Tuesday, September 10, 2013

Don't copy me!

So it turns out that my four-year-old is a myna bird.  She LOOOOOOVES to mimic people.  I would venture to say it's her favorite thing.  Not only that, but she has an excellent command of the English language, so it is not even funny to throw big words her way. 

The other day, she was "copying" her sister until she was in a screaming fit of seven-year-old rage.  Fearing for my littlest one's life, I intervened.



Me: Stop copying your sister.

Brat: Stop copying your sister.

Me: Stop copying me.

Brat: Stop copying me.

Me: Seriously. I will pull over and leave you on the side of the road, and some stranger will pick you up.  Then you can copy the stranger for the rest of your life because you'll never see me again.

Brat:  Fine.  I'll copy myself.  I'll copy myself.

Me: Excellent idea.

Brat: Yes it is.  Yes it is.  I though of it myself.  I thought of it myself.



How does one get her own reality show, I wonder...?

Tuesday, August 20, 2013

My tiny therapist

Tonight, we were reading "Oh, the Places You'll Go!" by Dr. Seuss, and the kid had some questions.

"What is a 'lurch'?"

"Why does this book say 'guy' when I'm actually a girl?" (Not much is cuter than hearing my 4-year-old say "actually"...or recognizing that I own a tiny feminist.)

"What is a 'slump'?  Is it like being bummed?"

"Why is he moving a mountain?"

As you can see, it takes us a while to read a single Dr. Seuss book.

Anyway, nights like tonight, I catch myself explaining ideas to this kid.  Tonight it was "climbing (figurative) mountains".  I think, "Why are you doing this?  She thinks you are talking crazy,"  But I just keep talking. 

In my example, I explained that I have "mountains" and one of those mountains is being a good wife. Before I could even get into the "climb" of it all (because why else do we have children if not to have tiny therapists?), she said, "You know what I know?  You are a great mom.  That was a great mountain!  Now let's go to sleep."

Ahh.  It makes me wish I was four.  But if I can't be four, I'm extra-super-delighted that THIS four-year-old is mine!  Oh, the places this kid will go...

Monday, August 12, 2013

Friends

Today was kind of crappy, so I decided to dust off a post that never made it to press.  It reminded me that even on a crappy day, I have so much to be thankful for!

Friends...

No, not the show...the real thing.  I was driving home tonight from an evening of fund-raising and fun when something happened.  I just started crying.  Not because I'm sad or my life is incomplete, but because...just because. 

I suppose some of the tears were for people to whom I wish I could say one more thing - my dad, my first boss, my crazy aunt.  But mostly they were tears of joy.  Maybe, my heart is so full, something had to give. 

I have an amazing, full life.  Really, I do.  And a huge part of my amazing, full life are my awesome friends.  They laugh with me.  They cry with me.  They pray for me.  They even set me straight when I need it.  Some share my twisted sense of humor while others don't "get me" but choose to love me anyway.  A few friends will even wrap the preachers' houses with me.  Some sense when I need a pick-me-up, and others know how to let me down gently.  I can't imagine my life without them. 

To my friends, thank you from the bottom of my heart.

A new tattoo?

I've been contemplating a new tattoo.  I'm not totally sure why, but it sounds like a good idea.  Maybe I'm mid-life and don't know it.  Whatever...that's not the point.  

The point is, I have been talking to my extremely anti-tattoo mom about it.  What to get, where on my body, etc.  I was considering a few things.

Maybe this somewhere on my back:


My (ex) best friend suggested this to cover my entire back (maybe because it looks like her a little...).  



"I think it's sexy.  In a very confident kind of way...for an asshole."  Her words, not mine.

I really REALLY love this, but it would require a flawless, 20-year-old back and about $600.


Anyway, you can vote in the comments if you like, but my mom decided to give her two cents.  She suggested I get a tattoo of a mermaid in honor of my sweet little wannabe Mer-child.  I thought it was a great idea...then I started thinking out loud:

Me:  I COULD do that! She would love it!  But then, I would have to get something for the little one.  Maybe a ballerina?  Or a Mermaid with a tutu?  I KNOW!  A ballerina mermaid with a wand, so it's a fairy princess ballerina mermaid.  That should cover everything...

Mom:  How about you just go buy yourself a nice shirt?

Well played, mom.  Well played. 

Saturday, August 10, 2013

Vanity Plate Advice

Some people don't think these things through.  Vanity plates can really affect the rest of your life.  Clever uses of vanity plates include:

"BUGCHIC" if you make a lifetime of driving VWs
"FSTBTCH" if you drive fast or put out on the first date
"TEXNFAN" if you LOVE the Texans
"AGGMOM" if you have a kid at Texas A&M or little kids who aggravate you
"ASSMAN" if you are a proctologist

You get the picture. 

Some other loves/like/habits, though?  Not so much.  Take this guy for example.  I'm sure his wife makes the best, and I'm sure it's delicious, but why advertise that you LOVE LOVE LOVE to eat:




That's a "W" not an "N".  Yes.  It says:

 
Gross, dude.  Gross. 
 

Friday, August 9, 2013

Vacation Week Blog Challenge

Written at 10:00 am in a massage chair:

My vacation week officially started today, so I am challenging myself to one interesting blog per day.  (I'll measure "interesting" by my own amusement level in case you are curious.)

Written at 11:26 pm on my mom's couch:

This was a great-sounding idea at 10 this morning while I was getting a pedicure and (surely) had something clever to tell you all; however, now that it's almost midnight, and my brain has melted from a day of getting my kids ready to go out of town...yeah, I got nothin'. 

But, Hey!  It's tax-free weekend, so I will most definitely have an adventure to tell about tomorrow!  In the meantime, here is a Freaking Mermaids! update.

I thought my plan was golden: have her say goodbye to all of her loved ones and her new kitten.  Drive her to a nice rocky hill (volcano) and then tell her to get out of the car and go live her dream.  My friends did not think that was a "Mom of the Year" type move, so they made lots of suggestions.  A favorite was to dress up like a mermaid myself and embarrass her to death, but they don't make mermaid tails in plus size.  (I know!  I was shocked, too!)  So, I made her a deal.  I told her that I want her to live her dream, but we have to compromise.  If she promises to stay a human until she graduates from high school, then I will take her to this volcanic moon pool (this is not a REAL thing, y'all) and she can jump in.  She TOTALLY AGREED!  Thanks to my friends for their advice!

Here's hoping she grows out of this over the next 11 years.  

Tuesday, August 6, 2013

FREAKING MERMAIDS!

Does anyone know of any books or movies (that are kid-appropriate...) that portray mermaids as ugly, evil, wretched, vile things???

My kid longs...LOOOONGS to be a mermaid.  It's all she can think about, and I can't convince her that she will never be a mermaid.  Even if God Himself visited her and said, "I am God, and I made you a human, and you will never EVER turn into a mermaid because I never made mermaids," she would not believe Him.  Not because he speaks in run-ons, so how could He possibly be the real deal?, but because she has seen mermaids on TV, SO. THEY. ARE. REAL! 

And she knows how she can turn into one. 

"How," you ask?

Step One: Ask your Nana to make you a mermaid tail from beautiful pink fabric. 

Step Two: While you wait for your tail, spend as much time as possible practicing your mermaid kick.  (AKA dolphin kick for you human swimmers out there.)  Reading a book before bedtime? Mermaid kick.  Laying on the floor watching TV?  Mermaid kick.  At swimming lessons?  Mermaid kick (even when you're told not to and you get kicked out of the pool).  Setting the table?  Mermaid kick - which looks like belly-dancing because she's standing up... 

When do you NOT mermaid kick?  When you're told to "BE STILL!"  Then, practice sitting how a mermaid would sit on a rock.



Step Three: Find a volcano, by an ocean, that is the right temperature inside.

Step Four: Wear your bikini (because cool mermaids ALWAYS show their midriff).

Step Five: Wait until the full moon, then JUMP INTO THE VOLCANO!

Here's where I had to intervene.  It went something like this:

Me: Alright.  If you jump into a volcano, you will DIE.

Her: No I won't.

Me: Yes.  They are filled with lava.  You will die instantly.

Her: (As convicted as any person might be)  Not if it's the right temperature!

Me: *speechless*

I know, I know.  She sounds like a character from Girl, Interrupted right? 

HELP!!!!!

Monday, August 5, 2013

Bathroom Graffiti

I had the honor of attending a  luncheon with my family at a restaurant at the Beltway and Beechnut.  Truly an interesting part of town, so the fact that it had bathroom graffiti was...well...it was not surprising.  While the food was decent, the bathroom graffiti was the real treat du jour! 

I'm sure I became the talk of the table when I kept getting up and taking my  phone to the bathroom.  (I did this for you, reader, because I love you.)  So much to take in in one, ahem, sitting.  AND I almost got busted taking photos (with flash) in the stall when another restaurant patron walked in.  "Creepster is the new Hipster."  Pass it on.

I'd like to pose two statements/questions that cover almost all of these works of art. First, lawmakers might consider poor phonetic spelling of baby's names a Class B Misdemeanor.  Qs weren't really meant to be used THAT much.  Second, WHY do so many people carry permanent markers??  And why do those people think it's okay to write on walls?  Why??  I have lived to see 34 without EVER writing on some one's wall - well, except when I was three, and my mom told me I'd have to find a new home if I didn't quit that shit immediately.  (I'll share that story some other time.)

Alright.  Without further ado, here are the pictures and my commentary on this first edition of "Bathroom Graffiti".


Not sure about Tweety's use of symbols.  Maybe she's sneering at me.  Maybe she's almost a feminist...if. those two. plus signs. will. just. touch. the. circles. of. LIIIIIIFE!  I already like her, but that blob next to her artwork cried a little bit.  See the tear?


Look at these two BFFs complimenting each other on the bathroom wall.  "[Ber]anna's the best."  "No, girl.  You are.  'Qaliya got swag'."  "Hold up.  Let's go get these made into tattoos!"  "I'll call Tweety!" "Naw.  That hoe is practically a feminist."

       
Oh yeah?  I <3 albert moost.  *smh* Canadians...



I'm going to need y'all to agree how to spell "Zayn".  Just zayin.  Az far az uzing "z" in playz of "s", I think it's charming...zaid no one ever.


Please.  Someone volunteer to give me a post-mortem, bathroom wall shout-out. Please. (You may volunteer to do so in the "Comments" section of this blog.)

AND FINALLY...


Do this.  Not because I say so, but because the Wing-ed Bear Head says so.  (By the way, this is one worthy of MY calf.)

Until next time...Keep thoze Sharpies sharp!!!

Wednesday, July 24, 2013

My observations

Sears needs an updated logo.  This late-eighties-neon-esque look will not do. 
 


The afternoon weather report on News 92 FM starts off, "This is MEATEATER-OLOGIST, John Dugowinski..."  What is a "meateater-ologist"?  I searched www.Google.com/images for that exact word, and here's what I found:



I'm guessing my "Filter Explicit Results" filter is on.  But my "Filter Creepy-Shit" filter is not.

McDonald's' food is a crime against humanity...except during Monopoly season.  Then, it is just fun because everyone wants to be a winner.  Are you "PEELIN' LUCKY?"  I am.


"Mayor Weiner" is a terrible idea unless a) his Chief of Staff's name is Mr. Oscar, b) they are always together, and c ) everyone addresses them with "Mr. Oscar, Mayor Weiner..."  Also, he looks like the bad guy from Ghost, so I don't like him.  WHO hires a man to kill Patrick Swayze?  I mean, seriously??



Sunday, July 21, 2013

Rediculous Weekend

Ted is a rediculous movie.  Yet I watched the whole thing and laughed.  Shame on me.

In other rediculousness, I had to break the news to my seven-year-old that she can never be a real mermaid.  Not even if she looks at the moon while she is swimming in the ocean...(Wtf did she get that idea?) She still does not believe me.  Thank goodness my mom is going to help the situation by making her a life-like mermaid tail to wear in the bathtub.

Oh my gawd.  I'm thinking in Ted's voice.  This is terrible. 

And finally, my kids absolutely do not believe that "Jennifer" has been my first name my whole life. Rediculous.  They told me that if I was their kid, they would have named me "Sunshine of the Flowers of the Whole Universe Barbie Transformer Mermaid." Wow did I luck out or what?  But I would have loved to go by "Sunshine."

Tuesday, July 9, 2013

Friend Rules by My 7-Year Old

These are "Friend Rules" and advice as told to my 4-year-old by her big "stister" because she was having drama with her friend at pre-school.  

Background: This little friend yelled, "HUSH, GIRL!  HUSH!" in B's face and then wouldn't play with her for the rest of the day.  After many tears and much heartbreak, her sister came up with this list of rules:

First Rule Number One: Be nice to each other.

Second Rule: Do not hurt one uh-other.

Round Three: Be good and be nice and not hurt each other.

Round Seve-...Round One...Round Four: Be careful to each udders and others.

Round Five: Do not hurt anybody.

Round Six: Do NOOOOT eben put...Do not hurt anybody or others. Be kind to others.

Round Seven: Do NOT DO NOT hurt anybody.

Round Seven...Round Eight: You have to be kind.

Round Nine: Say "Look over there!  There's a butterfly!" and run away.

Round Seven...Round Ten: Run away if they are not nice.

Yes: these are quoted. No: she's not drunk. No: she didn't learn these from me. Well, maybe the distract-her-with-a-butterfly idea... Yes: it appears her favorite number is seven. Because she IS seven.

Such a nice list of suggestions...Much nicer than mine.  I taught B how to say, "Callate!" (cai-yet-te) since this friend speaks Spanish.  That way, she won't get in trouble for actually saying "Shut up!" which is a "bad word"...but only in English. 


My parenting advice book is due to be published next year. LOOK!  A giant butterfly!!

 

Sunday, July 7, 2013

Would someone please come get my "Mom Card"?

It's not that I don't love being a mother.  I REALLY love my kids.  It's that sometimes I don't think I'm cut out for this.  Surely other mothers have felt this way.  -ish.  I'm hoping. 

Anyway, take today for example.  We get home, let the dogs outside, and my 7-year-old discovers some lizards doing the boomshakalaka on her little rocking chair.  How do I handle it?  Much like you'd expect Lilith from "Cheers" to handle it (Frasier's wife, remember her?) 

Kid:  Look, mom!  Lizards on my chair!  Uh...what are they doing?


Me:  They're copulating.  Leave them alone.

Kid:  Cop-a-lating? 

Me:  Yes.  They're making baby lizards.  Leave them be.

Kid:  Sister!  Come here and see these lizards!

Kid2:  Wow!  That green lizards is biting the brown lizard.  Let's stop him.

Me:  No!  Let's let them copulate in peace and quiet. 

Just when I thought I had made it out alive...

Kid2:  What's that mean?

Me:  Making baby lizards.  Inside.  Now.

Kid2:  Did you know lizards poop babies?  They poop them out of their butts. 

Me: Nap time.  Let's go.


I sure hope my kids grow up to be normal adults.  If they don't, I only have myself to blame.

Monday, July 1, 2013

My underappreciated feminist side

Today, I had a great idea while on the phone with my husband.  We were discussing salary differences between men and women.



Me:  Ugh!  I either need to get my MBA or grow a penis.  I think I will move away and become a half-naked vegan feminist and fight for women's right.  

J:  Would you really abandon your kids?

Me:  No.  You're right.  I'll take them with me.  They'll be little half-naked vegan feminists, too.  Might as well start them young.  

J:  Mmhmm.

Me:  I know!  I know, you can come, too!  You can be a half-naked vegan MAN who fights for women's rights.  You'll be on the cunting edge.  You'll be like the white guy at the March on Washington, but that's good because you'll stand out.   

Silence

J:  Did you mean to use that word?

Me:  Of course I did....Okay, well, I'll go get the kids.



I guess I will have to fight for women's rights fully clothed here from home.  

Thursday, June 27, 2013

Fat (female) hipsters: Do they exist?

I want to be a hipster.  Bad.  I mean, REALLY bad.  But before I make the conversion to hipster, I need more information.  What is a hipster?  Thanks to www.UrbanDictionary.com, I have (could pick from several) my (two favorite) definitions (created by people like you and me):

"The term "hipster" is cross-applied from the 1930s Beatniks. The modern hipster is a composite of individuals with a certain bohemian life situation and lifestyle..."

Stop.  You had me at "bohemian". 

"Definitions are too mainstream. Hipster's can't be defined because then they'd fit in a category, and thus be too mainstream."
 

Another definition had something about Pabst Blue Ribbon, so I'm drinking that now, too. 

So, I started thinking about what I would wear/how I would change my wardrobe, and it occurred to me:  I've never seen a fat hipster.  Googling "Fat Hipster" yielded some entertaining and some disturbing results.  One page compares them to unicorns while another refers to them as hippo-sters. 

And, although I'd like to be this unicorn he speaks of, I would probably be more of the hippo-ster and wind up on www.peopleofwalmart.com.  You know?

I could, however, take the advice of one commenter and "either join a gym, get on drugs, or drop the cupcakes cuz it's not working with your poor downtown eighties look..." 

Um.  Joining a gym is expensive, and dropping a cupcake is just another mess for me to clean.  Looks like I'm stuck with cocaine.  Does anyone even "do" cocaine anymore?  (I'm pretty old.  In fact, I won't fit the age demo for hipster much longer)

Recap:

Bohemian - Check
Shops at Goodwill - Check
Rejects mainstream - Check
Pabst Blue Ribbon - Check
Cocaine - Checking
Ironic t-shirt - Googling (Or I was until my SIL told me that Googling is completely mainstream, so I grabbed an encyclopedia instead)

And found this: 


HOW IRONIC IS THAT?!?!  A fat hipster chic (me) wearing a shirt about fat people.  OMG.  Let THAT swim around in your head!

BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUT when I went to order it (by mail, with a check, of course), I was like, WHAAAAAAAT?  


 

 
Ugh.  Gender Biases are so mainstream.  Get with it, people!
 
Conclusion:
 
Fat female hipsters do NOT exist because they aren't allowed to.  Because ironic t-shirts only come in S, M, and L.  Fat male hipsters, are totally allowed. 

Wednesday, June 26, 2013

Death by dryer sheets and Humpty Dance

I had four, count them FOUR, topics to blog about before I made it to my parking garage at work.  Here are the first two, combined for your enjoyment.

A friend of mine is trying to kill me with dryer sheets.  If I didn't have a "don't use people's names on my blog" policy, I'd tell you who so when I die you can tell the police, but alas...

It's true.  When I told her this morning that dryer sheets are toxic and they are Killing us Slowly (...Strumming my pants with its fragrance...Stealing my life with its scent...killing me slowly with its Linalool killing me sloooowlyyy...) she insisted I provide sources for my claim:
 
http://www.cbsnews.com/8301-504763_162-20097302-10391704.html

http://www.holistichealthsecrets.com/alternativehealth/main-content/the-toxic-dangers-of-dryer-sheets-and-fabric-softeners/

http://ecowatch.com/2013/why-you-need-to-ditch-dryer-sheets/

http://healthylivinghowto.com/1/post/2013/04/healthy-body-7-toxic-reasons-to-ditch-dryer-sheets.html

http://www.apartmenttherapy.com/new-study-scented-dryer-sheets-159942

Claim: Sourced.  Now to my friend's arguement.  It was basically this: They can't be toxic.  The Government wouldn't allow companies to use the ingredients if they were bad for us.

Seriously?

Um...
Mmmhmmm.


Whaaa?


*disappointed stare*

Really?

Grrr.

Moving on...The Humpty Dance came on 90's on 9 this morning, and I couldn't bring myself to change the station.  I just couldn't.  What's WRONG with me?

Seriously.

Friday, June 21, 2013

Toyota Will Donate One Meal for Every View This Video Gets

I have completely blown my "One Serious Post Per Year" goal.  Oh well. 

This video is absolutely AMAZING!  Watch and learn and volunteer, y'all!  Jesus' message to help the needy was very clear, and these folks are very clearly doing it, now, in a most efficient way! 

Kudos to Toyota for sharing their knowledge and their resources! 
 
Toyota Will Donate One Meal To The New York Food Bank For Every View This Video Gets | The Nonsense Page

Thursday, June 20, 2013

The Talk

I had to have the talk with my 7-year-old.  She's awfully young, and, to be honest, I never actually thought she'd ask.  Dumb, I know, because kids these days...*sigh*  I guess I have movies to thank. 

She spent the day with me at work today.  I basically shut her into my file room with her laptop and let her watch Twinkle Toes.  A movie produced by Sketchers.  Yes.  Sketchers shoes.
 
Hang on while I polish my Mother of the Year trophy.

That's where she learned about...555 numbers.

Anyway, here's how the talk went:

E: (running into my office) Mom! I need your phone!

Me: Why?

E: Ughhhhhh.  It's PER-SUH-NULL.

Me: No.  WHO are you going to call?

E: Mooooom.  Just let me handle my business. 

Me: Tell me who, and I will think about it. 

She showed me the number she wanted to call, and I must admit I did an amazing job keeping my composure...for, like, 3 seconds. 

I remember learning that 555 numbers were fake.  I am certain at some point during my childhood I tried to call and order something from ACME or chit chat with "Deej" from Full House.  Boy was I mad when I found out they were using fake numbers!  I mean, why would they do that?  Don't they want to talk to me???

Me: Who's number is that?  Twinkle Toes?

Call me!  555-0123!
E: Yes.

Me: Honey.  That's not a real number.  TV shows and movies use 555 numbers instead of real numbers. 

E: It's REAL, mom.  It is!  And I need to call her. 

Me: What are you going to tell her?

E: Lots of stuff.  We have lots to talk about. 

Me: It's not a real number, sweetie.  And have I told you how cute you are?  I love you.  Let me take your picture because you're so precious and I want to remember this moment forever.   


"For real, mom, I need to call her.  It's personal."

My annual Serious Post...

I consider myself a fairly normal person with just a tinge of "Feminist".  My male co-workers, brother and husband think it's more than a tinge, but they would.  They're men.

So, this article about inner city kids and baby dolls really got me misty.  And by "misty" I mean, "I cried."  I'll let you read it before we discuss:



Wow.  This was a neat story.  There were so many things swirling in my head as/after I read this.  I'll try to unpack them one by one:

1.  To think that ANY girl of ANY background thinks for one second that she can't do/be (doo bee doo...can't help myself) anything she sets her mind to makes me sad.  So many famous quotes came to mind.  Pick your favorite and write it on your mirror.
 
"If I conceive it, and my heart can believe it - then I can achieve it." - Muhammad Ali
 
Every word in "Oh, The Places You'll Go!" - Dr. Seuss
 
"Go confidently in the direction of your dreams.  Live the life you have imagined." - Henry David Thoreau
 
"So often times it happens that we live our lives in chains, and we never even know we have the key." - The Eagles
 
"Whether you think you can, or you think you can't -- you're right." - Henry Ford

These last two quotes takes me to my second "thing". 

2. Why do these kids at such a startlingly young age have it programmed in their heads that there are places "white kids" go?  Or, places "black kids" go or don't go for that matter?  WHY?  Who told them that?  Maybe I live in a teeny-tiny-itty-bitty box of privilege and wealth (NOT!), but I haven't seen TV shows that promote that ideology.  Not TV shows for kids, anyway.  Are adults feeding them that line of bullshit?  If so, SHAME SHAME SHAME on them!  I mean, seriously.  Shame on them!  This really has me angry...

3. Good for their teacher for springing into action.  High praise for this guy, seriously!  I'm willing to bet he has an inner-city-kid-turned-into-a-teacher inspirational story of his own.  (At least I hope he does...that would make this that much more awesome!)  And good for all of those people who saw to it that these girls got their American Girl dream.  They are American girls, after all, and they should enjoy their experience...

4. But I hope the adults involved did not miss this teachable moment.  The moment where they could teach these girls that they are living this dream not because they were complaining to each other about their lot in life but because there are people out there to whom they can express their dreams and who will show them how to make their dreams come true! 

5.  They should make their next trip somewhere "whiter" than D.C. 

6. And please tell me that they aren't going flying on airplanes and staying in swanky hotels because that's what "white people do."  It is what successful people do.  And success comes in many colors and creeds, shapes and sizes and genders.  Well, just two genders. 

Wednesday, June 19, 2013

Never a dull moment when you're E-Vill...

Even when I'm home alone, I manage to stay completely entertained.  Today, I'm packing the girls' old clothes so I can give them to a friend.  That's the real reason for the boxes on my 4-year-old's bed. 
But in my head...I wish she was home so she could walk in her room and ask me what I'm doing.  Then I could look her in the eyes and say sadly, "Little Bee.  It's time you find a new home.  I'm packing your things."
This will keep me smiling for hours...or at least until I discover something of mine under her bed, ruined. 

Thursday, June 13, 2013

I've figured out so much in the past 24 hours

My head.  It's scary in there.  But surely you know that by now.

So, this morning, I was pondering an article headline I read (headlines are so good these days that I don't feel I need to read the whole thing) that read:

Men mature at approximately age 43, British study confirms

#notsomuch
And then it hit me!  (Stay with me here because my explanation is going to get creepy before it gets enlightening)  Marrying a man younger than 43 is actually like adopting a teenager (legal age, of course) who WANTS to be adopted but whose mother does NOT want him to be adopted.  So you are now his new guardian, but you are in a very long battle with his biological mother for privileges like buying him socks, making him meatloaf, telling him to go to the doctor, etc .

WHY do we do this to ourselves?  Are they cute like puppies?  Not really.  Are we bored with our adoptee-less lives?  I didn't think I was. 

This, reader, is the real mystery because most, if not all, of us know that men don't mature for a while, but we take them in and feed them and want them to be our husbands anyway.  Research THAT!  Oh well.  Thanks, British scientists, for spending time and resources on something we could have told you DECADES ago.  CENTURIES ago.

So, this afternoon, I was resisting the urge to ask someone with a sick kid if they had taken the kid to the doctor.  No one likes unsolicited parenting advice or suggestions.  So why, having hated it myself, do I feel compelled to do this?  WHY? 

I figured it out as I was weighing the pros and cons...my stream of consciousness flowed like this: "Don't say anything because she probably took him.  Surely she took him. If she didn't take him he could die from it.  Oh the humanity.  If I don't say something and he dies, I will have the guilt to live with.  Being disliked by this dad is better than guilt.  Say something!!!" 

*Microwave-like 'ding' sound*

So I did. 

 
And, finally, the "Courtesy Flush".  Completely unnecessary, wasteful and not really courteous at all.  We know what you're doing and that you're doing it each time you flush. Stop wasting water, please.  

Wednesday, June 12, 2013

My After-Work Fantasy

This week has been rough.  I mean, REAL ROUGH.  And with this being only Wednesday, I need something that will sustain me.  Wine.  Wine will sustain me.

I was talking to Jay, and the conversation started getting lame, so I told him my after-work fantasy:

Me:  I have to go.  I have to get ready for a meeting from 3:00 til 4:00 and then one from 4:00 til 4:30.  Then I'm going to go home, get a bottle of wine, open it by banging the neck on the side of the counter, dump it into my mouth with the wine running down my cheeks and onto my shirt and everywhere.  And then I'm going to wipe my face with my forearm, slam the empty bottle down on the counter top and go do something crazy.  I dunno what, but it will be crazy.

Jay: 
 

 
Me:  No.  Not sex. 
 
(My "something crazy" was painting a picture with lots of red paint or sitting on the back porch reading a book until I contracted West Nile...)
 
Jay:  DAMMIT!

Monday, June 10, 2013

Yep, I said that to the Preacher's Wife

Let me start by saying, the preacher's wife is a pretty cool gal.  Well, she laughed at this conversation, so that makes her a pretty cool gal by my estimation. 

I was rushing to check that my kids made it to the nursery before church started, and I bumped into the PW.  It went something like this:

PW:  Good morning!

Me:  Good morning!  I have to make sure my kids made it to the nursery.  I let them go on their own, and I'm second-guessing that decision.

PW:  Oooh.  Yeah.  Good call.  You have...something...(pulling sticker off of my dress)...stuck to you.  Here you go. 

Me:  Great.  Now everyone will think I'm the church tramp...  

PW:  ??  What?  I didn't even see it... 

 
Both:  *laugh*

Oh those creative Sunday School projects...and my propensity to make inappropriate jokes from, well, just about everything including Bible verses...

***And now for my attempt at making this story end well.***

The kids are learning about the disciples this summer in Sunday School.  Last night, my four-year-old said, "The disciples are boring.  Except the one who walked on water with Jesus.  His name was Peter-Simon (Simon-Peter), and he was doing great until he took his eyes off of Jesus.  So don't take your eyes off of Jesus, or you'll drown."

Great job, Sunday School Teachers! 

Wednesday, June 5, 2013

My Kid is my Awesome(er) Clone

So, the Kid 1 is great, but Kid 2 is a small, Awesomer version of me.  I couldn't be prouder, and Jay couldn't be more terrified.  This conversation says it all.

Jay:  AUBREYYYY.  I NEED A BEEEEEER! 

Me:  No.  Tell him you aren't his beer wench. 

Aubrey:  I'm not your beer wench.  What did you do with my play-doh?  

Jay:  I put it away.  Please go get me a beer! 

Aubrey:  I'm not your beer wench. 

Jay:  Fine.  Go get me a "soda" from the fridge.  It's in a green and grey can with a lime on it. (Lime-a-Rita.  Manly.  I know you ladies are jealous.)*

Aubrey:  Okay.  How 'bout you go get my play-do, then I'll go get you a beer...er..."soda". 

Jay told her where to find the play-doh, Aubrey rewarded his good behavior with a Shiner Bock (even a four year old knows what men SHOULD drink.). 

Aubrey:  Here you go, daddy.

Me:  did you shake it up good for him?

Aubrey: *shake shake shake shake shake shake shake shake*

Jay:  Noooooooooooooooooooo!

Me:  *evil laugh*

---------------------------

As I'm writing this, Jay showed up with his Lime-a-Rita.  He just hands me these things on a silver platter.

Jay:  *reading as I'm typing*. It wasn't a green bottle.  It was a green can, like this.  *Shows me his girlie drink.*

Me:  Seriously????  *type type type type type*

Jay:  Are you calling me out in your blog????

Me:  Yep.  *typing line about y'all being jealous*

Jay:  What?  I have low testosterone!  


How Funny Would THAT Be...?

I completely sympathize with those people whom society deems as "crazy" because, at a glance, I appear to be one of them.  Here's why.  Life is so funny.  Sometimes, it is funny-haha, sometimes it is funny-strange.  These funny life things just just pop into my head.  Mostly unannounced or uninvited, they almost always make me appear to be laughing for no reason or shaking my head at no one...so I look crazy.  It has happened for. ev. er.

*queue dreamy flashback music*

During tests...ALWAYS during tests...when the classroom was silent, a funny fart-thought would pop into my brain.  Like this:

"How funny would THAT be" (my funny things almost always start with that) "if <insert classmate's name here> farted while it's quiet, and then no one giggled because the whole class is trying not to giggle including <insert stodgy English teacher's name here> and by trying NOT to giggle, everyone starts farting...because the giggle-pressure has to escape from SOMEWHERE?" 

And then I answer my funny thought with a stifled giggle which makes me giggle harder and then stifle harder because I'm thinking, "OMGness, I'm going to be that person whose giggle has to escape somewhere, and how am I going to explain the whole story to the class?!?!?  Especially the person who I imagined farting the first place!!" 

And then I'd be sent to the hall or the office until my giggle-machine turned off. 

Fast forward to the present.  I'm 34, y'all, seriously.  Here is my list of funny thoughts that popped into my head today, and these are JUST the ones I can remember!

1. Showing my very modest "high/low" dress to a co-worker, he says OUT LOUD "It's business in the front and party in the back."  Funny thought: "How funny would THAT be if I'm all like, 'Isn't that a sex reference?'"  Just then, another co-worker in on the conversation said, "That's a mullet."  And I thought, "Yeah. A mullet.  DOWN THERE!" *laughing*

2. In the ladies' room, someone was obviously "holding back" until I finish and leave.  Funny thought: "How funny would THAT be if I just say, 'Let 'er rip, tater chip.'  That would be hilarious!  And maybe I'd start a trend of actually pooping in the pooper when other people are around because that's what it's here for!" *laughing in my head*

3. Same ladies' room trip.  Not "holding back" my business (it's a restroom for crying out loud).  Funny thought: "How funny would THAT be if this other person and I finish at the same time, and while washing our hands, she's like, 'Impressive how fast you can do your business!' and I say (all-smug-like), 'Thanks.  It's the benefits of a plant-based diet.'" *laughing laughing laughing*

3. At a business lunch with all men, I order ice cream.  Funny thought: "OMGness!  Those two perfect scoops look like vanilla breasts." 

Actually, I did *kind of* say that in a not so direct way.  Some thoughts just slip out when my filter is on a smoke break. 

4. This blog post...which makes me realize that my funny thoughts have a terrible, terrible, TERRIBLE theme.  I just might have the thoughts of a 12 year old boy.  Eeeeesh! 

Don't judge. 



Wednesday, May 29, 2013

OMG McDonald's

...I want my $0.69 back!  When I order a breakfast meal (sans meat for those of you who are wondering) and I substitute and orange juice for a coffee, I DO NOT want a GIGANTIC orange juice!  OMGOMGOMG!  Is this policy????

So the drive-thru lady and I had a (kind-of) conversation about it:

Me: Why am I getting this giant orange juice?  I just wanted a small.

DTL: *shrug* I no know? *gold-toothed smile*

Me: You don't know?  When people order breakfast and orange juice, do you automatically give them a medium?

DTL: *shrug* I no know? *gold-toothed smile*

Me: Doesn't it make sense to give me a small and not charge me extra?!  I don't want to pay $0.69 for orange juice that I'm going to just leave in the cup!

DTL: *shrug* I no know? *gold-toothed smile* I sorry. *double-shrug*

Me: Do you even speak Eng....grrrr.  Nevermind! 

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I'm NOT lovin' it!