I haven't been around, blame Gateway

So, as you may recall, or may not, I got a new laptop for my birthday (well a few weeks before it, but it was my gift).  Instantly we could tell it was broken.  The touch pad would not work while the laptop was plugged in.  So, as long as the battery was charged, you were okay, at least at this point, but as soon as you ran out of battery and had to plug it in... no working laptop.  So, this has put a major hiccup into my blogging for the past few months.  We paid to send it back, they sent it back.  I sat down to write on it (not for the blog, but for an actual book), and totally unusable.  Same problem.  I had half a sentence written.  So, we sent it back, again, this time they provided a label, and my husband provided a "do not send this back unless the problem is fixed" note with it.  We got it back today, problem not fixed.  So, now it's my turn with customer service...

Connected

Subin (Listening)

 

Subin: Hi, my name is Subin. How may I help you?.

Me: Hello

Me: Why does gateway continue to send my BRAND NEW, yet BROKEN computer back to me without repairing it? Do they think I enjoy going long periods of time without my computer just to keep shipping it back and forth for nothing?  Do they think it's funny to take our money and give me a product I can not properly use?  I am a writer, and have lost 2 months of writing time to this problem.  Who would like to pay me for my time?  It seems more simple to just replace the machine and waste your own time looking for the problem that we have recorded and documented on video, than to continue with this game of sending it back to me, twice now, still broken.  You are wasting my time, infuriating me, and displaying a total lack of interest in keeping customers or the fact that you are losing potential customers every time I share this story with anyone.  You have sold me a broken machine.  You need to replace it at this point.  Sending it back to me over and over again, still unable to use, at all, once the battery is run down and it needs to be plugged in, which then for some reasons renders the touch pad completely useless, is no longer acceptable.  It wasn't acceptable in the first place, but at this point in time, I'm considering this a theft of my money for a worthless product that came not at all as advertised (which is mainly because you advertise you can USE the machine, and I CANNOT use mine).  Also, your company has cost me money to ship the laptop back the first time.  The second time they issued a label, but really there should never have been a second time, now should there?  No.  Who do I need to report this to?  Corporate?

Subin: I am really sorry to know that. 

Me: Me, too!

Subin: not to worry, in this case, I will transfer the chat to our level 2 support. 

Me: Thank you.

Subin: They will help you with this. 

Me: ok

Subin: Unfortunately our next level of support working hours is between 8 AM to 4.45 PM CST (Monday to Friday)

Subin: Could you please get back to us within 8 AM and 4.45 PM CST (Monday to Friday) so that we will go ahead and  transfer the chat session to our level 2 technician.

Subin: Is that okay with you?

Subin: I will document all your concern and provide the case ID. 

Me: Well, it's not really okay since it is the weekend now and then we have the holidays here, so it's going to put me out of work for too long, again... but since there is no other way, I will get back during those times.

Subin: I can really understand your situation. 

Subin: I would be unhappy if that happened to me too.

Me: Is there a case ID number?

Subin: Yes. Let me document all your concern in detail. 

Me: Ok

Subin: I apologize if I ever disappointed you over the chat. I have done my best to assist you with the available resources.

Me: Thank you for trying to help\

Subin: please contact us back during the level 2 timing. We will transfer the chat to level 2 support. 

Me: Thank you

Subin: You are welcome.

Subin: I appreciate you for the valuable time that you spent with me. 

So we can all take a moment to enjoy the following things:

 

#1 My husband never managed to get to this super secret "level 2", but one time with the scorned woman....

#2 Poor Subin trying to use the script they give the customer service people to try and deal with "woman of fury" over here, but that is pretty freakin hilarious

#3 Oh yeah, just fuck you Gateway, send me a replacement and stop wasting my time.  The people want new blog posts, and it's kind hard to type these things up on my phone!  Oy!

Are you here for the coffee or the kid?

Today I put my son in time out at the grocery store. Right there. The next to last aisle. I set a timer. I'm not playing around y'all. Anyway, as he sat there amongst the coffee creamer and Folgers, a shaved headed, tattooed, portly fellow noticed us. He gave me a quick grin from out of my son's view, then he approached us. He bent down towards my kid and in a scruffy voice said "You waiting' for someone to take 'em?!" I looked at him, very serious, and said "You never know, maybe!"  My son sat straight up, stared at us, and moved a little closer to the cart. As the man walked away, the time out alarm went off. My son stood up, took his place next to me & behaved quite nicely as we made our way to the front of the store where I was going to meet up with my husband. Then my son said "By the way, I'm looking for Daddy. I should walk with him!". I wasn't too upset over the diss, as he was still behaving. :)

Quick, unrelated note. My laptop has been sent for repairs, yes my brand new one they sent back without fixing the first time. I have not forgot about the blog. Today's little post was short enough to do on my phone, though. :) I will return!

Something's a little off...

Any female with long hair, and a few adventurous men will know exactly what I'm talking about here, and I won't seem crazy.  I'm just putting that in up front, because there is a percentage of you who will react the same way my husband did.  However, trust me, it's a real thing. As for the second part, well if you can't see things clearly... ah well, just read it.

Me Alright, I gotta go take a shower.  My hair doesn't feel right in my head.

Husband Wait, what?

Me I am going up to take a shower, watch the kids.

Him No, not that part, the hair part.  Your hair is coming out, or you think it will, or it doesn't belong there?  What is going on?

Me Oh, yeah.  My hair doesn't feel right in my head.

Him Should it be somewhere else?

Me No, this isn't like my hair is getting emotional about it's location.  It just feels wrong.  Like it was sitting funny.

Him Somehow, your explanation is not making the situation any more clear.

Me Well it's probably like when you pet a cat in the wrong direction.

Him Nope, never been a cat.  Still have no idea what you are talking about.

Me My hair must've been going in the wrong direction, and now it feels weird, almost painful.

Him How does it go the wrong direction?

Me *sigh* Well, kind of like if you have it pulled up too tight, or hair that usually is draped to one side is suddenly on the other side all day, and you go to move it back and it hurts your scalp.  Like at the root.  Come on, now.  Is this enough information for you?  Can I go wash my hair so it stops feeling weird in my head.

Him  Are you sure you didn't just hit your head on something.

Me Yeah, a brick wall, in like 2 seconds.

Him Okay, go wash your weird hair.

Me Thank you!



Obviously, getting to the shower was hard enough.  I've never had to work so hard for one before, as a matter of fact.  But, I still don't have my new contacts, so now I'm taking what is probably a legally blind shower, and I hate that.  Of course, there was a terrifying incident...


Husband Does your hair feel better?

Me Yes, but now I have chest pains.

Husband How did you manage that?  To go in with hair pains and come out with a heart attack?

Me It's not a heart attack.  It's a panic attack.  There was a tarantula in the shower with me.

Husband What. are. you. talking. about?

Me Well, I don't have my contacts in, so it's very hard to tell the difference between a sock fuzzy and a tarantula next to your foot in the shower when you can't see clearly.  Needless to say, it was a terrifying moment, especially when it started to move.  Was it moving because of water, or 8 furry killer spider legs.

Him First of all, I'm pretty sure tarantulas are not killer spiders.  Second of all, HOW BIG ARE YOUR SOCK FUZZIES?

Me Well I don't know how big baby tarantulas are.  They are probably about the same size as a sizeable sock fuzzy. 

Him And where would this tarantula come from, in the first place?

Me You never know with you boys.  

Him You're not right.

Me Well, at least I'm alive.  I could have been killed in there had I not seen the tarantula and rinsed him down the drain.

Him You mean your sock fuzzy?  At least your sock fuzzy didn't kill you?  First your hair is unhappy with it's current position and now your fuzzies are going to kill you in the shower.  

Me Well when you say it, it sounds stupid.  

Him Yeah, it sounds stupid when you say it, too.

Me It could have been a deadly spider.

Him Are we done here?

Me For now, unless that spider crawls back up the drain.

*silence*

I don't see it.

Being the thrilling risk taker that I am, I opened my last pair of contacts before I had an eye appointment.  Today, one of them ripped.  I was lucky enough that someone cancelled their appt today, so I got in.  However, I do get to wait about a week for my new contact lenses to come in, and so I'm stuck wearing my glasses for awhile.  That's what I get for livin' on the edge.

Right away I started not playing well with others making friends by refusing the eye drops.  I insisted it was way more important for me to be able to see well enough to pick out some cute frames than for the doctor to see back into my eye better.  A girl has to have priorities.  At least I know mine.  It did not occur to me that my vision would already be shot since I didn't have my contacts in.  The minute I took my real glasses off, I realized I'd be picking out these glasses all blurry eyed, too.  Hopefully the cute pair I picked out will still be cute when I go pick them up with clear vision.

Speaking of my cute new frames, the lady at the glasses kiosk in the office kept telling me the glasses I was choosing to look at were so "geek chic".  I smiled at her, but I kept thinking "Ummmmm, normal, they are normal to me."  They were all the only ones I'd even consider, so what does that say about me?  I went with this great little pair that turned out to be Kate Spade, and then she pointed out I have expensive taste.  So, expensive geek chic?  What is the conversation we are having here?  Is this like "hipster cat" saying "It cost a lot of money to look this poor?".  I thought they were cute... not "revenge of the nerds".  Not even "revenge of the nerds walks into Bergdorfs."  Maybe I've shared enough of my life with a real geek that I can no longer recognize geek.  Kind of like how you can't smell your own house anymore until you go on vacation and come back.  I can't smell my own geek anymore.   

I guess I'll find out when they come in, and I get the verdict from my family... as long as they haven't become geek-desensitized.  Either way, it's going to be a long week wearing these old glasses that are from a couple prescriptions ago.  I get to enjoy a nagging headache while I squint at everyone.  I guess I'll finally know what it's like to be Gilbert Gottfried... minus the socially insensitive and inappropriate twitter outbursts.    

And still with the crickets

Every year the crickets try to hide from the cold in our garage.  Pretty soon they start getting gutsy and try to make their way into our house.  Of course, I do not appreciate their presence.  There are like a million in that garage, and that is bad enough, but in my living room?  Come on now!  My kids think they are entertaining, and my cat's usually stare at them, perhaps mildly amused.  Do they kill the crickets?  No.  They never take care of any bug, or even that one mouse that made it's way into our old house.  They should probably start pulling their weight around here! 

Yesterday was different, though.  2 crickets made their way in...

Me Honey, come on, I'll take you on a tour of cricket bodies and body parts.  It starts on this floor, and then moves into the basement.

Husband There are crickets on these two floors?

Me Not exactly, there are most of two crickets on this floor, and then there are assorted cricket appendages downstairs.  You'll have to pick them up, though, cause I don't want the kids driving their hot wheels through discarded cricket parts.

Husband I have to pick them up?

Me I don't touch bugs or bug pieces.  I threw a tupperware container over one of the bodies upstairs, in case it was alive and had enough legs to jump, hop, or drag itself away.

Husband What is happening?  Why are the crickets in pieces?

Me You'll have to ask the cats about that.  One, or both, of them apparently went A Clockwork Orange on the crickets.  I wonder if any got away to warn the others.  Maybe this will take care of our problem.  

Husband Maybe.

Me Of course, we are then left with the cat problem.

Husband What cat problem?

Me Well, obviously our cats enjoy dismembering things.  You might want to sleep with one eye open.

Husband You are crazy.

Me No, the cats are crazy.  Maybe we should take them to a cat shrink.

Husband Honey, maybe you should talk to the shrink.

Me Maybe YOU should talk to those crickets.  They could point out the bad cat in the line up.  Then we'll see who needs a shrink.  Honey?  Hoooooooooooney.  You know, you are still gonna have to pick up these rotting cricket parts.

Update:  There are still 2 cricket legs in the playroom..... 

Crickets, balloon launchers, and specialists, oh my!

My oldest kid is naming dead bugs, my youngest kid is building a "chotchkie destroyer 1,000", and I'm getting answers from my childhood from my son's allergist.  It's been a strange week, as usual!

My youngest kiddo is talking more each day, and more clearly, too.  He was getting all fired up about something in our dining room, jumping up and down, pointing, and he finally blurts out "Oh no!  A cricket!!!"  Yep, he was right.  There was a HUGE ass cricket hanging out under a dining room chair.  I don't do the bug thing, so when he was all "Get it, Momma!"  I was all "Get Daddy, son.  It's his job... it's in our vows."  So, my 2 year old comes over to me, all brave, grabs my napkin, and heads for the cricket!  He was totally gonna grab that thing himself.  Well I told him to get Daddy to help him, so he did.  He bent down with my husband to catch the intruder, and it springs up into his little, stunned face.  He's all giggles, while I'm all shrieks, and I go flying into our living room, far away from the wild jumper, who will surely eat my face if he catches me.  My husband bravely stomps on the cricket, then throws it in the trash.  (Sorry PETA?) So, my children...

2 year old Good job, Dada, but I'm gonna miss that cricket.  Then, peering into the trash can Bye jump cricket.

5 year old We can name him Jumpy McJumperson!

So, yep, he named a dead cricket.  But, what else do we expect of the boy who gleefully shouts salutations at the "dead people" in the graveyard as we drive by?



Crickets were not our only excitement this week.  Our youngest also figured out if he placed a hard plastic ball on the flat side of a half deflated mylar balloon and stomped on the inflated side, the ball would launch into the air.  He so proudly launched several balls into my bookshelves and photos on the wall, nearly breaking the antique pocket watch in it's glass dome case, before I made it over to him.  I battled with my feelings of pride over his clever invention, and anger at the invention being so potentially destructive.  Most days, this is what being a parent feels like.  It's like when your kid calls someone who butts in line an asshat and you're all horrified that they swore, but super proud cause that guy WAS a total asshat, and they used a new vocabulary word correctly while also recognizing socially inappropriate and rude behavior.  Yep, just like that.


On a more serious note, we finally got our oldest son's asthma properly diagnosed.  We went to the asthma/allergy specialist today , fully expecting skin allergy testing, and instead he immediately recognized what our boy was going through as "cough variant asthma", which is brought on more by viruses and irritants like smoke, cold air, perfume, or exercise than allergies in my sons case.  He could tell as soon as I told him that from mid September until April he catches every germ and is sick almost every day, and it gets serious quickly... with pneumonia and croup often being the end result of so many of the illnesses.  He told me these kiddos do catch every illness, and where it may be just a cold with the sniffles for an average kiddo, it does turn nasty for someone with cough variant asthma, and is often improperly diagnosed and treated.  So, the bad news is, he'll still catch everything.  The good news is, we now have proper tools to help him.  We are just trying to strike a balance between easy breathing and good behavior, as the asthma and cough meds often lead to serious behavioral changes for our little guy.  We now have to wait until he is ill to see what these new meds will do, hopefully we'll have the magic combo.  He should mostly outgrow it. 

My Mom came with us, thinking we'd have the terrible testing to go through, but it was not only a good day to find out what is really wrong with him, but it answered questions for us about MY childhood experience with the same issue.  I was diagnosed with allergies and asthma, but I had the exact same experience of frequent illness through sept until spring.  It was so bad, I missed so much school, that it started to psychologically mess with my head.  I thought maybe I secretly didn't like school, and just couldn't admit it.  Comments from teachers and students about my absences didn't help.  They didn't see me up all night long coughing, or getting ill at the bus stop because the terrible coughing lead to reflux issues.  They just saw me missing class.  It did continue as an adult, too, just not as frequent.  I still caught many illnesses, and they hit me harder than my coworkers.  I'd need inhalers, have terrible chest pain, and be exhausted from being up all night coughing.  I started to think I was a bad employee that didn't like work.  But, magically, I didn't have the issue when the weather was nice and cough and cold season was over. Times when, if you were just gonna skip work or school for the fun of it, would actually make sense to miss.  So, this visit helped me in ways I never even dreamed it could!  It answered so many questions for my son, my mom, and myself.  I also know I'm not hallucinating his serious illness or imaging it.  You start to wonder when everyone else seems okay, or seems able to handle colds, but it seems to be some big ordeal for you.  Croup, pneumonia, asthma, this is reality, but sometimes it is so much you think you MUST be dreaming... a nightmare  of a dream, but certainly it could not be reality.  Having answers feels like freedom.  I can accept reality, and now I have the tools to deal with it, and the support.  (Just looking back over the winter months of my blog from 2011, you can see what I'm talking about...)

I know that's not my usual smart ass entry, but since I do comment about the illness we go through in this house, and it probably seems ridiculous (cause it is), and I seem absent for longer periods of time, now I have a pinpointed reason why!  Let's hope this year, with the meds, we can keep illnesses to a more "normal" level.  Wish us luck!

It's a band, it's a chorus, it's... wait, what?!

All the talk on my personal facebook page, and in some conversations today about actual conversations that have taken place in my house has made me think I should write this down.  Isn't that the purpose of this blog?  So, let's get on with it.

I was talking about the whole Petraeus scandal today, and as if the news wasn't shocking enough, the news that it could have impacted our security just blew my mind...

Me The FBI investigated to see if his affair posed a security risk. What? How? Oh, wait, maybe he was like yelling out secrets during coitus."

My husband just shakes his head & walks away

Promptly, my 5 year old says What's chorus?

You can imagine how many jokes were spawned from that... not excluding the obvious "Hey, honey, are we going to chorus tonight?"  Yeah... it's been going on for hours, and my husband still hasn't run out of ways to use this.

In case that wasn't absurd enough, my husband had to top it just moments ago with this little gem

Him That's a great name for a music group!

Me What?  

Him Transvaginal Ultrasound!

Me *blank stare*

Him *singing* Trans-va-gi-nal Ultra-SOUND!

Me Okay, Honey.  *pats his knee*


I can't explain any of this or what any of us were thinking.  Maybe there are high levels of dental surgery drugs in our air system.

Here, you throw this out.

I'm alive!  I'm sure I've already mentioned, this is my busy season, so please excuse any extended absence from the blog.  (My busy season starts winding down in late January... sometimes... sometimes February or March.)

So, now that's out of the way, let's get to it.  My husband and I always joke about how our zombie prepper friend is also our "Here, you throw this out" friend.  You may have one of these friends, too!  They are the type of people who, anytime they are getting rid of things, try to give it to you.  Or, maybe they bring you their junk mail or catalogs, because "I thought you could use this!" (Nah, I prefer Charmin, but thanks!)  Every single time we see this person we get something they should throw out, but for some reason would prefer we throw it out, instead.  I'll give you a few examples:

*A broken radio

* Old, dusty encyclopedias

*Coupons for diapers I repeatedly told them I never buy

*Baby formula (I nursed my babies)

*2 bags of old recipe magazines

*Clothing catalogs for unknown companies

*Disaster prepper supply catalogs

*A random tote bag

*Magazine articles clipped out and mailed to us, so obscure that we weren't sure

which side of the clippings we were supposed to read

*Codes from cereal boxes

*A brochure from their business that hasn't been open for more than 15 years

*Several Bibles

Okay, so if that list wasn't weird enough, and it's just a fraction of what we've gotten and some of them we have gotten many times over, I got perhaps the worst of all "Here, you throw this out"s today.  

Yes, now that Sandy has passed, and we escaped with just two leaks in our house that went through 2 floors of the house (and started on the first floor, not the top floor, so you know that was freaking SIDEWAYS rain!), everyone is getting back to normal around here.  So, our favorite zombie prepper sends me an email, notifying me that they are saving their 50 lbs of sand bags for me, and I can get them next week.  Yeah, I don't know either.  I want to write back "Do I have a sign on my front lawn that says "used sandbag storage"?  No!  Cause I'm not in the business of storing used sandbags!"  (If you haven't seen Pulp Fiction, I'm sorry.)

There is quite a bit of range between newspaper clippings and 50 lbs of something that, should the bags rip, would be a lot like unleashing hell all over my house.  If I ever dreamed it would get to this level, I would've saved everything they ever gave us, boxed it up, and shipped it back to them with "Here, I thought you could use this!"  Then we could be trapped in some warped game of "pass the trash".  I hear that is everyone's favorite game... well 2nd only to "Is it poop or chocolate?" (If anyone remembers which one of my blogs that was from, you get extra bonus points, because I couldn't find it!  Let me know if you remember!)

To Kill A Mocking Cart

Sorry, I have been MIA!  And what action it was!  I have been feverishly working on Halloween costumes for my kids, and my youngest son's 2nd birthday party - Dr. Seuss edition.  As with every party I throw, I may have gone a tad past what would reasonably suffice, but we are still loving the life sized truffula trees in our entryway.  So, please excuse my absence. 

This time, instead of driving myself to complete exhaustion and then driving through the house... I cut 2 corners.  I ordered a vegetable tray instead of cutting up my own, and I hired a cleaning crew to clean my 3 bathrooms and my kitchen before the party.  Little did I realize, I should've hired them for during and/or after the party.

Drama always comes with our large family get togethers. Usually it stems from strong personalities getting together, many of whom clash with the other strong personalities (or straight up do not get along), but my MIL stayed home because she was tired, so the rest of us got along great!  haha  Imagine that.  So, this time the drama had to find it's way into the party through other means... Don't get me wrong, we still had some bragging, oddly placed bragging, with my Dad for the second year in a row (at the SAME kid's birthday party) going on about his new home and his golf cart.  Showing pictures to my family members who are his EX family members, and probably could care less AND also would probably just love to be able to retire, let alone retire to some swank retirement village with private gates to keep out the 47%... well except for the few they need to fix their pimped out golf carts or to scrub the ben gay and efferdent out of their sinks.  Anyway, that wasn't too bad and it wasn't very exciting as far as drama goes.

Nope, it wasn't people, but a series of mishaps that made the shit hit the fan... or the floor in our case.  First, we start off with some poor, unsuspecting party guest opening an exploding 2 liter of Dr. Pepper.  Soda was everywhere... on the floor, counters, in the "Green eggs" (deviled eggs in honor of Green Eggs and Ham), on my kitchen mats, and another guest was wiping it off the floor than wiping the counters the food was on with the same rag.  I ran in to clean up the mess, and pull that rag out of her hand, and try to explain to everyone that the eggs were now green and brown, but were totally edible... they were just party eggs with a hint of caffeine.  Whew, we got that disaster out of the way... smooth sailing now, right?

Haha

no

I finish cleaning up the soda, grab some food, and the moment my tired tuckus hits the chair, someone calls me into the bathroom.  There is either tar or the sole of a shoe ground into my bathroom floor, and tracking down the hall and into the kitchen.  I put on my cleaning gloves, and get to work scrubbing it up.  It's stuck, as if it's glued on.  Meanwhile, a child has to pee.  I realize it's taking forever and send her upstairs to another bathroom, and about 10 minutes later I give up with a tiny bit still stuck.  It remains a mystery as to what it was.  No one found anything on their shoe. 

So now I'm crunched for time, and I abandon my food, start the party games, get through all 3 games, do the pinata, and then on to the cake.  I had to cut the cake (see below, censored LOL) that I made, which always breaks my heart a little, but everyone was eager to get a piece of it.  Once everyone was served, I grabbed my own piece.  By then, people were leaving and I had to go take pictures of them behind the life sized, headless Thing 1 and Thing 2's I made.  (Everyone got their own blue hair, and everyone loved the photo op, but it took a long time to get through everyone).  Needless to say, when I got back to my cake it was gone. 

The Cat In The Hat, One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish, and The Lorax

This was my 3rd time working with Fondant, the first time was 10 years ago

I thought it would be nice to grab myself a new slice of cake, and go sit with my grandparents for awhile.  The moment I sat down at the table with them to visit, our toilet decides to overflow and bring up everything that had previously gone down.  It was everywhere in my entire bathroom and hallway.  So there I was, in my party clothes, shit scrubbing... literally.  My husband did come help me, I will give him credit for that, and together we mopped and bleached, threw away rugs, saved shoes from being flooded out, fixed the toilet, and tried not to cry.  Of course, another guest needed to use the bathroom.  They had to wait, as they could not climb our stairs, and that made me feel even worse.  Well all know I'm a bit neurotic and particular, so I also started to worry my guests who were unaware of the toilet issue thought I had really gone off my rocker and decided to hand scrub, with bleach, everything from my bathroom, down the hall, into the kitchen (where they did not realize brown water had been tracked) just because I couldn't stand to wait to get chip crumbs off the floor.  I'm nuts, I'll give you that, but I'm not that nuts. My mother, aunt, and sister kept the kids out of the way, and fed them while we worked.  My mom also packed up the food.  I didn't get to visit with my grandparents, and I had abandoned my second piece of cake.

So, there you go, 2 lost cakes, 2 bathroom fiascoes, a sticky kitchen, and one batch of brown green eggs later, the party was over.  My husband says that next year we are having the party in a barn.  Now you see why I think I hired the cleaners for the wrong time. 

Just in case you are one of my readers who happen to know me personally, you can rest assure that I have now cleaned the bathroom, hallway, and kitchen, with bleach and lysol (alternating) 6 times.  This situation really brought out my issues with being a bit on the obsessive compulsive side. 

I'm still recovering from the hectic weeks leading up to the party, and then the manual labor required to make that cake, then sleep for 4 hours and survive that party.  If anyone wants cake, the Lorax is left.  :)

Since most of that was not funny, unless you pictured me with my sparkle-pocket jeans and blown out hair with my jeans rolled up like I was diggin for clams, my purple converse on which matched my purple cleaning (elbow length) gloves, while I dug not for clams, but for feces (BTW "Is it poop or is it chocolate?" is NOT intended to be a party game.)  That maybe had some humor in it for someone who is not me.  But, for the other lack of funny, I will leave you with this little overheard gem....

(This was said in a Shoshanna Shapiro *google her* voice)

Girl who's head is perma-tilted to one side So we totally gave our scarecrow boobs.  Yeah, AND we made it skinny.  I mean, who wants a fat scarecrow, right?  I know.

You're welcome for that.

Why look at flowers when you can look at Johnny Depp?

This blog post is more like a "How to" (be awesome) than some sort of journal entry.  You'll thank me, though, I'm sure of it. 

My sister was feeling a bit under the weather, and what better way to cheer a gal up than sending her flowers?  Sending her a bouquet of Johnny Depps... that's clearly a better way.  #1 They are always beautiful #2 They don't need water and #3 They don't wilt and die on you.  Although, Johnny, if you need someone to wilt on, I have some free time.  Anywho.... here is a picture of what you're aiming for... (or maybe you are more creative and want to aim for something even more fancy, but honestly no one will give a shit what you put around the Johnnys or even notice the vase, so feel free to just spice it up with whatever you have on hand at home.  You don't have to go nuts.). 

You, too, can create this divine piece of art in just 10 easy steps!

So here's what you do:

1. Browse through all the pictures of Johnny Depp that Google has to offer, and choose your favorite.  I used two dozen of my favorite Johnnys.  This step takes the longest.  You may want to block out a few days for this, as time flies when you are gazing at perfection.

2. Print out, on cardstock, your pictures of Johnny.  I used photoshop to arrange 4 pictures per page, to get the sizes you see in this arrangement.  

3. Look at Johnny some more. Admire your work.

4. Cut out all the Johnnys.  I recommend being creative here, so they are different shapes and not all a bunch of rectangles.

5. Take bamboo skewers (I used 2 different lengths), and tape one skewer to the back of each Johnny pic.  Be careful the skewer doesn't stick out the top and make Johnny look like he's been impaled.  

6. Look at the Johnnys some more... Quality control, people! 

7. Lay out groups of 3, 4, 5, etc side by side and tape them together until they are all joined, forming a kind or circle.  The tape I hid BEHIND the pictures.  

8. The largest group of pictures wrap tissue around and put into the vase first, then add in the next largest, then the next, stacking them so they are propped up on each other so you can see all the Johnnys, and they don't hiding behind each other.

9. Tuck tissue paper in the center top, and tuck some ribbons around to make it look more colorful and cheerful.

10. Stare at your beautiful bouquet of Johnny Depps.  If you are feeling very generous, and can bring yourself to part with something so wonderful, you can give it to someone who needs a few extra Johnnys sitting around.  That is pretty much everyone. 

And I stared bacon in the face...

Well, let's see how this goes. I am blogging from my phone today, as my hard drive has thrown itself off the proverbial cliff. AND my husband is bad at sharing.  Before I get into the bacon meat of this post, I'll share with you the little exchange between us over my current laptop woes.

Me C'mon.  Your laptop is sitting right there.  You aren't even using it!  It's not even ON!  Let me use it for 15 minutes to type my blog.  I already know exactly what I'm writing, I just need to type it up quickly.  

Him No.  I'm working on transferring your data from your old laptop, now.  

Me This will not get me a laptop tonight.  Stop being selfish and hand it over.

Him Why don't you write it down on a piece of paper?

Me WTF?!  Do you even KNOW what a blog IS?  

Him Well, isn't this the whole premise of your "I should write this down" motto for your blog?

Me Oh, don't worry.. I'll be writing this down!  Now, give me that laptop PLEASE.

Him I cannot.  That is my corporate laptop!!

Me What?!  No it is not!  That one over there is, but THIS one you bought from Sears.  With a freaking coupon!  

Him Well, it sounds ridiculous when you say it.

Me I'm totes buying that mac-top. *see conversations at the end of the blog

So, now you see what I'm dealing with.  Haha  Well, since Mr. Corporate has a severe case of mine-itis, let's just hammer this thing out on the iPhone...

This week I started a liquid fast, for several boring reasons. I'll spare you the list. Anyway, today is only day two, and already I've lost my brain to mouth & brain to finger filters.  (Which,  one would think, should have made the above confrontation never even happen, because my husband is aware that my filter is missing, yet he is a risk taker...)  At least I warned my friends, and asked them (if they see me out on the road) to think of my hand signal to other drivers as just a wave of happy joy.  Also, that isn't really a shiv I'm carrying with me, it's a "modified custom toothbrush".  Just look away.

Anyway, it's not so hard to do the liquid fast.  During meals is rough, but once mealtime passes I'm fine, just extra "opinionated".  I'm a bit tired, but I'm still doing my workout while the baby naps, so it's all good.  I even stared down some bacon today.  Yeah, I had to ask my husband to cook it up for the kiddos to have for their breakfast, so I didn't have to stand over it too long, but it sat there... mocking me with it's smelly temptations.... but I managed to give it the cold shoulder.  If you can stare bacon in the face & not eat it, you are probably a superhero.  So, I think I'm probably going to kick this fast's butt. 

I also had nightmares last night that I started to eat a piece of cucumber as I was chopping it up for my kid's lunch, and then couldn't stop myself.  Yeah, it was super intense as far as nightmares go.

As a mostly un-related little blog treat, I'll throw in some small conversations between my husband and I today, some of which are computer related, others that are just... well us...

On Fashion

Him Since when did you have a Michael Kors purse?

Me  Since when did you know about Michael Kors? *conversation over, I win!*

On Pop Culture
* quick background: I have been using the word "totes", much to my husband's dismay, when I'm explaining something or someone ridiculous... or how I'm about to mock something or someone ridiculous... out of love, of course.  This drives my husband nuts, and he usually yells at me to finish my words.*

Me I'm TOTES gonna do it!

Him Stop saying "totes", or I'm totes gonna murd you.

And, coming full circle, back to Laptop-Gate

Me Hey, was there a new laptop in one of those boxes?

Him No.  I ordered you a new hard drive.  I dunno when it will be here.

Me Can't I just get a new Mac-top?

Him Mac-top?!

Me Yeah, that's a thing... right?

Him *walks away, either in disgust or disbelief in my total awesomeness.  I'm not sure cause his face is usually the same for both.*
        **  He also said, several minutes later, no more liquid fasts... for some reason.

We survived the first day of school! AKA Where I'm going when I die.

Today was the first day of kindergarten for my oldest son.  I was so nervous for him, as it's his first full day program.  Of course, he did fine.  He was STARVING when he got home... did you know they don't give snacks in kindergarten anymore?  At least not here?  Poor kids!  They also moved school back an hour this year, so they get home super late.  Not a great time for a snack when it's an hour away from dinner.  School budget cuts.  Yippie.  Anywho....

I figured out which ring in Hell I will be sent to when I die... the "My grandfather gets his first skype call WHILE he has me on speakerphone" ring.  Yes, you read that right.  My grandfather, who is hard of hearing, puts people on speakerphone when they call.  So everyone is always shouting back and forth to hear each other.  I called him to wish him happy birthday, and got the speakerphone.  Suddenly, there is this loud, electronic noise in my ear.

GF Oh wait, Honey, my computer says I'm getting a call from your cousin!  What is this?!

Me Do you have skype?  Is it a skype call?

GF Oh yes!  Skype!  *to the skype caller*  HELLO!?  HELLO!?  

*Then I hear them singing happy birthday to him*

GF Oh hello!  Thank you!  Hello?  Hello?  HELLO!?  CAN YOU HEAR ME?!  I DON'T THINK THEY CAN HEAR ME!  Honey, I don't think they can hear me.  What's going on?

Me Um, do you have a microphone? 

GF *now yelling at "The Skype"* Um, DO I HAVE A MICROPHONE?!  WHERE IS MY MICROPHONE?!  WHAT DO I DO?!  HOW DO I FIND A MICROPHONE?!  CAN YOU HEAR ME?!  LOOK DOWN THERE.  IS THAT A MICROPHONE?!  IS IT PLUGGED IN?!  I THINK IT'S UNPLUGGED!  WAIT, WHAT IS THAT PLUG?!  CAN YOU HEAR ME?!

Me Sometimes when my husband skypes with me we just call on the phone for sound because my mic doesn't work sometimes.  You can try that, and I can talk to you later.

GF Oh no, honey, that's okay.  *back to skype*  HELLO?!  HELLO?!  I DON'T THINK YOU CAN HEAR ME!

SKYPE CALLER We can't hear you!  Is your mic on?

*Oh for the love of all that is pink and sparkly, SHOOT ME.*

This went on for over 15 mins before my Grandmother picked up another phone, whispered they'd call me back and I thanked her and quickly hung up.  I didn't know they were inventing new rings in Hell, but I guess, for me, they made an exception.

In closing, I shall end with a silly "First day of kindergarten" tid bit... My son was only too happy to report today that some poor kiddo peed on the floor at school today.  He assured me that the boy did not mean to do it on purpose and "The teacher called for the equipment to come clean it up.  The equipment just appeared magically.  I don't know where they were hiding, but suddenly they were there.  The equipment didn't do such a good job though."  So, I'm trying to figure out if this "equipment" is a person.  I asked him if he meant "janitor" but he just repeated "equipment."  I cannot wait to hear what other exciting things he'll learn about in school this year.  haha  I have a feeling I'll be hearing all the juicy kindergarten goss. 

Thanku Target!

Target sent out what they are calling "Haiku-pons" this week.  They always send out these little coupon books, where there are three coupons per page.  They are perforated for easy removal.  Each page, printed on the back of the coupons, was a haiku in this weeks booklet.  One line of each haiku per coupon.  This inspired me to separate the coupons enough to mix and match haikus.  Was this Target's intent?  I am not sure, but if it was A+ Target, A+!  Without further ado, I present to you... my mostly stupendously inappropriate haikus.  Just remember, Target made me do it.  You're welcome, and I'm sorry. 

If you didn't like 'em, blame Target.  If you found yourself laughing along... I know, right?!  haha

Where do you put the batteries?

When I took my oldest son to the eye doctor today, I instantly thought back to my visits as a young'n to see my eye doc.  I remembered sitting in the waiting room with my sister, thumbing through the old, wrinkly magazines.  And there was that time we sat there trading insults back and forth, in the form of names like "dork" or "dweeb".  It was rapid fire, until she suddenly stopped.  Several minutes later, I saw the light bulb come on over her little blonde head, and she slowly turned to me with a proud smirk on her face and said "Goooooooooooooooooooooooberrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr."  Needless to say, that comes up... a lot.... in conversations with us today.  Anywho, that is the way things were. 

Today, it was "pediatric" day at the office.  The waiting room had several small children in it, mostly little boys, and I quickly noticed every single one of them was playing  a game on a phone, iPod, iPad, or Kindle.  All, except my littlest one, who was soooooo thrilled to play with the beads on wires.  Then, the kids started swapping their electronic devices to play the games they didn't have on their own.  Just as I was thinking how funny this looked, and how these kids seriously have it made in the shade when it comes to having to wait in a waiting room (and how I wanted to take a picture, but the little boy in the orange shirt now had my phone), my son suddenly looked up from the iPad he had acquired and said

Son Hey, I know how to play a game that doesn't use a phone.  It's called "Jet Pack!".

Kid in Blue What, is it like on a DS?

Son Um, no.  It's just "Jet Pack"!

Kid in Orange Is it on the Wii?!

Son No, but WE can play it.  It's just "Jet Pack."  I'll show you.

Kid in Blue Where, on, like, your Nintendo?

Son You just pretend to wear a Jet Pack, and then you pretend to fly around to wherever you want to go.  You can go to space!

Kid in Orange Oh, I have "Angry Birds, Space edition."

Son No. *sigh*

 

And now my family can't show their faces in town...

Here is your warning... this post WILL piss you off if you are against improving our gun control laws and are totally cool beans with everyone being allowed to walk around with assault rifles.  I am passionately in favor of improving our laws so that we are more aware of who is buying guns, if they are stocking up enough for a small army so that could be monitored, and to prevent unstable folks from so easily getting their hands on ridiculous assault weapons that can kill large amounts of people at once.  I am not talking about hunters, I am talking about crazy town banana pants folks who can buy up all the guns and ammo they want, without it raising a red flag.  By the way, I still have to give my license to the pharmacist and have my killer sudafed purchase tracked, I have to hand over my license for silly string purchases, Target tracks me so well they know I'm pregnant before I do, and my credit card company calls if they notice I have shopped at a store that is out of my typical pattern.  Perhaps instead of "I noticed you just bought $50 worth of junk at Five Below." calls, they should be making "Hey, totally noticed you bought enough guns and ammo to wipe out North Dakota." calls.

So, again, if you disagree with any of that, just turn and leave now... I promise you it's going to get much worse.  I mean, be aware that as much as my opinion will offend you (and it will) I don't very much like your opinion either on the matter, so I guess that makes us even.  So, if you choose to read this beyond this point, it's your fault if you're angry or offended.  I have given 2 paragraphs of warning.... that is more than what comes with a gun purchase.

Onto the story... some thoughtless and insensitive individual showed up to the Batman screening in my hometown's movie theater with an unconcealed gun.  It raised a huge stink for 2 reasons.  1.  How could he be so dense after what just happened at another theater during the same movie?  The wounds are still fresh, everyone is still skittish, and he's gotta be some smartass making a point, and scaring people for no reason.  2.  The other half of everyone is so proud of this "brave citizen" for taking a weapon into a dark theater full of innocent folks who want to relax and watch a movie.  Way to exercise your "constitutional right".  This is EXACTLY what the founding fathers had in mind, and they would so totally not shit their white powdered wigs (another poor choice back in the 'founding fathers' era), if they saw the semi-automatic weapons in the hands of civilians these days.  They'd be like "Totally what we had in mind.  You should probably have an entire pile of them in your home, just in case one person may try to break into your house.  You may need several assault weapons and thousands of rounds of ammunition to protect yourself from the Hamburgler.  You just never know.  Maybe you will be like Batman and save the day!  Oh, what?  Batman doesn't shoot people?  Oh, scratch that, then."

Anywho, there was an article in the news about how the situation was handled.  (Basically, police were taken off the street where they could be WORKING to protect the city, and instead had to sit and babysit this guy "proving his point".  Wow, the town is soooo much safer with that dude and his gun around for protection.  Go ahead, rob the liquor store, drink and drive, or attack someone now, because the police are watching "Batman" and this joker.)  A friend of mine posted the article on her facebook, and I commented on her post.  Only, it was quickly pointed out to me, by my sister, that it was not HER personal post... it was the actual news... so my response went out to anyone in town following the story.  Perhaps I should have been embarrassed, but I was laughing too hard at the best and worst mistake I ever made, and my husband and I were too busy, doubled over with tears streaming down our cheeks.  Also, I didn't think I was wrong, I think I'm very right, so I was not ashamed about my message.  Plus, it was really well written for a facebook comment (thumbs up to me!), so I had to share that shit with the world.  I did remove it from the town's view, so my Mom and sister only would have to spend a few weeks dressing in disguise until the next person does something equally or more potentially mortifying than I to take the focus off of our family.  But, by popular request, I will repost my comment here.  (Thank you to my sister for copying and saving it for me before it got removed.)  PS, I really, seriously do try to refrain from talking about penises and butt cheeks (both right AND left) in the general public, and especially around gun-toting vigilantes.  Remember, God WANTED George Zimmerman to shoot up that kid.  God does NOT appreciate skittles and iced tea, so I can only imagine what he thinks of my potty mouth.  Oy vey.

Again, if you're gonna be offended by this, why are you still reading?  You have the choice, so make a good one.

Yes, we hear about people saving people with their guns everyday! Oh wait, that almost never happens. What I do hear about is people accidentally shooting themselves or family members, little kids playing with and seriously injuring or killing themselves or others, people off their rocker getting them and mass murdering innocent folks. If everyone in that DARK theater started shooting in the chaos, more people would have died. Stop defending inanimate objects whose sole purpose is to kill, and kill a lot of people. Start protecting people who would like to leave their house without being hurt. Why do you have to show off a gun anyway? Is it a "Nice gun, sorry about your penis." thing? I do NOT get it. Quit fantasizing that you'll save the day with your murder weapon. Chances are overwhelmingly that you will not & are much more in favor of them hurting an innocent human being. I tell myself Johnny Depp would so make out with me if we met, but I don't go around with a "kiss me Johnny!" t-shirt on. Not even when I'm stalking him outside of his house. That would be delusional.And, "constitutional right" my left butt cheek. That was from the time of muskets. Carry a musket & we have no problem cause I can walk away faster than you can load. The founding fathers never envisioned semiautomatic assault rifles. Plus, you're supposed to be a well organized militia to justify having them. Everyone leaves out that part. My.left.butt.cheek.

So, that is what I sent out to the whole town... with my full name and photo attached.  Sorry to my mother and sister who have to be related to me.  This is why I am not allowed to do public speaking.

And this is why we're now selling burgers...

Alright, so I made it through the last week of building the new playroom in our basement, and then the following week preparing for and hosting an oversized birthday party for our 5 year old.  He chose the theme "Cloudy With A Chance of Meatballs", the movie version, so I had to make the invitations, decorations, and make up games that went along with the theme myself since the movie was out several years ago, so there is nothing pre-made to buy.  It took me many hours, but the party was great.  All the kids had a blast, especially my son.  I will have to put up some pictures of how we pulled this thing off, maybe a little later in the week. 

However, doing all these things back to back ("these things" which include painting for 26 hours, 13 straight on Saturday and 13 straight on Sunday, for example) can lead to some serious exhaustion.  I figured I'd crash and burn on Sunday and be back to kicking ass Monday morning.... however, Sunday I cleaned up from the party, briefly put my feet up, and then crashed and burned on Monday... literally.  I literally drove my car through my garage, into my house.  Oh yes, I am THAT moron who could be so stupid (or so very exhausted that her brains don't work well enough to remind her which pedal is the gas pedal vs the brake pedal).  I haven't talked about it with anyone but who needed to know until this point, mostly because I'm deeply ashamed and embarrassed, but this blog has always been my therapy.  A place where I can write for myself, and be honest about whatever crap happens to me.  Unfortunately, this time, I caused it myself. 

Yesterday I mostly cried.  Today I mostly cried, but I did find a smile or two, and even a laugh.  Last night my husband did get me to laugh, too, when he explained to our friends who could fix our car "She pulled in to the garage.  Really in."  Then the jokes about not being able to wait to get into the house to be down in the new playroom started... and so on.  Now we just explain that I turned our house into a drive through... hence the selling burgers. 

So what happened?  Well I was, indeed, exhausted.  I had even called someone earlier in the day and complained about it to them.  So, it's on record.  haha  But that mixed with waiting in a tiny, dirty waiting room with my kids for over an hour, as they slowly started to lose their mind, my one kid's lip splitting open and bleeding all over that waiting room, and my toddler rolling around on the vet's office's dirty floor, finding out our cat has 2 subluxed (halfway dislocated) wrists which will cost hundreds of dollars to fix, then topping it off with our kids squeaking squeaker toys behind my head all the way home, I was stressed beyond stress (to the point where my eye... like the sclera, the white part, started to bleed, and yes stress causes that), and all of that mixed with being nearly too tired to keep my eyes open, I rolled into the garage, and when I was in far enough, hit the brake... only it wasn't the brake.  I instantly realized my mistake and hit the REAL brake before I hit the wall, but it was too late after stomping on the gas.  So, into the trashcans I went, and into my hallway in the house one of them went.  Total mortification, very frightening and upsetting, and so sad that I broke my damn house and messed up my brand new car.  I keep thinking I'll wake up from this dream and realize it was just that I was sleeping, and that's why I was so tired and that's why terrible things were happening, it was just a nightmare.

But, luckily for us, we have good friends and family who immediately came to the rescue, and we got estimates (the car only had one small , like 2 inch, dent and several scratches that almost all buffed out), and while I did knock out some studs, they are not broken.  So they just need pushed back and the drywall fixed. 

So, if you're one of the unfortunate ones who have to know me in my real life, if I don't seem myself, or I have creepy blood-tinged vampire eyes, now you know what is going on.  I am not myself because I'm sad.  There is just not too many other ways to put that.  I am sad.  I am sad and embarrassed.  I still have no idea  how I made this mistake.  Maybe some Xanax or hard liquor would help solve that mystery... or at least make me not care about that mystery for a little while.   And, no... I had not been drinking nor had I even taken allergy medication, let alone anything else.  It was just pure, ridiculous me, being the calamity that I am.  Rest assured that you are all safe while I'm out driving on the road, unless you look like a garage.. in that case, pull over and just let me pass!  Oh, and would you like fries with that?

I didn't forget YOU, but I have forgotten how to count

In case it isn't obvious, I've been tied up with finishing our home renovation downstairs and preparing for my oldest son's 5th birthday party (which will be held Saturday... then I can crash on Sunday...).  We had one big rush of work done down there last week, and then I painted for, no lie, 26 hours this weekend.  I had to paint the new room and repaint the stairwell thanks to it being beat up taking construction supplies and equipment up and down.  And no matter how frequently I wake in the night with painful charlie horses (thanks to squatting for hours trying to get the trim paint perfect since I'm ridiculous), I have a million errands to run, a lot of reorganizing to do, moving furniture, redecorating, paint touch ups, party prep, cleaning, food prep and baking to do by Saturday... not to mention the presents and cake for Thursday (his actual birthday). 

But I do remember that I have a blog, and wanted to pop in and say I swear I'm not abandoning it.  I have totally forgotten how to count (which is why I'll be making my 3rd trip to the craft store for more card stock paper I need for a game I made for the party), but hopefully when I have the time to write a real blog post I will have remembered how to count.

Until then, talk amongst yourselves! 

Need a penny, take a pretzel?

Today has been a whirlwind of a day.  In summary, (you're welcome) the ENT says the baby's broken nose is healing mid-line, and does not need to be set.  The eldest child has Fourth of July Swimmers Ear, and now needs drops that he says "make everything not normal" when I put them in his ear.  My Mom lost her cat.  I went and found her lost cat.  (By "lost" I mean "hiding behind the sofa".)  So, let's get to the good part, shall we....

I took my oldest kiddo to get his hair cut after picking up his prescription.  He had a free coupon (thanks to joining the reading club at our local library), for a free Auntie Anne's pretzel.  The cashier asks me if I'd like an lemonade to go with our order, when a tweenager comes from behind us and says "Ooooh, pretzels!" and literally puts her grubby (no doubt) hand into our cup of nuggets and takes a handful and shoves them in her mouth.  (There were no obvious signs of any type of mental handicap, as that was the first thing to cross my mind.)  Her Mom simply said "Don't do that!  Sorry!", and walked off.  I stood there, speechless.  I'm assuming if she felt comfortable swiping a preschooler's grub in line at a pretzel shop, she probably wasn't the most religious when it came to personal hygiene.  Who knows where her hands were.  I looked at the cashier, who did not once suggest replacing my pretzels, which I had not paid for yet, and should have said "NEVER THE HELL MIND!" and walked away from, but I just stared at her stunned.  She asked me, again, if I wanted lemonade, and I said "Wait, what?  I'm sorry.  I'm trying to think.  What just happened?  That has never happened to me before.  I don't know what to say."  She just said "It's okay!"  WTH Auntie Anne's?!  So I, still in shock, paid for the pretzel nuggets, and took them and our free pretzel (of course, the thing I wasn't paying for wasn't felt up by Toilet-Hands MaGee).  My son, promptly grabbed a nugget, and, before I could stop him, stuffed one in his mouth.  I grabbed them, and threw half in the nearest garbage, told him not to worry I had the other pretzel to replace the contaminated ones, and that I wasn't throwing them away because he had done something wrong, but because a Mom was letting her kid touch strangers' food.

If my kid had, for some odd reason, grabbed someone's food, I would have apologized, and told the cashier to give them a new one and I'd pay for the one my kid helped themselves to.  Apparently we just live in a big pond of stupid, where parents allow kids to take things that don't belong to them, touch people's food, and slap little kids in the face, in front of Santa.  Then, they all look at YOU like you are the crazy one for being there in the first place. Or maybe I'm dreaming all of this... that makes much more sense.  See, this is why I decided to write shit down... because sometimes I just can't even tell if this is real life!

You'll never get his lucky charms, unless you just take them and run once he's put his crutches down.

Almost 5 years ago, we had a friend from Germany staying with us for a week or so.  We were all laughing and carrying on in our (then) tiny living room, when my husband decided to impersonate a leprechaun on crack and jump up in the air, click his heels together while shouting "You'll never get me lucky charms!"  I do not remember why he was doing this, and I don't think I ever figured out why he'd do it in such a small space, surrounded by baby gear for our 3 month old baby, but (as you can imagine) it didn't end well.  As he came down from his heel click, we all heard the distinct sound of a breaking bone.  My oversized leprechaun turned as white as a sheet, and quickly sat down (which was easy to do, because the room was so small, there was always a seat within butt's reach).  I looked down at his foot, and he said "You think it's broken?"  I explained to him that there were 2 choices... A. It was broken or B. His ankle was smuggling a softball.  He tried to play it off like he was okay, and was "walking" on it... though, the grimace on his face, the hobbling, and the near passing out kinda gave him away.  So, off to the hospital we went, where I so enthusiastically, and with plenty of hand gestures, told the story of how my husband was hurt.  I mean, it was obviously important for the doctors and nurses caring for him to know what had happened.  The 2 janitors, xray tech, receptionist, and a group of bored-looking patients waiting to be seen were just for my own amusement. 

Long story short, he broke his ankle,  we all heard it, he tried to deny it, but I had to carry the baby and all our groceries and packages up the staircase into our home by myself for weeks... soooooooo that happened.

Now, fast-forward to tonight.  My husband, who still thinks he's a kid (or a jacked up leprechaun... almost the same thing, just one has fancier hats), decides to jump our baby gate.  We both hear the snap, and he asks (through a clenched jaw) "Did you hear that?"  I ask him what it was, and he says "Nothing.", still through his teeth.  So he'll probably talk like he has some terrible hemorrhoids and is being forced to sit for a few weeks, but I'll let him deny his injury until it either A. Heals or B. He passes out.  Then I will probably draw a sharpie moustache on him just before he comes to and we go to the doctor. 

Not so magic Conan

There is so much chatter about "Magic Mike"!  I agree, ladies, let's get that in 3-D, please!  I mean, I think there is supposed to be some good looking lead actor, but I'm in it for Alcide!  (Who's with me, True Bloodettes?)  Anywho, I was telling my husband how everyone is begging for 3-D IMAX versions, and how a friend of mine asked for some background on the actual story and I was all "WHO CARES?!"  They could just plant grass and watch it grow for 2 hours, as long as they were mostly nekkid... or they could sit there and read the dictionary... there are so many possibilities... pointless, yet beautiful possibilities.  So, my husband got that look on his face like he just discovered sliced bread, and exclaimed "That's it!  It's brilliant!  This movie is for women who are too embarrassed to go to a strip club, but really want to go to a strip club!"   So I quickly pointed out: "Look, I'm not too embarrassed to go to a strip club, I mean who cares about that?  But, I do NOT want a repeat Late Night Strip Tease with Conan O'Brien.  Sure, I'd like to look at a man who knows how to shake it on stage, but I do not want him sticking his mushy "ew parts" in my face, or touching me... or sweating on me.  No thank you.  Nothing about that is sexy to me.  And now you know... you should probably be taking notes."  Then he realized "Ooooooooooooh, so it's for women who'd like to go to the club, but do not want to be touched or otherwise grossed out from too-close contact."  Me "Exactly.  I mean, I love to go to the Metropolitan Museum of Art and stare at Van Gogh's work, but I don't want someone to chase me down and start humping my butt with it."  Husband "Clearly.  You have to draw the line somewhere."

Wait, back up... how does Conan O'Brien fit into this explanation of acceptable vs. unacceptable nearly naked dancing?  Well, the very first time I saw a male stripper was completely unexpected, pretty much by accident, and it was TOTALLY Conan O'Brien.  Except that it wasn't him.  The man just looked exactly like Conan, only with a spray tan, and a leopard thong.  (Maybe Conan has that too, but I cannot confirm that at this time...).  Anyway, from the beginning:

It all started at a club in Atlantic City.  A group of friends and I were there for a bachelorette weekend.  So, we found this club, and they recognized us as a bachelorette party (thanks to T's clip-on veil), therefore we got in cover-free.  So, there we are, all giddy, drinking, dancing, flirting with the men around us... and then some guy in a suit comes up to 2 of us & tells us "We will be right down to get you guys in a few minutes."  So we were like "Ooooooooookay, great!", thinking one of the girls must've arranged something.  So, a few minutes pass, and here they come, ushering us upstairs to a red and gold room... very cliche!  Then I see him, here comes Conan... he's in a nice suit, blue shirt, top button undone, no tie, and a hand towel.  What's with the towel?  So, he walks over to us, maybe he's going to take our drink order?  But, no... he starts dancing.  Then come the squeals and giggles.  We are tipsy, and in the mood to party, so when he starts taking off his clothes, we get louder, and some dollar bills start appearing.  I'm still taken a little off guard, and I'm not over the fact that this is Conan's head on a strippers body, and he has these crazy dance moves, and I guess this makes me an easy target... so he dances over to me and starts bumping up against me.  I didn't know what to do or say, I just kinda sat there, stupefied, until he started mashing on my face with his sponge-bob-squish pants.  I couldn't help it, I burst into laughter... loud, gut busting laughter.  He's dripping sweat on me, he's all leopard spandex and half cooked spaghetti.  It was awkward, gross, and so far over the top ridiculous.  I guess my laughing egged him on, though, because he grabbed my leg, flipped me over and started slamming himself up against my butt.  At that point I just fall on my face, still in hysterics, thinking it could not get any further from sexy than that moment, and I just lay there as he so proudly flaunts whatever it is he thinks he has to flaunt.  It certainly wasn't his self respect! 

It was fun because it was funny & I was with my girlfriends.  It was silly, good times, but once was enough!  I decided I never needed to do that ever again.  If I go to see a man dance half nekkid in front of me, I need at least a 4 foot, junk-free zone around my person.  If you're going to be sweating a lot, add an extra 2-3 foot splash zone to that, too. 

So, that is the famous Conan stripper story.  Magic Mike was made for women like me.  Look? Yes, please, but please keep your bits and pieces to yourself!

 

Scrambled brains

So, I have accomplished my yearly summertime task of seriously dehydrating myself.  Oddly enough, the first time I did it was while we were visiting our German friends at the beach, yes, that same visit I was just writing about in my last blog entry.  That lead to a week of preterm labor, which I went into during that very visit.  (Yeah, there was just endless amounts of embarrassment to be had during that one).  Needless to say, if you can't tell from my rambling, my brains feel like scrambled eggs, so writing is on the difficult side.  I don't want to leave everyone without at least a little chuckle this week, so I'm going to leave you with a snippet that comes from my husband, who has been so sweetly helping me the past 2 days as I frantically try to drink my way back to life.  :(  Hopefully I will remember to take more water outside with me the rest of the summer and avoid this, but I'm terrible about this so don't be shocked if I make myself go through this again.

Being the awesome man that he is, my husband offered to run out and get me lots of Gatorade, and anything else I thought would help my rehydrate. 

Me Well, I think Target has the best price on Gatorade, and since you'll be there, and mere aisles away from it, you could just pick up the last 2 books in the 50 Shades series for me.  I just finished the first, and even though I know I told you I thought the writing was crap, there was just enough there to hook me into needing to know more about the dude. So, it would be nice to have it to read while I'm stuck on the couch.

Husband I love you, and I want you to feel better, but no.  I cannot do that.  That is a humiliation that I just cannot bring myself to go through.  I seriously would much rather go purchase a skid of tampons for you, and drive them through the store via forklift, surrounded by flashing lights and siren than buy you those crazy S&M "erotic" chick books that, to top it off, were written with the skill of a middle schooler.  No.  A man has to draw the line somewhere.

Me You know you want to see if Safeway has it.  Then you could take them through the line with that prudy-lady who took issue with my Ben and Jerry's Schweddy Balls quest.  

Husband You go right ahead and do that.  I can't even bring myself to do it for the thrill of seeing her face, and hearing what she has to say about it.  You know she read somewhere that climate change isn't real, so it's not.

Me I read somewhere that a little bear from darkest Peru met a family at a train station, and they took him home and fed him marmalade.  He talked and had this little note about looking after him.  He was hell on wheels, too.  Always getting into mischief, that one.  I'm sure it was real, as I read all about it.  

Husband See, clearly you are the one who gets the most enjoyment from going through her line.  I couldn't spoil that for you by getting the books FOR YOU.

Me No, just go to Target and get them.  I know they have them.  I'm not even sure about Safeway.  If they have them, I'll just buy them again.

Husband You'd buy books that you personally said were written so poorly, and at one point the "murmuring" made you want to "punch a puppy", twice?!  You'd buy them twice?!

Me Well the second time would happen ONLY if Safeway had them, and then it would just be to fire up that lady, and how many times I could bring up the book's "red room of pain".  She'd seriously appreciate that, I'm sure.  

Husband You're evil, and I'm still not buying those books.  Now, stop talking, you need your rest.

 

I'm not a prude, but my eyes might be.

Over the past nearly 8 years of our marriage, my husband and I have acquired some European friends.  Most have started out as pen pals for my husband, who taught himself how to speak German.  Some we had the pleasure of meeting in Germany during our travels, and some we have met on their travels here in the US.  Some great friendships have come out of this, and we both have learned so much.  I really felt I was pretty good at conveying that I was something other than the infamous "stupid American" stereotype when it came to getting to know our European friends.  My husband speaks German fluently, so we never expect English (though, most of them are learning English, and also want the opportunity to practice it).  We aren't uptight, or prudish... or at least we think we aren't.  Apparently my mind isn't a prude and is open and accepting of other cultures, but some parts of my face haven't caught up.

I was well aware of the cheek kissing greetings and send-offs, and I was mostly prepared for that (even if I was a little slow and only slightly caught off guard).  I did manage to pull it off once I realized I was mid cheek kiss with one of our friends.  I swore to myself that, the next time we saw him, I would not be caught off guard again, and I would be much more smooth.  After all, I'm a sophisticated American, who is down with all things European.  The next time I saw him, however, I went for the cheek kiss, and since we were more familiar (I guess) he went for a peck on the mouth.  Well, then I started to panic.  How did I screw that up?  Did I miss with my cheek and land on his face with my mouth?  Is that what more familiar friends do?  Does my husband think I just kissed this guy?  Am I being a prude worrying about what my husband thinks of our goodbye?  What is going on?!  Is this real life?!  I was a mess.  My cheeks and my mouth were totally keeping the rest of me from pulling off being cool and "with it".  Oy.

In between these two kissing debacles, we had an underwear "event".  We had all been to the beach, and we had returned to the beach house and were all showering and changing into fresh clothes for dinner.  My little family got all cleaned up and dressed in one bathroom, while our friends were down the hall.  When we emerged, though, everyone was walking around nude or in underwear.  Our guy friend came up to me for a chat, and I had a moment where my brain knew that things are different in Europe, and this would not be a big deal, but my eyes did NOT know what to do with themselves.  Do I stare at his face, non-blinking, and give away that I am avoiding looking at his scantily clad business, or do I try to look casual.  I don't want to look around too much, and make him think I'm back to being a prude and am desperately trying not to even look at him, and I also don't want him to think I'm gawking.  Oh no, does he see the panic in my "deer in the headlights" eyes?!  Maybe it's safer to just say "Oh, I just wanted to say it's tooooootally cool that you're standing there in your designer skivvies while you're talking to me.  I know exactly how to act in this situation.... ignore whatever my face is doing.  It's unfamiliar with any European cultures, and doesn't know what to do with itself."  C'mon eyes, fix yourself!  Where did my husband and kid go?!  Now it's just me and the underwear my friend.  Can I have a do-over?!  I'm so much better than this, I swear!  Luckily, I speak pretty broken German, and he speaks pretty broken English, so maybe both of us stumbling over the language distracted him from the mini-crisis I was having inside, trying so hard to be progressive (for an American).

The underwear "event" was quickly forgotten when everyone got busy trying to explain the art of "S'mores" to our German friends.  One of the brothers is married to an American woman, and between her and my husband and I, we knew all about S'mores... however, we weren't the ones who went food shopping.  When 2 of our friends returned from the store, they explained that they had come up with the idea to make "That treat in America with the toasted marshmallows."  They weren't exactly sure how to make them, so they got Lorna Doones and Nutella to go with the marshmallows.  At least everyone was giggling trying to make something yummy out of this, and to make them feel like they at least gave it a ton of effort.  Eventually, someone decided to use chocolate chip cookies.  So, there you have it... the EuroS'more.  Whatever it was, it took the focus off of my dorkiness, and I am forever grateful.

I'd like to think I'll do better the next time around, but something else I didn't anticipate may come up.  I just haven't learned to control my facial expressions when something comes out of the blue that I didn't expect.  One of these days I'll be refined and never caught off guard.  I will be an honorary European.  I'm sure of it.  Any day now.