot needles in my eyes than spend one second seeing these folks on TV or hearing them on the radio. The ones that make me close my eyes, cover my ears and yell, "Turn it off! Turn it off!" So, in no particular order, the celebrities (that I can think of at this moment) that annoy me:

Tyra Banks - HATE her for no particular reason. I don't know her. I just can't stand to look at her or hear her talk.

Celine Dion - I have seen or heard her where I didn't run screaming from the room, but only once, and I think I may have had too much to drink and been incapable of running or screaming coherently.

Mariah Carey - NEVER seen or heard her when I didn't run screaming from the room (in my head, I wouldn't want to make a spectacle of myself), though I am CONSIDERING making an exception to see that movie Precious.

Dr. Phil - Self-righteous pompous jackass who makes an awesome living spouting advice that amounts to nothing more than common sense.

Kate Gosselin - The hair. I just can't get past the hair. Also, she makes up more words that don't actually exist than our old pal George W.

There are more, but I can't think of them right now because Amy is now screaming that I MUST attend to the fact that SHE IS FINISHED WITH HER POPCORN. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do about that, but I should go find out. In the meantime, what celebrities make you want to vomit and/or scratch your eyes out?

My imaginary boyfriend

One of these days I'll get around to posting Halloween pics of my kids, but that takes some effort... you know, moving the little card from the camera to the computer and uploading the pictures. Instead, inspired by a thought I have every single time I watch Destination Truth (and I not only watch it, I DVR it to watch at my convenience because I don't want to miss any), I decided to pause the show (and it's a really good Yeti one) to see just how old Josh Gates is so that I could determine if it would be in the realm of possibility for me to marry him should something happen to my husband... Dum Dum Duuuuhhhhh.

He is 32. A LITTLE young for me, but maybe not. I'm 38, so it's within the realm of possibility, right? Anyway, he cracks me up. And he ain't too bad to look at, either. It really surprises me that with all the "these are my crushes" posts out there, I've never seen Josh on anyone's list. Well, he's at the top of mine (along with Johnny Depp, especially as Jack Sparrow - don't judge, I'd make him brush his teeth first).



I even like him in his librarian glasses. If I can't marry him, I'd settle for joining his expeditions. Really, don't you think that what they're missing is a middle-aged mother of four? I do have my SCUBA certification, though, and more importantly, I'd be willing to do the things they do. Well, except for the whole Chernobyl thing... I would've called in sick for that one.



Hubba hubba, baby.


Photo credits: Found these on the Internet. I'm probably violating someone's copyright. If it's yours, tell me and I'll credit you.

I am a GENIUS or a really really bad mom

As I sit here typing this, little Amy is vacuuming the playroom. With her own vacuum. That we gave her for her birthday. Yes, my toddler is doing the housework while I am... well... not.

"How did this strange and wonderful (and possibly just plain WRONG) turn of events come about?" you may (or may not) be asking yourself. Well, Amy has always loved vacuuming. Before she got her own, she would either INSIST on holding the handle while I vacuumed (which slowed the job considerably, since normal speed would have resulted in baby whiplash and/or dislocated shoulder) or using the dustbuster. Since our dustbuster is pretty heavy for her and I really like being able to vacuum at a speed faster than molasses, I decided that I would get her a toy vacuum for her birthday. Then I saw the prices for toy vacuums. They aren't exactly cheap. The cheapest I found was $19.99, but it was not even remotely realistic and didn't even have real vacuuming sounds. Those run more like $35-$50. So then I thought I would check real ones, and I found some pretty inexpensive ones. I ended up getting her a little Eureka upright for $19.99. It even has an extendable handle, so we just don't extend it to make it the perfect size for a toddler. She LOVES it. It doesn't do the greatest job, but it certainly doesn't hurt.

Exploitation or just plain genius? What do you think?

This belongs in Amy's baby book, but I'm too lazy to go get it out

For any of you who hate those parents who seem to brag on their kids, stop reading now. While I am actually not bragging here (just relating facts), it is most definitely going to sound like it. This is, however, my blog, and if I choose to record information here because I am too lazy to go find the baby book to record it there, and it is information that may be of interest in the future that I don't want to forget (because I forget EVERYTHING), and by doing so I sound like Braggy McBraggerson, then so be it. Also, there are probably way too many commas in that last sentence.

Anyway, now that I've gotten all the defensiveness off my chest and hopefully run off anyone who will accuse me of bragging, let me start bragging:

Dudes, my kid potty-trained herself AND SHE CAN READ. Now this would mean nothing (or it could be a little on the sad side) if I were speaking of my 15-year-old or even my 8- or 6-year-old. But guys, this is my just-turned-3-last-week-year-old. Also, the potty-training thing is not bragging at all, since it's not like she's even at an early age for it or anything, the good part about the potty-training is that it took absolutely no effort on my part. Good things that happen are good; good things that happen with no effort on my part are FANTASTIC. About two weeks before her birthday she simultaneously decided that she would now go on the potty (and has not had a single accident since that decision was made) and started sounding out simple words. Now she can read books as long as they consist exclusively of words with no more than four letters or so, though there are a few bigger words she either knows or can sound out. My other three kids were reading around age 3 1/2, but this one is blowing my mind starting it pre-three.

End bragging. Begin contemplating the difficulty in raising this child that I know is coming, since I have been cursed blessed with raising three other gifted kids as well. Amy will make number four, and I am already EXHAUSTED.

Given a random situation, do the possible tragedies or the possible happy endings go through YOUR mind?

My mom was in town this past week. She is looking to move from SC to either CT (family there and home that she's always loved on the market that it turns out was built by her grandfather), PA (close to us) or FL (grew up there, friends, familiar with area). To that end, I was taking her around doing drive-bys of some properties so she could decide whether she liked them enough to ask a realtor to show her inside them.

I'm going to tell you a little story about what happened within a very short time span Tuesday afternoon and let you in on the scary way my mind works. Because do I think of all the possible good endings to a situation? Nooooooo. I have a talent for very quickly conjering up all possible tragic scenarios.

We drove past a farm with a roadside store that is a popular field trip destination in our area, particularly in the fall, when there are hayrides and pony rides and pumpkin picking and corn mazes. As we sped past, I noticed A LOT of people milling about the pony ride area and the entrance to the corn maze and then, after passing by where all those people were, just where the corn maze wall blocked my view of them and would block the views of all those people to the road, I saw something at the side of the road. I should mention that the road is, while not a major highway, a very busy two-lane rural highway where cars travel at pretty high speeds (I think the speed limit at the location of the farm is 45 mph, but cars regularly travel as high as 55-60 through there.).

My mom was talking about some of the properties we had seen and I was doing that half-listening thing while my brain was trying to process the scene, which it knew was somehow NOT RIGHT, though it took a few seconds before it registered exactly WHY the scene was not right. And the reason why the scene was not right is that the object on the side of the busy high-speed road was a little boy. A very little boy. A boy that looked to be somewhere between three and four. I interrupted my mom, "That's a kid." "What?" she asked. She hadn't seen him. I pulled over to the side of the road and got out of the car. "Be careful," my mom said.

So the situation was this: I was near my car anxiously waiting for a break in traffic so I could cross to the other side of the street to get to the boy. I was also about 40 to 50 yards up the street from him, due to the length of time it took me to register that a little kid was standing by a busy road with no adult in sight and pull over. [Possible tragedy #1 - The kid steps into traffic and gets hit before I can get to him. Obvious - anyone would come up with that one.] By the time I managed to get across the street and start sprinting toward him, another woman had spotted him and had stopped her car (and the traffic behind her) and was yelling out her window to him, "Don't move! Stay right there!" Unfortunately, she was in the same lane of traffic I had been in, which meant there was still the opposite direction lane between her and the kid. [Possible tragedy #2 (keep in mind I'm running a 50-yard dash all out and I'm STILL creating tragedies in my head) - The kid, who seems to be standing there in a daze, would either have his daze broken and step out into the street OR wouldn't understand what the woman was yelling and try to walk across the lane of traffic to her, either one resulting in him getting hit because despite a crazy woman sprinting down the shoulder of the road and traffic in the opposite direction completely stopped, cars traveling in the lane between the boy and stopped traffic were still flying by.] So in my head I was chanting while trying my hand at psychic communication, "don't move, don't move, don't move,..."

As I was running, I noticed that the woman in the stopped car had begun to nose her car into the oncoming lane of traffic. I immediately split my psychic powers between the boy and the woman, because the same chant applied to her. [Possible tragedy #3 - A car traveling in the lane between the woman's car and the boy swerves to avoid the woman's car and hits the boy.] After what seemed like the longest 50-yard dash in history, I got to the kid and placed my hand on his shoulder just as another car whizzed by. I turned him away from the road and started walking toward the corn maze while telling the woman I would take him and find where he was supposed to be. She drove off. [Possible tragedy #4 - The person who did the things I did wasn't me, but instead was a pedophile or some other person with less than honorable intentions.]

So in the time it took me to get out of my car and run 50 yards, I managed to come up with 4 possible tragic ends to the situation. Thank goodness it ended up like this:

The little boy looked up at me with tears dried on his face and one single wet one left on his cheek and asked, "What's your name?"

Me: "Mrs. Picklebottom. What's YOUR name?"

Boy: James.

Me: James, are you here with your school or with your mommy?

James: Mommy says school is on Monday and Wednesday."

Me (racking my brain to try to remember what freaking day it is, because I'm still pretty shook up, and coming up empty): OK, so did you come here on a field trip or did your mommy bring you?

James: Mommy.

Me: Let's go find her.

James (apparently realizing he has no idea who I am, starts pulling his hand out of mine): OK.

We started doing this delicate dance of him trying to not hold my hand, while I tried to hold his hand, because no way was I going to lose this kid before we found his mom. We found her and his baby sister (about 18 months old) waiting at the exit of the corn maze. She didn't know he had gotten out of the maze before her and was waiting for him. I told her that I had found him on the side of the road, but I don't think it quite registered. I think she still probably thinks that I found him wandering around with all the people near the parking lot or something. I was too flustered to clearly explain the situation and I think she was a little confused about what I was saying. I did ask how old James was; he had just turned four.

Neopolitan hair

My oldest daughter is looking for opinions. She wants to dye her hair "neopolitan." In my house, hair is not a battle I choose in the whole "choose your battles" way of dealing with kids. I choose piercings and tattoos. They get hair and clothes (to a point). Anyway, she has come up with two ways to do this and wants to know what others think, so she asked me to post it here and ask your opinions:



I myself like the second option better. Mainly, I'm just impressed that she can render herself so well in a simple drawing with such little detail. Anyone who knows her and saw that would know exactly who it is.

Thinking outside the box

Part of Beth's homework yesterday was a math sheet. The kids are currently learning about temperatures and measuring them, and the first question on the sheet was this:

1. Look for thermometers around your home.

I found ______ thermometers in my home.

The expected answer would be a number, right? After the kids were in bed last night and I was packing up bags for this morning, I looked over Beth's homework before I stuck it in her folder (yes, I know that checking homework AFTER the kids have gone to bed could cause logistical problems if there is something incorrect or incomplete, but really I only check for completeness, not correctness, since I think you learn something better if you've screwed it up the first time, and I have been known to drag them out of bed at night or extra early in the morning to complete something, so they've learned to do it all in the interest of sleep). Look at the question above again. Now look at her answer:

1. Look for thermometers around your home.

I found MEAT thermometers in my home.

And THAT is why they should have an actual child test these workbooks before they are released to the public. That question should OBVIOUSLY say:

1. Look for AND COUNT the thermometers around your home.

How many thermometers did you find in your home? ________

I did not have Beth change her answer to a number. I did explain that the type of answer expected here was a number, though it wasn't made clear by the question and therefore her answer was not incorrect. I put a sticky note on the sheet for the teacher and I think Beth's answer is WAY better than a number.

Flash Forward

Did any of you watch Flash Forward last night? I think I might really like it. If you missed it and want to check it out because I said it looks interesting (which is as good a reason as any, maybe a better reason than most), it's being rebroadcast tonight. I don't remember what time, but it's on ABC. You can thank me later for turning your new fall TV frown upside down.

Drinking buddies

Never underestimate the value of drinking buddies. They're the ones that say things like, "Maybe you should eat something with that."

Am I missing something?

Today I got a Facebook friend request from someone... let's call her CB (those are her initials). I didn't recognize the name, but my memory ain't what she used to be, so I clicked over to see if I recognized anything about her: picture, info, whatever. I didn't, but still thinking that my memory could be at fault here (this has happened before and I contacted the person and she explained to me who she was and I realized that she OBVIOUSLY knew me since she knew things about me from middle school, but I still to this day have NO MEMORY WHATSOEVER of her, though I accepted her request anyway because to not do so at that point would have been just mean, plus I lied and replied, "Oh yeah, NOW I remember," to her message, even though I clearly did not, and WHY are those the people who update their statuses CONSTANTLY and post EVERY result of EVERY quiz or game and play EVERY quiz or game?), I decided to send her a message and the following exchange of messages occurred:

Me: Hello. I've received a friend request from you. Can you please tell me how I know you? Thanks.

CB: i just sent out a friend request [**uh, YEAH, hence my question**]

Me: Yes, I know. But who are you? How do I know you?

CB: we have never met

Sooooooooooo....... just what the hell am I missing here? I can't think of a response to this message that doesn't seem just rude, so I probably won't respond at all and will ignore the friend request, but I have to admit to a little curiosity about WHY.

I suggest that Facebook add another request called Random Stranger Request. Then I can send you (well, not YOU, because we obviously KNOW each other) a Random Stranger Request for what purpose I don't know, I can only supply so much of a genius idea, you know. Then if you ignore the Random Stranger Request, that means you are NOT a random stranger, so Facebook would AUTOMATICALLY add us to one another's Friends list. If you were to ACCEPT the Random Stranger Request, however, then anytime you or I tried to access one another's profile, we would get a flashing red warning:

STRANGER DANGER! STRANGER DANGER!

Little miss genius

Yesterday, I had four cookies left in a bakery box. My three youngest kids were eating lunch and the 2-year-old, Amy, finished first. So I opened the box and told her to just take one so that Jo and Beth could each have one when they were done. She took out her cookie and said, "There will be one left. Who will eat it?"

Holy Budweiser, Batman!

It's only two days since my last post which means, if you note the length of time between posts in the recent past, pigs are flying over a glacier in hell. No doubt the glacier will melt and the pigs will crash and burn immediately upon my hitting the "Publish Post" button, filling hell with the delicious aroma of BACON, thus rendering hell much less hell-like, possibly even heaven-like. Well, except for the pigs, who would still consider it quite hell-like. Anyway, I had to post this church sign that I passed the other day when I went to pick up my daughter from a friend's house.



The use of a beer commercial as the basis for this little gem just cracked me up.

Also, show of hands: Who thinks my title for this post is stupid and who finds it to be an inspired bit of brilliance? Because really, I can't decide.

How do you think they do those prison tats?

Finally I can remember (most of) one of my bizarre dreams. Before I get to that, though, I want to just say, "Hi y'all! How've ya been?" I've been up to A LOT, including a long road trip with four kids, a 20th high school reunion, and various and sundry other things. I'll probably even get around to posting about some of it after the kids start back to school (Sept. 9th). In the meantime, enjoy the blessed silence from my little corner of the blogging world (except for today's post, of course).

Anyway, I had to post this morning because when I woke up, I actually could remember my dream, and my first thought was, "I think this comes close to one of Shauna's." Though frankly, some of her real life sightings would rival some of my weird dreams.

I was awakened from my dream by a truck-in-reverse beeping noise, though at first, in my half-asleep haze, I thought it was my oldest daughter's alarm clock. Since she was spending the night at a friend's house, I went to her room to check. By the time I looked out my bedroom window to find the its source, the noise had stopped and an ambulance was pulling away from a neighbor's house across the street. I have a somewhat amusing story about that neighbor, but it seems inappropriate to relay it here, juxtaposed as it would be with the whole ambulance thing. I'll try to remember to tell you that story later.

So, my dream. Yes I am FINALLY getting to it. I was sitting in a cafe-type restaurant with a friend of mine that I only see when I go to SC. We walked up to the counter to pay, and standing there was Jerry Bruckheimer and his wife.



I don't know how I knew it was Jerry Bruckheimer and his wife, since I wouldn't know them if I ran into the on the street and in my dream he looked like Larry David.



Anyway, I knew it was him, so I paid him for our lunch and I asked him for his autograph. For some reason, I had with me a pen and a pad of 8 1/2" x 11" ruled paper, and I started flipping through the pad to find a blank sheet. My oldest daughter is somewhat of an artist and she had drawn on EVERY. SINGLE. SHEET. Finally I found a sheet she had missed and turned to it. [At this point, I should note that I was wearing a sleeveless, spaghetti-strap type top (which I never wear), which will become important here in a moment.] I turned the pad to face Jerry (we had been talking and joking, so we were on a first name basis), and handed him the pen. He took the pen, then reached out and scrawled his signature across my chest with a big flourish while saying, "We are Bruckheimers! What do I want with paper?" To which I responded as I looked down at my chest, "Yes, but I can't KEEP this one." So he autographed my paper as well, then said his farewells and walked into the back room. At that point I bent over in pain, saying, "Owwwwwwww!" His wife, who had been standing there observing the entire exchange asked what was wrong.

Me: This is a ball-point pen, not a felt-tip.

Her: Oh, ouch.

Me: Yeah. Do you think any of this will be tattooed on me?

Her: What do you mean?

Me: Well, it broke some skin, like a scratch in the shape of his name, and the ink...

Her: Oh, I see...

My friend: Yeah, definitely could happen. How do you think they do those prison tats?

And cue the wake-up.

If you like pina coladas...

I knew it had been a while since my last post, and it had been another while since my post before that, and well, I'm busy and really really lousy at time management. I wouldn't even have a post today except for Facebook. So those of you who are my FB friends may have already seen this, but it's all I've got.

I heard the song "Escape" yesterday. You know, the one also known as "The Pina Colada Song." I am too lazy to go find an n with the little tilde thing on top. Anyway, it made me wonder, and I posted this as my status:

In "The Pina Colada Song," do you think after they got over their amusement at the coincidence, they got pissed?

This generated the most comments on a status that I think I've ever gotten. Anyway, an old friend of mine has an unusual amount of ire toward this song and the man and woman in it. He got quite worked up, so I decided to write a few follow-up verses to the song to try to ease his mind. Here they are:

We left the bar to head home then; we had driven two cars.
I got to thinking about it, driving under the stars.
Hold on just a second; turns out I have half-a-brain.
My lady tried to cheat; my calm was hard to maintain.

'Cause she likes Pina Coladas, and placing personal ads.
She was trying to escape me, feels like a kick in the 'nads.*
She'd rather make love with someone else; in the dunes of the cape.
Now I'll make plans for her and then plan my escape.

I confronted her later about the personal ad.
She said since I answered, that I was just as bad.
And while that may be true, 'twas she who tried to stray first.
So I poisoned her champagne, then I sang her this verse:

"Don't care for Pina Coladas; you see, I much prefer scotch.
Making love in the cape dunes just gets sand in my crotch.
I might get more into health food; and try to extend my life.
So that after I kill you, there's time to find a new wife."

Turns out she was mad also, and she had poisoned my scotch.
She said, "Your time's running out now," and she looked at her watch.
So we both lay there dying; there was not much to say.
Health food would not help us; we wouldn't see the next day.

"So if you like Pina Coladas, I suggest telling your mate.
Go make love in the sand dunes, before it's too late.
Eat some cake and drink champagne and don't be an ass
So your loved one won't some day poison the drink in your glass."

*That one was a stretch, I couldn't find many usable rhymes with "ads"