Resolutions I May or May Not Follow Through With

2010 was a fantastic year.
Wee One starting walking.  Actually, she went from crawling to a dead sprint, not a technical walk.  And she's still running nonstop.  She's my little marathon woman.  She's starting talking a tiny bit.  She claps for herself and yells, "Yay!" a lot.  High self esteem that girl.  She also says "dat" which is her version of "what's that?"  And "uh oh" is a favorite.  However, she says it before she drops or dumps something, which kinda defeats the purpose, but it's cute as hell.  She also says "bob"quite a bit.  We still aren't sure who Bob is.  And she gives lovely, open-mouthed, sloppy toddler kisses.  HEAVEN.

Bossy Girl turned seven, lost a slew of teeth (seriously, I thought she was gonna need dentures there for a minute), learned to ride a bike (NOT.  She refuses.), and is rocking 1st grade.  She is so smart. And the best, most patient big sister I've ever seen.  And she still gives me hugs and kisses roughly 20% of the time, which is ALL good.  I'll take what I can get.

I finished my Master's degree (Woo to the Hoo!), got my brand new kitchen after years of nagging, made a big, positive change at work that allowed me to get close to some amazing new friends/coworkers, and I remained speeding  ticket free. How many of you can say you've NEVER been pulled over, ever?  That's what I thought.  I'm gonna brag.

The Hubby, well he worked a lot, is plugging away on his Masters degree, teaches the girls how to tackle, continues to be one of the best dads, sons and grandsons I've seen, had some dental work, bought a giant new TV that we all adore, and puts up with me, so bonus for him.

For 2011, I'd like to try these "resolutions."  You know what, let's not call them "resolutions," but goals.  Reach for the stars kind of stuff.  Goals are more flexible than resolutions anyway.  Right?

I'm going to try to pick up the phone more and call people and speak to them with words and voices.  Less texting.

I'm going to try to remember every single birthday of every single person who rocks my world with their love and friendship.  And send cards.

I'm going to write down appointments on my new calendar so I'm not calling offices all the time to recheck and triple check when my appointment is.

I'm going to get my business in order when it comes to prioritizing people and friendships.  No more allowing people to borrow my friendship when it's convenient for them.

I'm going to perfect my very first homemade pie.  From scratch, folks.  With lard and all.

I'm going to be less snarky and sarcastic and inappropriate and profane and more kind.    Whatever.  That would be lying if I put this on here.

I'm going to actually take the plastic off my new workout DVD and use it every morning.  I need to drop some serious lbs.  For reals. (totally still gonna make and eat that lard-filled pie)

I'm going to start working on that book I've been jotting down notes and ideas on for the past year.  My character is waiting for me to tell her story.  She literally speaks to me, and I need to get her voice down for her.  Not that it'd ever get published, but it's good to have dreams.(yes, I hear voices, but just one, so technically that's okay, right?)

I'm going to learn to crochet. It'll come in handy when I'm sitting in my rocker/wheelchair in front of a window with nothing better to do in the home.  Kidding.  I want to make some cool scarves and stuff.

I'm going to take up serious photography.

I'm going to keep on tightly holding hands with HOPE as we walk through this sometimes scary, unpredictable life together.

I'm going to keep blogging. Whether you like it or not. So there.

I'm going to work on making some kick-ass childhood memories that'll make my girls look back and smile and think to themselves, my Mommy rocked!

I'm going to stop starting every sentence with "I'm going......"  :)

I have wishes for all of you out there too.  I'll let some famous words speak them for me.  They'll sound much better than if I tried....

Become so wrapped up in something that you forget to be afraid. -Lady Bird Johnson

Life is a great big canvas, and you should throw all the paint you can on it. -Danny Kaye

Keep some room in your heart for the unimaginable. -Mary Oliver

Happy New Year Dear Readers!!!  Make it rock out loud.

Do you have any goals for the new year?  Share them!  Don't make me beg for comments.....

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Round and Around and Around in a Roundabout

There is a street in town that I avoid like the plaque.  Because for some God forsaken reason, they built a flippin roundabout on that road.  Like we're all cultured and European or something. When we're not.  We live in the Midwest.  Surrounded by pig farms and corn and shit.  Literally.

SO, I can't for the LIFE of me figure out how the damn thing works.  And a circle is like what, the simplest geometric shape ever?  It's not like they put a flippin isosceles triangle in the intersection.  (totally had to Google how to spell that, btw.)  Or a parallelogram. (THAT spelling... all me baby)

The Hubby is all, Just follow the arrows and what other cars do and I'm all, but that still makes no sense and he's all, Jesus H. Christ, it's simple, just follow the arrows and I'm all, but the arrows don't make sense!!!  I'm scared.  Hold me.
He patiently drove me through it once. Like he was gonna teach me something.  Hello?  Have we met dear?  And he's not normally the patient kind, but since he's clearly king of roundabouts, he thought he'd show his shit off.  And he did it. Successfully.  In one turn. And I sat there all Yay!  Good for you!  I totally get it now. Thanks for showing me.
Flat.  Out.  Lying.
But the boys, they never know when we're faking anything or not, so I was in the clear.  Until he reads this.

Whenever I even think of the roundabout, I have visions of poor Clark Griswold and his family from European vacation, "Look kids!  It's Big Ben!" Over and over and over cuz he's trapped in the evil, cyclical maze of a roundabout.  see it here

Well, my avoidance has worked out well, because I've never had to drive through it alone for the few years it's been there. 

Until today.

I took the wrong damn exit off the interstate on the way home, and when I realized my error, I gripped the stearing wheel with both hands, turned down the radio (cuz that instantly makes your driving better.  Obviously.), and declared through clenched teeth, Shit!  To which Bossy Girl replied her favorite line of all time, Watch your language MOTHER. Boy do I *love* hearing that 12 times a day.

I dropped my speed about 10 mph in a total of 1 second, annoying the guy behind me but dude, don't you see what's about to happen to us?  We're about to be in a ROUND-ABOUT!  AAAGGHHH!!!

I was hoping against all odds that no other car would happen to be entering the flabbergasting circle of dread and despair at the same time I would be but no, of course I wouldn't be that lucky, because karma has it out for me. It may or may not have something to do with all the bugs I kill.  But I don't actually kill them quickly and humanely with a heavy squish.... nope, I choose to I suffocate them with hairspray until they're immobilized, and then toss them in the toilet to hopelessly flail their hair product-caked legs until I flush them to their watery grave.  They're bugs though people, GEEZ.

There were four, count them four other cars at the round-about at that instant, clearly placed there strategically to mock my confusion and shoddy circular driving skills. 
So what do I do?  I stop.  And wait.  Thinking I'd generously let them all go first so I could figure this thing out in peace and solitude.

However, technically you're not supposed to just stop in a round-about, I figured out after the fact.  It's all about a smart yield for taking turns and a slow follow through.  For the love of all that is holy,  I sat there, clearly confusing the shit out of myself, my kids, the other drivers, the round-about, and sweet Jesus and all the angels above.  I may as well have just put the damn car in park, turned off the engine. and taken a nap. 

There was a bit of honking.  And some annoyed glares.  And possibly some tears.  From me. 
Then I noticed that I was still in the far outer lane, which had arrows pointing to the right... they were like flashing, neons signs navigating me towards the easiest way out to freedom.  Allelujah!  I did a fast right and got the hell outta dodge. 

I'm now home safe.  No thanks to the jerkoff engineer who was all Hey!  Know what we need to class the city up?  A CIRCULAR intersection!  Then let's put up a camera and laugh our asses off as we watch people attempt to maneuver it. 
I've heard engineers don't have a good sense of humor anyway.....

I decided to read up on roundabout, and eHow tells me not only how to drive through them, but the purpose behind them.  Supposedly, they are more fuel efficient than stop and go sorts of intersections.  And allegedly, they're safer.  Clearly whoever wrote that hasn't driven through one with me there. And they're from the 1940s and 50s.  I say let's move on and stick with the present people. No sense living in the past.  (but if we do choose to live in the past, can I go back to being crow's feet free and way skinnier?)
THIS is how to work a roundabout
There's a couple of things that baffled me after reading the article:

It's ass backwards!  What'd I JUST say about not living in Europe?  They drive on the wrong side of the road, and they yield to the wrong side too!  So why are we copying their intersections?? 

Also, this:

Clearly I understand the part about not knowing how to negotiate them because, *raising hand, Me!  Me!
But why are the rules not in driver's manuels?  Because I read and reread those bad boys religiously in an attempt to hone my driving skills.  For reals.


I also read that roundabouts give priority to drivers who just enter the traffic.  But if I'm already in there, why should I have to wait?  I drive faster than you, I made it first, and some other driver gets to budge?  No fair!

I also read that they "reduce driving frustration."  NOT

All I have to say to end this post is a direct address to the roundabout itself.

Dear Roundabout,
You made me cry.  I hate you.  I don't understand how you work. And you made me swear in front of my kids.  Which I "never" do.  (fingers crossed)
But hey, sucks to be you, cuz you're nothing but a circle, so while you're all stuck going around and around to infinity, I'm moving on.  And I'm staying the hell away.
Sincerely,
Me.


PS.  I apologize if I offended any Europeans, engineers, geometry teachers, or European Engineers.  OR European Geometry teachers.  OR former geometry teachers turned engineers who now live in Europe.



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Sushi and Antlers and Friends, Oh My!

I've had a blog post idea dry spell lately.  I went out into the general public to do some shopping today, maybe get some inspirational lube from random people to end my dry spell....
Nothing. 
Nada.
Zip.
I'm so disappointed there was no arguing over $1.87 in the returns lines as I saw a while back.
There was no long lines or line budging.
There was zero post-Christmas shopping drama anywhere.  Snooze.

I guess I could talk about my sushi cherry being broke last night.
I went out with some old, old, OLD friends from way back high school days for dinner. I'd never had sushi, but being game for just about anything (a trait that totally got me into a lot of trouble back in the day, btw), I figured what the hell. If all else fails I can swing through McDonald's on the way home.

The friends I was with are funny folks.  Literally hilarious. Crack me up everytime. I tend to snort when I laugh hard (don't make fun, it's genetic.  My mom does it too.  I can't control my DNA.) and there were some loud snorts last night, let me tell you. You know you're with good, quality people when you can discuss food, alcohol, oral "activities," reindeer, the Fonz, the Red Light District, "surprise" pregnancies, and charcoal butt pads all in one sitting, all the while insulting each other with sarcasm and wit.  And LOVE.

I in no way wanted to attempt to eat anything raw, so I stayed away from that and went safe, as in California and Manhatten rolls.  Do you think there's a Gary, Indiana or Fargo, North Dakota roll?
The spicy mayo was pretty good.  And I'm a total spicy food wuss. The asparagus and crab meat and cream cheese was a nice combo.  I couldn't even taste the eel.  Gives me the heeby geebies just thinking about the fact I ate eel.  Gah.
Everything was cooked.
Everything settled nicely in my tummy.
Everything tasted and smelled funny when I belched later on at home.  UGH.
There was a slight communication gap between us and our waiter which made it kind of fun, but we managed.

Will I need to have sushi frequently now?  Nope.  Will I eat it if I'm stranded on an Asian island where the only food to sustain me is sushi?  Yepper. 
If these same friends full of fabulousity and naughtiness and laughter ever ask me to sushi again will I go?
In a heart beat.

Thanks kids!  You made the sushi taste even better.  But not my lemon drop martini.  That was good all by itself.

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Christmas Musings

One of the most glorious messes in the world is the mess created in the living room on Christmas day. Don't clean it up too quickly. ~Andy Rooney

I've been cleaning and baking and preparing for Christmas like a madwoman.  I'm walking around in a Santa hat today, (allegedly) looking like a dork.  Quoteth the Bossy Girl.  It's been snowing like crazy outside, making the perfect backdrop to this most perfect holiday.  I simply cannot wait for tomorrow morning when the kiddos wake up a bit too early, giddy with excitement, to see what Santa has brought them.  I love Christmas even more now that I have children.  They bring out the joy and wonder of the holiday in me.  Everyone needs to be near kids when it's Christmas. 

I cannot wait for the wrapping paper mess. I will not pick it up too quickly.

 
My horoscope was ironic this morning.  Not that I believe them necessarily, especially when they are kind of negative, but today's was utterly inspiring.  It said that something very small but very special is happening in my life right now.  It tells me to stop and feel how wonderful and important it is and to pay attention to small miracles right now.  This is the truth.  I feel it.  I've recently stumbled across some completely soul-stirring and inspirational blogs.  Enjoying the Small Things    Redneck Mommy   Redneck Mommy's 1st blog about losing her son
 
They are giving me daily wake up calls and life lessons in abundance.  I thank them for this.  I owe them.
 
So this is my Christmas post. No sarcasm.  No swearing.  No ranting.  Just appreciation and gratitude. 
My heart is so full.
I'm going to go play with kiddos and get ready for tomorrow. 
 

The best Christmas of all is the presence of a happy family all wrapped up with one another.

 

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A Beautiful Morning

I'm not one of those "naturally pretty," can wake up and immediately look amazing, kind of girls.  Not in the least. Not even close.

But this morning was different.

I woke up and found Wee One and Bossy Girl laying in bed with me, waiting for me to get up and start the day. There is no work.  There is no school.  We are on break.  The Hubby got them up and at em, diaper changed on Wee One, then both put in my bed to wake me.
Wee One in her purple polka dot footie pajamas, toy already in hand for playing.
Bossy Girl, hair a mess, barefoot, and grinning and giggling at her baby sister.

I rubbed my eyes and sat up for a closer look. 
Staring back at me were two pairs of the most beautiful eyes I've ever had the privilege to see.  Big, blue eyes that smile in their happiness.  Eyes that literally shine when my girls laugh.  Such amazing, life-filled, smiling, happy eyes.
And I had the sudden realization that made me pause, and made my own eyes well up with tears. 
Both these precious souls have their mommy's eyes.

Their eyes look exactly like mine.

Bossy Girls says it all the time, especially when she looks at pictures of me.  "Mommy, I have your eyes, see?"
Other people say it all the time when they see photos of me as a little girl.  "Wow.  Both your girls have your eyes."

Someday far off, when I'm gone, my girls will look in a mirror and see me looking back at them in their eyes.  And maybe, just maybe, they'll look at their own daughters and see their own eyes, my eyes, as well.  I just may live on forever.....

So, this morning, for the first time ever, I woke up and was beautiful.

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So Something I Would Do

This morning, in my usual hectic rush to get out of the door to work, I tossed my purse, extra bag, coat, and thermos of coffee in the car before getting in. (I proudly take a giant, construction-worker quality thermos full of caffinated goodness to work everyday.  The Hubby bought if for me so I stop going to Starbucks so much. I don't even care that I may look like I'm about to go roof a house or pave a road, I love that giant, manly thermos of mine.) And, I know I'm not wearing my coat in the middle of winter, but I don't typically wear it because I hate wearing coats while driving, and I run around in such a mad rush every morning I'm already sweating like a fiend and don't need the added layer to make it worse.

I hop in the car, shut the door, and reach for the keys in the ignition.
No keys.
WTH?  Of course I'd forget my keys.  But before I return to the house to run around like an insane fool and yell about my missing keys, I decide to look around me and the car first.

I search my purse.  No keys. 
I search my coat pockets... no keys. 
Crap.
I'm gonna have to go back inside and punish my poor family with my lost keys rant. ( I have my "missing items" rant a couple times a week.)

So, I get out of the car and as I turn to shut the door behind me, what do I see laying on my driver's side car seat?  My keys. 

I was sitting on them.

What does that say about my lard butt that I can sit on pieces of jagged metal and not even feel it?

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A Whole Lotta Oddness

In my daily browsing of online news sources, I came across the most interesting, and slightly disturbing blog called The Body Odd on msnbc.com.  The post on the blog today is all about a new reality tv show called "My Strange Addiction" on TLC that spotlights people's weird habits and obsessions.  For the entire world to see. This show will premeire next week.  Check out the blog here. 
Anyway, as I read this post, I was struck with one thought, and one thought only. 

What the hell is wrong with people these days?

Seriously.  There is a woman, who allowed herself to be identified, who admits to turning on her hairdryer, putting it under the covers with her, and sleeping with it every night.  Even though she's aware of the fact that it could burn her, or start a fire, or kill her in her innocent, warm and cozy, sleep.  A sleep probably filled with dreams of blow outs at a salon and warm, breezy walks on the beach.  And possibly campfires or burning houses or charred flesh. If that doesn't deserve a WTF, nothing does. If blowdryers were meant for sleeping with, wouldn't they be more soft and snuggly? Obviously.

A psychologist is quoted as saying "nothing people do surprises me."  Well it surprises the hell out of me, and likely the rest of us "normal" "average" "typical" "boring" folk. (I use those terms loosely when referencing myself, because they don't all fit me. Clearly.)

What other strange things are people doing, you may wonder?  Well, according to the blog, they're eating toilet paper, sucking their thumbs, rubbing their pant legs repeatedly, and having meaningful relationships with life-size dolls.

Some say these behaviors come from some sort of childhood fascination or trauma that people can't shake.
I say we can only blame our childhoods for so much. I mean really people.

When I was little, I would always order breakfast for dinner when eating out at a restaurant.  I'd regularly have pancakes at dinnertime, and I loved it.  But, you don't see me wearing pancakes today. Or tucking a few flapjacks into bed with me.
When I was maybe 6 or 7 years old, I was blamed for smashing some dude's watermelons in his garden when I didn't do it (the actual fruit, not his "melons").  No one believed me, and I got in huge trouble.  Eventually, my good name was cleared, but you don't see me running around and taking out my anger, resentment, and aggression on fruit today. Or collecting fruit.  Or sleeping with it.
When I was little, I loved to sip the foam from my grandfather's just freshly cracked open can of beer.  You don't see me drinking too much today... actually....  Wait.  Nevermind.  Bad example.

I learned three lessons from this blog post on The Body Odd.
1.  People are way more effed up than I thought.
2.  The field of psychology will always have job openings available.
3.  Hair dryers can be used for more than just hairstyling purposes.  They can replace blankets and significant others and/or pets in bed for warmth.  (Don't be an idiot.  Do not try this at home.)

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A Pseudo-Interview with an Awesome SheBlogger that I Will Now Claim to Know Well. Oh yeah! You Mean Julie the Wife? TOTALLY Know Her. We Go Way Back.

A while back I wrote about my favorite female comedians. here   I sent out  a few email requests to some of my favorite female bloggers to see if they would share which ladies of comedy they enjoy.  And I got a response from one of my absolute favorite queens of blogging: Julie the Wife.  I'm giddy and smiling like an absolute idiot right now because I'm super excited that she replied to lowly old me.  I hope she reads this cuz I'm totally sucking up.  Big time.  Check out her blog, become a follower, and be prepared to laugh. 
A Day in the Life  Whoreticulture Friday cracks me up every. single. time.

Turns out I may have to add Julie the Wife to my list of stalking subjects (after Mike Wolfe American Picker Stalker,  David Beckham, and Robert Pattinson), because she likes many of the same comediennes that I do.  Her reply:

I love Amy Poehler and Tina Fey, they're smart and can be cute and snarky at the same time. Sometimes I think Sarah Silverman is funny, and sometimes I think she goes too far, and then I find out she wets the bed and I feel like I should give her another chance because it's the right thing to do. Chelsea Handler's book My Horizontal Life was hysterical, but I know if I met her in real life she would probably look me up and down, throw a vodka on the rocks in my face and walk away. She scares me a little. Amy Sedaris is great, and The Bloggess is about my favorite person ever because she's funny as hell and all heart. I started watching SNL in 1976, and I have to say that was about the most formative thing in my creative life. Still can't believe I never tried to get on that show.

I'll link you to The Bloggess too, because it's another excellent blog that I follow.  The Bloggess  She recently did such an amazingly generous act of kindness and giving, you've gotta read it and see.
And I love the irony of Julie the Wife mentioning bedwetting in her response, after my post about pee yesterday. Pee Musings
Good stuff.

So, it's been a banner day for me.  I slept in.  I drank coffee.  I ate chips.  My pee doesn't smell like onions currently. I rented movies.  I wrapped Christmas presents.  I taught Wee One how to pick up toys after she dumps them.  I received an email from a blogger I look up to. There may be chilled wine in the fridge....
Ah.  It's good to be me right now.

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The Post in Which I Contemplate Pee

Warning!  TMI  (Too much information) If you have standards, don't read this post
. 
I am currently having introspective thoughts and deep contemplations, as well as conducting online searches, as to what is up with my pee.
Forgive my bluntness and poor manners, but it's kinda smelling like onions lately.
And I don't eat onions all that regularly.

So, I do what all hypochondriacs, wannabe doctors, and true scholars do.  I Google my problem.

First I went for the straightforward query, "Why does my urine smell like..." and this is what Google's lovely autosearch feature pulled up:

Apparently, and thankfully, I'm not the only one with these kinds of concerns.  I learned that when you are super dehydrated, your urine can smell strongly of foods you've eaten recently. 

So how can I be sure I'm dehydrated?  I do Google search #2.  I go to type in "signs of dehydration" when Google offers up these options:

Demonic possession?  That search is for another day.... likely tomorrow.  I can only handle one issue at a time.

I have more pressing matters.  I've gotta know more about my urine.  Then, I notice the Hubby looking over my shoulder at my urine searches, and I can tell he's giving me that "you're one step away from being committed look."  I guess "reasonable" people don't spend lots of time Googling pee.  Or blogging about it. Whatever.

So I tried another search I thought was logical:  "Pee obsession."  And I get this from the autosearch:

WHAT THE....??  What kinds of people are either A.  Googling about peeing on pandas?  or B.  Actually peeing on pandas?
And what about poor Carl being peed on? 

Well, after all is said and done, I learned that I'm dehydrated (turns out pee isn't supposed to be goldenrod in color) and I eat too many foods with onions in them.  So I decide to drink more water.  And eat better smelling food.

I cut back on my coffee consumption today and drank a load of water.  I visited the restroom five times during the work day, when normally I would go just one time.  And stupid me, I didn't go quick before I left work to get the kiddos, so I really, really had to go on the way home.  I announced that I really, really had to go, and Bossy Girl's solution?  "Just pee your pants Mom.  I've done it before, it's not too bad."  She's definitely her father's daughter.  I glance in the rearview mirror and see Wee One, who grins at me from behind her pacifier with an all-knowing look that said true dat, and probably peed in her diaper to confirm her sister's point.

To conclude my urine musings, I decided to look up the definition of pee in the holy grail of all reference materials, Urban Dictionary. 
You're welcome, readers.

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Video Musings

I'm going to watch this repeatedly until memorized, and then I'm thinking it's time for a girl's night out! You know  you'd all wanna come with and be there when I bust a move like this! Double Dream Hands!

See more funny videos and TBT at Todays Big Thing.

This woman can't have ANY friends. She doesn't emanate health, she emanates asshole-ism. My favorite line is when she states she "makes her living off of  five inches."  How does this distinguish her from a male escort?

See more funny videos and TBT at Todays Big Thing.

My wisdom teeth removal was SO not this fun. The sister is my favorite in this video.  And I've never seen such a riveting, edge of your seat match of thumb war.  Nor will I probably ever again.

See more funny videos and Funny Videos at Todays Big Thing.

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I Got My Mind on My Money and My Money on My Mind

I'm sure you all remember I had a birthday last week.  (if you've totally forgotten, or it's your first time here, then all you need to know is I turned 24.  Yeah, 24.  That's it.....)

I ranted pessimistically and sarcastically about my birthday, but now that it's over, I'm having positive, happy, shiny thoughts about it. 

Why, you may ask? Cuz I made me some MONEY!!!  OOH OHHHH!!

So, now all I can think about is how to spend my free cash. (And Cherry Pull and Peel Twizzlers) 
 I need your help, readers.  Help me decide what to do with this cash.
(pause for an interruption because my mind wanders.  Whoever you are in Croatia reading this regularly, thank you.  You are currently my favorite international reader.  I heart you.)

I have a few thoughts on how I can blow a couple hundred bucks easily and quickly. 
A.  Clothes and shoes shopping.  Technically, I do need clothes, especially pants for work.  And shoes are always good because I'm on my feet all day.  When I'm not sitting on my ass blogging, that is. 

B.  Bags.  Hopefully you recall me mentioning my love for bags.  Purses do for me what shoes can do for other women.  Or chocolate for others.  Or what a new set of batteries can do for yet more ladies.  My current bag loves are the Kate Spade Frosted Felt Quinn here  or the Michael Kors Hamilton Satchel in Vanilla lookie! OR the Coach Madison Patent Satchel in Colbalt buy me!

C.  I could use my bday cash as a savings starting point for buying an iPad, which I'd really, really like to have.  Or even a laptop so I can blog in bed.  Sorry Hubby, but I've got priorities.

D.  OR, I could save the money for something important, like an unexpected bill or clothes for my quickly growing kiddos. It IS a recession, after all.  Plus, I'm a "grown up," so I should do "grown up," responsible stuff with my money..... sigh.

What to do, what to do? 

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One of Those Mornings Where All the Littlest Things Go Wrong and I Have a Temper Tantrum, Thereby Securing Some Therapist's Job for Years to Come

It all began when I overslept, YET AGAIN.  Ugh!  Whoever invented the snooze option was clearly messing with me.  I was happily sleeping and dreaming that I was in New York City, filming an episode of The Best Thing I Ever Ate.  In my dream, I was a famous chef, and was sharing my favorite deli sandwich in the city.  When filming was done, I went and had lunch with some other chef.  You may have heard of her, Giada de Laurentis.  Maybe not.  She's not quite as infamous as me yet.  Anyway, all through our famous, pretty chef lunch (pretty Giada, not me), I was biting off those acrylic nails you get at a nail salon and spitting them in the bread basket.  Weird. (Weird because I typically bite my nails off during breakfast, not lunch. LOL).  I was enjoying the dream when my alarm jolted me awake at 5:35.  It's set at 5:35 because it just feels not as early as 5:30, but not as late as 5:45.  Just go with it for me people.  I wanted to get back to my NYC lunch, so I hit snooze.  More than a few times. 

Next thing I know it's 6:01 and I panic and fly out of bed to get ready.  Remember, I'm a mom, so I have to get more than myself ready for the day.  I'd let the Hubby get the girls' clothes all planned out and on them, but we all know I can't send my kids out into public looking the way he'd have them look.  All you moms out there are nodding and going, "Mmm hmm!  Tell it sister."

I proudly take a speed shower lasting less than 5 minutes.  Way to conserve water!  And then when I reach for my towel, it hits me.  I didn't get a towel.  Shit.  It's below zero, mid December, and now I have to air dry?  I do a naked cold and wet dance to get a towel (don't attempt to picture it, it gives even me nightmares), dripping water all over the bathroom floor.  More mess for me to clean up.  Yay.

Next, the Mess with People's Mornings goblins prevented me from pulling my toothbrush out of the toothbrush holder.  The toothbrush that is clearly too big for the holder is crammed there because I'm too lazy to get a smaller toothbrush.  Or a bigger holder.  I fight with that evil ass piece of plastic for a good minute, mumbling and grumbling some choice vocabulary, but I prevailed in the end and was able to brush away my morning breath. 

     My temper tantrum meter is now on a 2 out of possible 10.

By now I'm a little flustered, but still staying positive.  Until I try to put in my left contact.  Every single attempt ended in me muttering "What the...?"  Whenever that contact touched my eye, it went limp and flipped inside out.  Performance anxiety?  (Ladies, you're flashing back to a bad date right about now, right?)

Time to blow dry my  hair.  But wait!  Not until I clean out my barrel roller brush that I've discovered has carpet fibers in it!  Who the hell was brushing the carpet?  Next time you get the urge to brush the flipping carpet, use your own damn brush!

Temper tantrum meter: 4



Next came the following rapid-fire moments of frustration:  I find I'm completely out of foundation so I attempt to use concealor instead to hide my giant pores and crow's feet. I can't find my mascara or blush brush (Bossy Girl must have been playing with Mommy's make up bag again.).  And when I get a hankering for a 6:40 am glass of milk nog, I find it's EXPIRED. 

Temper tantrum meter: 8

When I go to the laundry room to iron my khakis, I find that the water chamber for providing steam while ironing is empty.  YET.  AGAIN.  Why oh why am I the only fricking person in my house who can refill the water in the iron??  Or replace a roll of toilet paper on the holder for that matter?????? (which suddenly reminds me of one of my all time favorite shows.  Mad About You.  When Jamie demonstrates proper toilet roll replacement. Watch it here. Replace the TP roll!)

Alert, alert!  Temper tantrum meter: 10!!!!

Now comes the stomping, sighing, eye rolling, swearing fit I'm so good at. Just ask the Hubby.  Thankfully my girls are nowhere near this dramatic event, because I suddenly remember something I read in one of my magazines. It was like a voice inside my head reading aloud the one single line in Redbook that had any meaning.  The mother is the emotional center of a home. 

Christ.  I'm the effing emotional center of my home?  My kids are screwed.







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Tales of a Fugly Sweater Saturday

Well, I've gone from overly prolific blogging to a sharp downturn in my posting production recently.  I'd love to blame it on being super busy, but alas, it's simply because I've been super lazy. My weekend started out fun, and ended up with me on the couch with a bag of chips, Edward Cullen on my big screen, and a nap.

I spent time with some good friends and all our kiddos for my birthday on Friday.  We had a great night eating and chatting as normal grown ups with kids do.

Then, I reconnected with 1987 for an Ugly Holiday Sweater party on Saturday. 
I channeled 1987 first by choosing a fugly Christmas sweater with larger than life shoulder pads from the local Good Will.  The $3.00 I paid for this nightmare of hand knitting was generous, let me tell you.  I was literally looking like a linebacker covered in trees, holly, nutcrackers, and little red balls.  (hee, hee, my sweater had nutcrackers and balls on it.  Did ya get it?  Are you laughing?)  Anyway, I was extra lucky when I found little teddy-bears-wearing-santa-hat earrings, and a homemade wooden and beaded Santa necklace to complete my ensemble.  As I got dressed, I figured I'd go all out, crimp my hair, and freeze it solid with AquaNet I found at Walgreens.  Hello 80s!  And yes, I have a crimper. Wanna talk smack about it?  Didn't think so.

The ugly sweater party was a lot of fun.  We generally looked like Christmas puked all over us then handed us lots of drinks.  Thankfully, no one else besides Christmas did any puking. We had a prize for the winner of the ugliest sweater vote.... to really class it up, the prize was my homemade decorated stocking with lottery tickets, a forty of beer, and a chocolate bar. Winner dude chugged the beer, about tossed his cookies, and won $2.00 off my lottery tickets.  I think I should demand half of the winnings.

I had a lot of first time experiences that evening as well.  I played beer pong for the first time ever.  My team lost both times.  Must have been rigged I'm guessing.  My hand-eye coordination isn't normally that bad.  But after a few Smirnoff Tuscan lemonades something went drastically wrong with my balance and ability to calmly and evenly toss a ping pong ball across a table.  I also witnessed my first ever vibrating Rudolph necklace/accessory.  Seriously.  It was a Rudolph necklace.  That vibrated.  Make him into a belt and you could mass market that bad boy.  I'd buy three.

I always can tell when I've had a good night, and all the signs were there that this was, in fact, a great time.  Here's a handy reference list I'll call:

"Signs that I've had too Good of a Time Socializing, Enjoying Cocktails,  & Causing Mischief."

A.  I have dozens of pictures of me making that horrible kissy face to the camera. (it's cute when you're 14 and a size 2, not so much when you're 33 and a non size 2.)
B.  I yelled my Amy Poehler in Baby Mama OH OHHHH! noise more times than I could count. here
C.  I have a picture of me laying on the floor with a dog licking my face.
D.  Everyone became my bestest friend in the whole world and I hugged them repeatedly.
D.  I was belching up Bud Light, pretzels, and spinach dip for hours.
E..  I fell asleep before my body was fully laying down in bed.

The only items missing from my list that are typically included are:
F.  I get paranoid and belligerant and think everyone is looking at me funny and I need to kick some stranger's ass.
G.  I have deep, meaningful conversations with random girls as we wait in that insanely long line to the ladies room at a bar.
H.  I squeal, "I LOVE THIS SONG" to every single song played.  The. Entire. Night.

But overall, an excellent evening.  I highly recommend everyone attend an Ugly Holiday Sweater party.

This is what led up to me on the couch with a bag of chips, my green Snuggie, and Eclipse in the DVD player.  I'm too old to party like it's 1987 anymore though, cuz poor Edward couldn't even keep me awake.  I made it through roughly to the part where Jacob kissed Bella and she punched his manly, chiseled face when I began my glorious Sunday afternoon, post fugly sweater party snooze session.  It was an awesome nap too.

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I Don't Understand My Cat. Meow.

There are many things in life I do not understand.
I don't understand physics.
I don't understand how cell phones can send text messages to other phones through mid air.
I don't understand how computers work their magic.
I don't understand how cars run or how to fix them if they stop running.
I don't understand how to calculate a percentage off in a store quickly in my head (unless it's 50% off, then piece of cake.  Therefore, every single thing should be at least half off.  I declare it.)
I don't understand why so many people want Maury to help them find their baby daddy.
There's a heck-of-a lot more, but I need to focus on the point.
I really, really don't understand my cat Colby.

what a handsome boy!

First, he talks all the time.  Literally, ALL THE TIME.  Why does he do that?
He's watered, fed, pet, and comfortable.  Yet, the boy moans, groans, meows, grunts, etc. nonstop. 
And he can be SO loud.  If he finds himself alone in a room, he'll immediately start this horrific, animal-being-slaughtered moan that echoes throughout the house.  Like we've abandoned him and he hasn't seen another living soul in months.  It's truly pathetic sounding.  And annoying.

Also, he pukes a lot.  He'll gorge himself on food.  Then ralph it up.  And then promptly eat some more.  Is he bulemic?  He'll eat any random piece of crap laying around on the floor.  And then vomit.  He's like a dog on a constant search for food scraps.  Even with all that puking, he's overweight, around 16 lbs.  He's a big boy.

If we sloppily leave dirty clothes on the floor in the basement laundry room, he'll sometimes poop on them.  GROSS.

He can never make up his mind.  He wants the door open to go downstairs. (basement door's always shut for Wee One's safety.).  Then, he'll sit on the second step and moan to come back up.  Then, sit by the door and cry to go back down.  It's a vicious, obnoxious cycle.

Is he lonely? 

We used to have another cat, Callie.  She was a calico with the nastiest attitude ever found in a cat.  She was crabby, incredibly overweight, and clearly bipolar with possible multiple personality disorder.  One minute she'd be cuddling and purring in your arms, the next, she'd bitch slap you with her little white paw and bite your ass.  Hard.  Broken skin and blood hard.  And she hated me the most.  She had some weird, obsessive.possessive thing with the Hubby.  He was hers, and I was the competition.  She'd lay on my side of the bed  at night and glare at me like, don't you dare try to come in here bitch.  He's mine.   But we loved her.  I can't even get into what happened to Callie that ended up with us having to put her down at the vet in May of 2009.  It was a horrible day and we miss her still. 

Does Colby still miss her?  Does he miss her stalking him from under the bed, only to pounce and beat his ass to submission?  Some guys like that kind of thing......

 

Photo 1: Callie patiently waiting to trip me down the stairs.                      

Photo 2: Callie upside down bein lazy.  And plotting my "accidental" death and dismemberment..

We'd get another cat, but what's the guarantee that Colby and the new one will get along?  What if he pukes on the new kitty alot?  Do we need a cat whisperer or therapist?  Would the psychic John Edwards know how to help Colby? 

     John:  I'm getting a male. Possibly a female.  And he or she's showing me an M.  Or is it an N?  Y? L?

     Colby:  stares, moans, then pukes.

     John:  Now they're showing me something round.  Is it a ring?  A wreath?  A Cheerio?

     Colby:  rolls onto back and purrs.

     John:   And I'm getting the feeling of sadness.  Or anger.  Or jealousy?

     Colby:  walks away to eat more food.

     John:  they're telling me that they're fine.  They no longer feel any pain.  Or happiness.  Or loss.  Or joy.

     Colby:  pukes, poops on a towel, then goes to take a nap in the linen closet.

Readers, please help me understand my cat.

And if  you can, possibly the Maury Povich show as well.

Thanks.

Me

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It's a Crisis People! Take Shelter!

When I think of the word "crisis," I think of something both very serious and very bad, possibly life-threatening even.  Like war, famine, a natural disaster,  that Cuban missile thing, Britney Spears' hair, a zombie attack, pandemic, Starbucks running out of coffee......

But the current "crisis" I just read about in the news today scared me to the core.  I never imagined that it was even a possibility, but you've gotta know what our world is coming to people.

Brace yourselves.

The state of Illinois, more specifically, the Illinois Corrections System (you know, as in prison.  Jail.  The Big House.  The Brig.  The Slammer.), is experiencing a crisis. 
It's a travesty of unimaginable magnitude.  It's a catastrophe of possibly Biblical proporations.
This plight could very well seal our fate as a species.
*are you scared yet?

They are running out of  underwear for the inmates!!! Gasp!  Shriek!  Mooooommmmy!

No need to reread that line.  I'll repeat it again in words used by the reporter.
State prison officials have averted a potential crisis behind bars: A shortage of undies for inmates.

Supposedly there is a worldwide cotton shortage, just as there is a worldwide intelligence shortage, and a worldwide important and relevent news shortage.

So Illinois doesn't want their inmates running around freeballing it.  Or, for the lady prisoners, letting their woo hoos air out.  I can't imagine the chaos that may or may not cause. Or, the mood lifting and morale boost it may give to the prisoners.  And no one wants them happy, now do they?  No sir.
They are having to contract with another company who's jacked the price the lovely Illinois taxpayers will have to pay for a bunch of criminals' Fruit of the Looms.
From the "news" story:
Facing the prospect of having inmates with no skivvies, state officials this week hired another company to supply the cloth. The new contract is worth $183,800, which is an estimated $50,000 more than what the state had planned to spend, according to documents.
$183,000???
They can't be buying them Fruit of the Looms or Hanes at that price!  That's gotta be some Calvin Kleins and Vickies Secrets happening there.  That has to get the taxpayers panties in a bunch.  (hee, hee!)

I know how important underwear can be.  I was raised with the belief that clean underwear would magically protect you from death if you were ever in a car accident, therefore, you always needed a clean pair when you left the house.  Sometimes, the right kind of underwear can remind you what day of the week it is.  You always, always pack extra underwear, even in your carry on bag cuz the luggage your undergarments are in will disappear or end up on another flight. Underwear can be the determining factor between being asked out on another date or not.

Underwear matters, friends.  But does it matter enough to alert the media?

Read it all here: (the link title is not the actual article title, but would've been had I been the reporter)
 "I will NOT be put into a cell with Billy John until you get me some undies under this orange jumpsuit!"
Prison can be a scary enough place people.  Let's not take away a layer of protection from our inmates.

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A DMV Journey

This week I had to take the once-every-four-year trek to the DMV to renew my driver's license.
I take this very seriously because last time I had to renew my license, I was a tad bit late.
And by tad bit, I mean almost five months late. 

But come on, who really checks out the expiration date on their license frequently, right? 

They're kind enough to give you a grace period, but apparently 5 months is considered "excessive," so my butt had to take that damn driver's test. The same one I took when I was 16, and then promptly forgot all about.  I don't remember how many questions there were, but I do remember that you can only miss 6 and still pass.  I'd already missed 5 and was down to the very last question when I started to sweat a bit. 

Can I just interrupt for a second and pose an important question, lovely readers?  Who the heck actually pays attention to, much less cares, exactly & specifically how many feet or yards or centimeters before a turn you must put on your turn signal? 
I turn on my turn signal before I turn, which is a heck of a lot sooner that other jerkoffs out there who don't use one at all, or turn it on as they're turning....

But I digress.  I passed the test by the skin of my teeth, and got my license.  Whew!
Fast forward four years and we're at the present day.  Renewal time.

The local DMV is completely across town from where I live.  On one of our busiest roads.  That I typically avoid at all costs anyway, but particularly near 5 pm.  On the way over, which normally takes 15 minutes, I was caught in the most obnoxiously slow mob of traffic and ended up taking twice as long to get there.  Along the way I witnessed 2 cars run red lights, got cut off twice (neither used turn signals, by the way), and passed 3 fender-benders/accidents with cops and lights and the works.  Idiots.  They all needed to get their butts to the DMV with me to learn how to drive their sorry selves.

So I get there, with already worn patience, and take my number: 493.  What?  If I find they're only on like, 268, I'm gonna have a heart attack.  And they give me a form to fill out while I wait.  I couldn't figure out why I couldn't understand a word until I realized the Espanol side was up.  Duh.  Oh, and DMV people, if you're reading this, I totally lied about my weight on that form.  I knocked off 20 lbs, and I feel no guilt about it. (unless that's illegal.  If so, then it never happened. I have no clue what you're talking about.  What's that you're saying? Oh, look, a Christmas tree!)
I then people-watch for a bit.  It's true what they say.  You really do see a varied cross section of America in the DMV.  It's quite diverse.  So's the smell in there though too.  Pee eww.

Alas, my wait wasn't long at all.  And the DMV lady I worked with was super, super nice.  I listened patiently while she asked me some formulaic, scripted questions with all sorts of official sounding vocabulary like felony and restrictions and eligibility and such.  Then, she waited patiently while I took about 5 minutes and 3 alcohol prep wipes to disinfect the vision screening machine.  (You would've too if you'd seen who went before me.)
Then, she took my money and off I went to take the mug shot, er, I mean license photo.
Which, by the way, looks like she used their camera lense with  the closest zoom possible.  I look like a freakin Mrs. Potato Head in the picture. Anyone ever see "So I Married an Axe Murderer"?

HEED!  MOVE!  I'm not kidding.  Look at that boy's head. It's like an orange on a toothpick.

**loosely quoted

As I walked out I was able to eavesdrop a bit on a "conversation" between a DMV lady and a man and his son.  They weren't technically "conversing", but more "yelling".  She kept shouting things like, "I don't know your son's issues.  YOU should know your son's issues.  What, I'm supposed to magically know why there are restrictions on his license? "  I had a flashback and thought I was back in therapy for a second.  I wanted to share my issues as well.  Clearly we all have issues.  Good stuff.

On the way to my car I stepped over 2 crushed forties of beer on the sidewalk outside the door.  Um, I'm pretty sure whoever those belonged to didn't pass the driving test.....

See you in 5 years, DMV.

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It's My Birthday....Well, La De Fricking Da.

Well, I might as well face it.  I'm aging.  I haven't been inspired enough to complete a post I'm working on about my hatred of crow's feet.  (but seriously guys, I hate them with a passion.)  And don't get me started on what gravity is doing to parts of me.  Ugh.  I will be 33 years old in three days. THREE days.  And I'm torn between being happy I've lived this long, and dreading being another year older.

Some of my readers may be pissed right now, thinking, Boo hoo.  I'd kill to be 33 again. 
Some of my readers may be petrified at the prospect of leaving their still youthful 20s or teens.  Good God she's old....
But whichever group you're in, I have feelings on age you can probably relate to.

First, I don't feel 33.  To me, 33 is a very "grown up" age, full of grown up responsibilities.  And I don't feel grown up yet.  I think mentally and maturity-wise, I'm probably 19 or 20 years old.

However, polar opposite of that is how I feel physically most days.  I'd say in that area, I'm in my upper 40s-mid 50s.  For example, I am totally useless on a Friday night.  After a full week of work, I cannot stay awake past 9:00 pm on a Friday anymore.  We had to cancel our Netflix membership because we couldn't finish a movie to save our souls.  I'd be fast asleep before a rental would be half through.  And on work nights, it's not much better.  I haven't seen a late show or SNL in years. 
I'm starting to choose comfy flats over the gorgeous, fashionable high heels that I so love. 
I'm wishing I could bite the bullet and actually buy and wear elastic-band "granny" pants instead of cute low-rise jeans.
Undergarments are no longer about cuteness and being sexy, but about comfort and holding things in and up.
I enthusiastically and thoughtfully browse facial cleansers and creamers and antiwrinkle products in stores.
Instead of going every 8-9 weeks to get my hair colored to hide those grays, I'm having to go every 6 or so. Those suckers aren't even gray, they're bright ass white!

Emotionally, most days I'm probably 16.  I have mood swings you wouldn't believe.  Ask the Hubby.  I also have that grudge-holding issue I'm so good at.  My heart gets broken too easily by people.  I like gossip.  I seek approval of peers when I should be beyond that crap in life.  I worry about what I look like and my hair and what I'm wearing.  It's hard being a girl at any age, I tell you.

The Hubby insists on buying me a birthday cake and filling it with candles and singing to me every year.  That stuff is cute when you're 5, but not when you're old enough to have more candles than actual cake.

On a happier note, cuz I've been quite pessimistic this post, being this age has its benefits.
I'm still carded when I order a margarita or other drink out in public.
I don't need regular mammograms or colonoscopies.
I'm not on the doorstep of menopause.
I don't need one of those pill holders/organizers for every day of the week.

I have two amazing daughters who are the LOVES of my life.  My oldest, Bossy Girl, was a happy surprise when I was 25 years old.  I'd always, always wanted a daughter, and she is perfect in my mind. She opened my eyes to the magic and blessing that is motherhood.  What an honor.  My youngest, Wee One, was hoped for and prayed for and longed for and carefully planned due to medical reasons. I am in awe of her and the joy she's brought to my life.  I didn't have these miracle girls when I was 23, so 33 is definitely good in that area. I hope as I age, and they age, we stay close and they can come to me for anything. 

Being another year older is also another year spent with my best friend, the Hubby.  We met when we were 17 and married when we were 23 and out of college.  How lucky am I to have met my match at such a young age.  He doesn't even see my gray hairs or crow's feet.

One of my best childhood friends passed away tragically when we were only ten years old.  I'm thinking wherever he is, he'd give anything to be here and be turning 33 with me.....

So, bring it on, birthday.  I guess I can take it.

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Santa's a Pimp

**Alert: This post is probably not for the seasonally sensitive people who revel in the glory and holy sanctity of Christmas.  I know that Jesus is the reason, peeps, I'm just having a little sarcastic fun.**

Hasn't anyone ever wondered why Santa's infamous tag line is "Ho, Ho, Ho"?

I think I may have discovered the reason today.

Just LOOK what I found when attempting to clean the chaos that is our basement toy room:

Never in all my childhood did I imagine Santa up at the North Pole, listening to Jay-Z;  I'm a pimp in every sense of the word, b**ch .

But I figure hey, if I were stuck up there in the dark and freezing cold for 364 days a year with the same wife (who's now what, 305 years old) and nothing but little people around me playing with toys, I'd have to get my freak on now and then as well.  Don't hate the player, hate the game.

I'm still trying to figure out if it was Bossy Girl playing with her Barbies this way, or if the Hubby has a hobby I never knew about....

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Starstruck

I've just barely calmed down enough to write about this.  I had the most amazing experience today.
I was leaving work when I noticed a familiar-looking white van parked right next to me.  I had to do a double-take and stare for a second for it to finally sink in.  I KNOW that van. It slowly became clear to me how I knew that van as I read the letters on the side logo: "Antique Archaeology."  WHA???!!  The American Pickers van is right here within my reach?  O.M.G.  I love that show!

Then, I glance into the driver's side window and see him.  HIM.  Mike Wolfe.  Mike Freaking Wolfe.  Mike, I'm on a popular television show Wolfe. Mike, I'm talking on my cell phone minding my own business while some crazy woman stares at me Wolfe.
Holy shit.

I immediately start to squeal like a 13 year old girl seeing Justin Bieber at the mall.  Or, in a more appropriate example for my own generation, squeal  like a 13 year old girl seeing Jordan Knight from the New Kids on the Block in concert at the state fair.  (God did I love that boy)
I then remember Bossy Girl is in the back seat because I hear her say, "Mother, what's going on with you?"
I stutter something that cannot possibly be deciphered except for a high-pitched American Pickers! squeek, hatch a plan, and jump into action.
"Unbuckle your seatbelt and come out of the car with me." I manage.
"But why Mommy?"
"We are going to stall until he's off his phone and possibly even out of his van.  Then I'm gonna pounce."

We then go to the back of the car and open the rear door to pretend to fiddle with things and get something we're looking for.  Bossy Girl is confused, but bravely playing along with her now clearly certifiable Mom.
After a couple of minutes, Mike, gorgeous in real life Wolfe is STILL on his phone.  BG is getting impatient, and it's getting cold. 

I send BG to the car to sit inside again while I try to come up with another idea.  Maybe if I let the air out of one of my own tires I can talk to him....

It was then that I see a coworker walking to her car.  Perfect.  I can go talk to her to kill a few more minutes.  I want to know how her day went anyway.  I swear.  She's a reader and I want her to know that.  I was not simply using you as a means to get to Mike Wolfe.  I promise.

That didn't take much time.  I turn around and he's STILL sitting in the van, talking on his cell. 

OK.  So I probably don't want to walk right up and pound on his window.
I probably don't want to take a picture of myself standing next to his car door without his permission.
I probably don't want to blow him kisses through the windshield.
I probably don't want to draw an I LOVE YOU sign and hold it up for him to read.

I probably don't want to go ahead and get into the passenger seat next to him.

I say all this only because I probably didn't want a restraining order put against my ass.

So, I do the only thing I can think of.  I look at him, see he's looking right at me, and act all surprised like, "Hey!  I just now noticed you're that one guy from TV!"  And smile and wave.  Trying to act casual, but looking clearly like a crazed lunatic.
He politely smiles and waves back.
I get in my car.  And start squealing like a little girl some more.

I squeal all the way to pick up Wee One.

I squeal all the way home. 

I squeal while I tell the Hubby about my close encounter with celebrity.

I ALL UPPERCASE post it as my Facebook status.

I text a friend saying that I'm now in love.

His response?  Why was he even there?

I reply that maybe it was fate leading him there to that exact moment where I'd be, and that now Mike wouldn't be able to get me off his mind and he'd be forced to search for me until he found me again. 

The reply text to that?  HA!

Let a girl have her fantasy, I say!

I love you Mike.  Until we meet again.

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12 Days of Christmas, Sarcastic-style

  To the tune of, "Twelve Days of Christmas"

On the 1st day of Christmas, the universe gave to me...

A possible case of whooping cough and a sneeze.

On the 2nd day of Christmas, the universe gave to me....

2 nice new pimples

And a possible case of whooping cough and a sneeze.

On the 3rd day of Christmas, the universe gave to me...

3 eyerolls from the Hubby

2 nice new pimples

And a possible case of whooping cough and a sneeze.

On the 4th day of Christmas, the universe gave to me...

4 Amazon.com packages

3 eyerolls from the Hubby

2 nice new pimples

And a possible case of whooping cough and a sneeze.

On the 5th day of Christmas, the universe gave to me....

5 glasses of wine!
4 Amazon.com packages

3 eyerolls from the Hubby

2 nice new pimples

And a possible case of whooping cough and a sneeze.

On the 6th day of Christmas, the universe gave to me...

6 hits on the snooze button

5 Glasses of wine!

4 Amazon.com packages

3 eyerolls from the Hubby

2 nice new pimples

And a possible case of whooping cough and a sneeze

On the 7th day of Christmas, the universe gave to me...

7 rude shoppers at Target

6 hits on the snooze button

5 Glasses of wine!
4 Amazon.com packages

3 eyerolls from the Hubby

2 nice new pimples

And a possible case of whooping cough and a sneeze

On the 8th day of Christmas, the universe gave to me

8 half-empty rolls of wrapping paper
7 rude shoppers at Target

6 hits on the snooze button

5 Glasses of wine!
4 Amazon.com packages

3 eyerolls from the Hubby

2 nice new pimples

And a possible case of whooping cough and a sneeze

On the 9th day of Christmas, the universe gave to me....

9 replays of Will Ferrells' Elf

8 half-empty rolls of wrapping paper

7 rude shoppers at Target

6 hits on the snooze button

5 Glasses of wine!
4 Amazon.com packages

3 eyerolls from the Hubby

2 nice new pimples

And a possible case of whooping cough and a sneeze

On the 10th day of Christmas, the universe gave to me....

10 lbs gained from fudge and cookies

9 replays of Will Ferrells' Elf

8 half-empty rolls of wrapping paper

7 rude shoppers at Target

6 hits on the snooze button

5 Glasses of wine!
4 Amazon.com packages

3 eyerolls from the Hubby

2 nice new pimples

And a possible case of whooping cough and a sneeze

On the 11th day of Christmas, the universe gave to me....

11 garbage bags full from unwrapping
10 lbs gained from fudge and cookies

9 replays of Will Ferrells' Elf

8 half-empty rolls of wrapping paper

7 rude shoppers at Target

6 hits on the snooze button

5 Glasses of wine!
4 Amazon.com packages

3 eyerolls from the Hubby

2 nice new pimples

And a possible case of whooping cough and a sneeze

On the 12th day of Christmas, the universe gave to me...
12 awesome blog followers!

11 garbage bags full from unwrapping
10 lbs gained from fudge and cookies

9 replays of Will Ferrells' Elf
8 half-empty rolls of wrapping paper
7 rude shoppers at Target
6 hits on the snooze button
5 "Glasses of wine!
4 Amazon.com packages
3 eyerolls from the Hubby
2 nice new pimples
And a possible case of whooping cough and a sneeze

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