Showing posts with label blogging. Show all posts
Showing posts with label blogging. Show all posts

Monday, July 2, 2012

My Parenting is so full of WIN.

My children recently had their semi-annual plaque scraping and professional tooth polishing appointment.  Even scheduled early in the day, we spend most of our morning there.  Three kids, three cleanings, one oral hygienist...Yeah.  It takes a long-ass time.  
 We came prepared, having brought a backpack filled with crayons, coloring books and reading materials, but it was the Mancala board that got the most use:
Mancala Tournament: Hour Two
By the time the last child was released with healthy teeth and gums, we were nearly starving.  I promised to feed the heathen spawn, so we headed to McDonald's.  (Where else can I poison my family for under twenty dollars?) On the way there, the girls decided that British accents were just what our boring old car ride needed.  The next twenty minutes on the interstate were very entertaining.  Did you know that anything and everything is not just funny in a horribly exaggerated accent, but freaking hilarious?
The fun didn't stop when we reached the drive-thru at McDonald's.  
While I wasn't savvy enough to order the food in my semi-convincing accent, I did greet the cashier who took my money with an enthusiastic "Ello Guvn'a!" making Madison nearly shoot a snot rocket at the windshield trying to stifle her laughter, while the two in the back brayed like donkeys.
Having still not had enough fun, we kept it up all the way home, the hilarity of the situation causing the two smallest campers to increase their volume with each word they spoke.  Finally, I had to ask them to bring it down a notch, saying, "You know what, guys? I don't think they yell everything in Great Britain. I can't recall the last time I heard someone announce: "IT'S TIME FOR TEA!"
Just then, the high pitched, and overly affected voice of Samantha piped up from the back of the van and yelled, "MERRY CHRISTMAS, BITCHES!!!"

I'm still trying to decide whether that's a parenting fail or a parenting win.
 
Which do you suppose it is?
 
 
(If you are guilty of grinning at this, please share it with your friends.  If you thought it was a ridiculous waste of your time, share it with your enemies.)
 
 

Saturday, June 30, 2012

Dear Allie Brosh, I'm going to steal your readers...

Ever since I wrote this entry inquiring as to the whereabouts of my very most favoritest writer/cartoonist, I've gotten a lot (Alot) of traffic on that post.  People are searching it multiple times a day and landing on that page.   They're not looking for me, Allie.  They're looking for you and FINDING me.

It may seem cheap, but you know what?  I'll take it! 

I just wanted to let you know, that I'm planning to borrow those readers for a while.  Only until you come back.  You can have them back...provided that you can identify them.
 
Sure, I don't draw clever little cartoons and I don't have a dog that makes a whine like a jet engine, but I'll try my best to keep those folks entertained in your absence.  Maybe I'll post pictures of things that "almost" look like vulvae and call it "Suddenly Bajingo".   Maybe I'll just talk about how much the Intarwebs misses you. 

Maybe I'll use hypnosis and duct tape.

Anyway, I'll take good care of them, Allie.  I swear.



So, hello!  If you were led to this blog through a search for Allie Brosh, please stick around for a while and we can chat about how fabulous Ms. Brosh is and how very much we miss her unique brand of humor.

But first, look into this golden amulet...you're getting very sleepy...

No, no, keep looking at it...wait.  Where are you going?

Monday, June 25, 2012

Marvelous Thrift Store Finds and Leg Amputation.



On Saturday, I visited Goodwill.  I told myself I was only going in to look.  Just for a second.  (That's all it takes, isn't it?) I don't need a cart.  If I get a cart, that'll make me put stuff in it and then I'll buy that stuff and then we'll have too much stuff again and need to get rid of that stuff.  The circle is vicious.
Nope, I'm just going to look.

Riiiiiiight.

Now, I have to tell you that I've planned to buy new stools for my kitchen for a while now and hadn't yet found a set I absolutely had to have...until Saturday.  Because Saturday I found these.

Ignore the peeling vinyl, I'm going to re-cover them.
The best part?
$3.38!  Each!!

At that price, you'd better believe I trotted up to the front of the store, grabbed myself a cart and shoved those suckers in it faster than a ...faster than...faster than something already fast performing a difficult task IMPRESSIVELY fast.
Those stools were MINE.  I staked my claim. After giving me a bit of trouble, I finally convinced the bar stools that they needed to come home with me and they fit into the cart obligingly.   This is important.  If you put something in your cart, that's like writing your name all over your school supplies or licking the last piece of pizza.  It says "Mine".  And no one else will get their grabby Saturday-thrift store mitts on them.  Unless they want to tangle.  *threatening face*



I was pretty stoked about this stool purchase.  Until.  Until I found something even better!  An air hockey table for only forty bucks!  FORTY!  I whipped out my cell phone and sent Sugar Daddy a text telling him of our incredible good fortune.

"Rejoice!  I have found the air hockey table of our dreams!"

I imagined our days filled with the soft hum of the table and the clickiety-clackity-smack of the puck as we battle for a tiny plastic replica of the Stanley Cup.  

"Basement or garage, which do you think it'll fit in?"

He sent back, "Um...no."

WHAT?!   Are you kidding me?  This is the end-all-be-all of family entertainment devices!  We NEED THIS.

"Aw, why not?  It's only $40.  C'mon, man.  I WANT IT!"

As Miss Madison will recognize, he sent back the same message we send to our oldest daughter when she tries to push the envelope: "The answer is no.  This will be the last text about this.  Further texts will result in consequences."

Now, it's true that we really don't have much room for an air hockey table anyway, and his idle threat had me giggling in the middle of the store, but I couldn't very well respond to Sugar Daddy with anything supporting his logic, so I instead sent:

"*pfft*  Dude. That's whack."

Whatever.

I got the stools.


And these are GREAT bar stools! 

Sadly, once I got them home I remembered that there is a difference between "bar stool" and "counter stool".  That difference is about 4 inches.  My counter is simply too short for their awesomeness. 

But wait!  I have a dad.  My dad has major power tools.  I'm very hopeful that the combination of my dad and the major power tools will be just the ticket to taking them down a notch...or four. 




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

Edited to add:  I sent my father a text asking if he'd be willing to cut four inches off 8 legs...belonging to no one he knew, and if so, when would be a good time. 
"Now."  He sent back.

Seriously?  Sweet!

I hurried over to my folks' house where we performed partial amputations on the bar stools with a table saw...and laughed while we did it with sickening glee.   Hobbled, they now look like this:


And they fit perfectly under the counter. 


I took the severed legs home with me.  If the stools give me any more grief I can always flaunt them with a menacing look that says, "There's more where this came from."
 



Now that I think of it, I might use them in my next giveaway.

  


If this made you laugh, will you share it with a friend?






Friday, May 18, 2012

Disturbing Adventures in Slumbertown or "Why I killed Alex P. Keaton"


Last night I was under attack.  Zombies came after me in my sleep!

It seems that I was back in my high school days and there was an assembly in the auditorium, which we all know is probably one of the worst places to be in the event of a zombie attack. Everyone knows that when the zombie uprising occurs, you will want to avoid large social gathering places to increase your chances of survival.  True, I wasn’t trapped in the mall, but this did not bode well.

When I became aware of the looming presence of the brain-eating living dead, I realized I needed a weapon, but where to find such a one that could handle this onslaught?  The Props Closet!   I knew there would be an array of swords and sharp, pointy things left over from a recent production of Camelot, sitting ripe for the picking.  Only a Master Thespian, such as I would have remembered they had perfect zombie protection at their disposal.

I pushed aside a canvas flat and found the box I sought.  I chose my weapon quickly, but carefully, remembering that when it comes to zombies, a machete is very handy, and ended up grabbing what I felt was the closest thing.

Holed up in the props closet, armed with Big Ol’ Dream Knife, I braced myself, channeled my Inner Buffy, opened the door and in my strongest zombie-slaying voice shouted,

Bring it on!!”

Onward they came, these dream zombies made of random bits of my subconscious:
My best friend? *slash* Gone.  
The family dog? *slice* Dead.  
Alex P. Keaton (where the hell did he come from)? *swoosh* Severed.
Some guy with a head wound who may or may not have actually been zombified?  Sorry, dude. I can’t risk it. *zing* Dead.

I’ve got to give props to my weapon of choice.  Big Ol’ Dream Knife required very little upper arm strength from this particular heroine to prove effective against hordes of zombies (I’m not the strongest slayer on the block, you know).  It was amazing, slicing those nasty zombie heads clean off, like…well, like a light saber (to borrow from George’s dream).  Who wouldn’t love a knife like that?  Got a chicken you need quartered?  *slappity choppity*  Done!  Cleaning fish?  *bam* Off with their heads! 

Sadly, I learned that Big Ol’ Dream Knife had one fatal flaw.  It was selective.  Sure, it was able to cut through flesh and bone (ew ew ew ew! *shudder*) but it had noticeable trouble with fabric.  I was able to holster it in my belt loop and it didn’t cut one thread. 
The approaching turtleneck-clad zombies would be my undoing…

Aw, crap.

Some Other Stuff I Wrote