Thursday, December 22, 2011

Finding Jesus.

Last year, while driving my children to school, I passed a house with a plastic nativity scene in their front yard.  It was a very simple reproduction of the Holy Family with SuperStepDaddy Joseph and the Virgin Mary kneeling near the...

*blink*

...wait a minute... 

*blink, blink*

*jawdrop* 

It seems that, in this family's version of the Nativity Story, not only was there no room at the inn, but the manger was full as well.  Mary and Joseph knelt near the newborn child in a plastic, Ten Items or Fewer shopping basket. 

It struck me as an interesting decorative choice and I wondered what made them choose to put a half-naked representation of the Messiah in a plastic shopping basket.  

From a distance, the baby-doll that sat in the basket appeared to be a version of the Rub-A-Dub Dolly I had when I was a child.  Its limbs were straightened, which put him at an odd angle in the too-small basket.  Because this doll was not meant to bend, he looked like he'd frozen solid in the cold, which looked more than a little bit creepy.

Was he a place-holder for their real Baby Jesus or did the third part of the Holy Family get baby-napped years ago, forcing the family to search the bargain bin at the Dollar Store for a replacement?

Sadly, I feared we would never know.  On the way to take the girls to their last day of school before winter break, we noticed that Shopping Basket Jesus was missing.  The basket was there, but the Baby Jesus was not. 

We prayed for his safe return.

This year, our prayers were answered.  He is back, but Mary seems to be a little worse for wear.  Behold: 

Virgin Blows Her Top Over Missing Express Lane Messiah's Return


Rising To The Challenge - Another Holiday Photo

Didn't we just do this?  I can't believe it's been a year already. 


December rolls around and parents the world over start to dress up their children in itchy Christmas outfits they'll never wear again, to capture that cherished image of their little ones proving they're worth the presents Santa will surely bring as they smile sweetly for the camera.   We then send those pictures out to friends and family so they can turn seven shades of green at how adorable and well-behaved our children are seem to be.


Last year's photo session was an adventure.  This year, I decided to cut to the chase and go straight for the (for lack of a better term) money shot.  
 

Hm...nice, but...That wasn't good enough for me. In my quest for Teh Funneh, my Christmas Brain blocked out the mayhem that clouded the lens of last year's photo and we kept right on truckin'.



I got a few decent shots, before their body language began to speak to me, "Dear, sweet woman, we know what you want and we're trying our best to make it happen for you, but someone WILL get hurt if we have to do this much longer."


Again, the holiday photo became a battle.  It wasn't quite the Clash of Titans that we've had in the past, but it was definitely a war between What I Wanted and What I Got.  







 This is what we ended up with:  





To say "next year I won't bother" would be an outright lie.  You know damned well I will!    
 

Friday, November 25, 2011

I repost because I care...and because I can.

It's Black Friday, people. 
If you're one of the many insane people out and about today, you'll miss this reposting.  Be safe.  Remember how to hip check properly and protect your faces.

Black and Blue Friday - a poem

Twas the dawn of Black Friday, and in front of the store,
The people had camped out all night by the door,
Their bottoms were nestled in frozen lawn chairs,
As they peered through the glass, plotting what would be theirs.
The veteran shoppers were dressed for the weather
Eyeing new blood, as they huddled together,
When toward the glass doors an employee came near,
With a key in his hand and his face filled with fear
They watched him approach, with their eyes opened wide
He unlocked the door and then leaped to the side.
Like antelope, torn from their watering hole fun,
When the lion creeps nearer, break into full run,
So into the store the patrons did dash,
With lists miles long and buttloads of cash.
More rapid than eagles, they grabbed at Wii Games
They pushed, kicked and called one another foul names.
The Black Friday shoppers went straight to their works,
They prided themselves on behaving like jerks.
They said, "Puck your mother!" (or words of that sort)
As shopping became a full-contact sport!
Black Friday peeps, know this as you roam-
You're fighting without me, I'm staying at home!

Saturday, November 19, 2011

You want a piece of me?!

When I'm feeling punchy, I'm going to start my shopping at 6 PM on a weekday.  I bet I could kick some ass.  My fellow shoppers are clearly not happy to be there.  They're tired and hungry but they're also armed with metal carts...like Battlebots.  

I'll fill mine with canned goods and garden tools.  

Awesome.

Thursday, November 17, 2011

Is Cyber Monday the New Black?

I've heard too many horror stories about the Black Friday sales to feel that diving headfirst into the lion's den to get a deal on the newest craze is something I'd be interested in doing.
No, thank you.

A few Thanksgivings ago, I wrote this poem, poking fun at the insanity that is Black Friday.  That year a New York Wal*Mart employee was trampled to death by the stampede of shoppers.  Sadly, my creative humor was in the right place at the wrong time.  I saved it for another year.

I know some people take their Black Friday shopping very seriously, while others look at it much like Roller Derby, full of hip checking and shoving, but having loads of fun doing it.

I've never seen a scarf or lamp or Wii game that was worth my life.  I'm still gonna have to pass.


Will you be shopping the Black Friday sales or will you wait until Cyber Monday?

Monday, November 14, 2011

Let's talk about grocery store tantrums.

I am a firm believer in teaching children in the moment.  Sometimes, however, said moment arises and finds you completely at a loss as to what to do.  Well, NO MORE!  Random Ninja is here to save you from your totally unprepared self!   You're welcome.

What will you do in the event that this is the happy day your child decides to be all "HULK MAD!  HULK SMASH!" with a bombardment of spaghetti sauces because you refused him a new Matchbox car?

It helps to have a few grocery store rules to begin with.  I have always given the kids a choice to either hold onto the cart with one hand or sit IN the seat of the cart.  If you let go, you get in the cart. 
That's a blog for another day, so we'll get back to the little noisemakers. 

You must first resist the urge to throttle your child.  Please.  If you leave the store, plan to return immediately.  Leaving is how we teach children that if they can't have what they want, they can just get mom to take them home, which is often what they wanted in the first place. This is a great opportunity for your child to learn what's acceptable behavior in a public place.  Seize it!

If the child is already in the cart, GREAT!  Ignore him.  Don't talk to him, don't look at him, don't pacify him with a box of Cheerios or a new toy that you have no intention of buying him.  Keep shopping and avoid the aisles containing pickle jars and tomato sauces.  If it becomes too much for you to handle without losing your marbles and housing the little twerp in the deep freeze, park your cart somewhere in the back of the store, with the tantrum thrower facing a wall.  Tell him you'll continue shopping when he's calmed down.  Walk out of his sight (behind him usually works best, so you can still see him but he has to crane his neck to see you).   Now you wait.  Read a magazine. 

If he's not in the cart, you have three choices:  
1. You can lay down next to him and do what he's doing (which will earn you bonus glares from passersby).  
2. You can pick him up and put him in the cart if he's small enough for you to lift.
Or 3.  You can leave him flailing around on the ground and walk away.

Obviously, you have to know your kid in order to use number 3, as you'll have some children who live fearlessly in our world and will likely run in the opposite direction, getting themselves into more trouble than this method is worth.  Mine always picked themselves up and followed me.  It's possible that they were afraid I'd actually leave them in the store.  (Moi?!  Never!)  Still, it worked extremely well and I'm happy to say that once I chose my tantrum-squelching techniques and used them unfailingly, tantrums no longer plagued our trips to the store.

Voila! 
You are now armed with a plan of attack or at least a few ideas to formulate a plan of your own.  I hope to see fewer faces peering out from behind the frozen veggies.

Go forth and kick some ass.

Sunday, November 6, 2011

Kiosk Snipers!

UGH!  They GOT me.  *collapses melodramatically*

I was at the mall with the spawn, heading toward the exit when a woman approached me and asked me where I was from.  I never should have made eye contact, but she wasn't standing right near her kiosk, so I was caught completely off guard by her interesting use of an ancient pick-up line.  She got me.  I answered, "I'm local."  She asked me if I had a good hair straightener (I flat ironed my hair today, a mistake I won't be making again) and beckoned me over to her little shop of horrors.  I blame being hungry and tired on my inability to say no to this woman, for I followed her like an obedient lap dog.  You would have thought she had enticed me with a fistful of bacon.
Mmm...bacon.

She led me to her stand, where I thought I'd hear a little blurb about how great this new hair straightener is and instead I found myself with a glob of Dead Sea Salt Exfoliant on my hand.  
"Rub dat een", she said very quickly in a very thick accent whose origin I couldn't quite place.  

Holding my hand over a white plastic bowl, she played twenty questions with me, asking me my name, how old I was, if I had a husband, how long we've been married and whether or not I was gainfully employed.  Oh, she was good, this one.  She had me right where she wanted me: wet and trapped.  She had a towel hidden there somewhere, I know, but I couldn't see it and I wasn't too keen on the idea of walking off with one hand covered in Dead Sea Salt, so I remained her captive customer.  She then showed the children and me how terrific this product was as she hosed my hand off with a squirt bottle of water.  

Then it got gross.

She laughed with the children as she told us how NASTY Mommy was and how "she needs a shower", while surveying the depths of the white plastic bowl which was now full of my dead skin.  

Um...ick...and WHAT?!  Did she just say that, really? 
I think we were all a little taken aback that she actually said those words in her sales pitch.  "Nasty" and "needs a shower".  Yup.  Well, that'll sell a bundle of this shit, right?  Absolutely.  Give me 100 units!

I was offered a few backhanded compliments for my trouble: "Your oily skin is a gift from God."   My what is a huh??   

Mesmerized by this woman and her accent, I stayed planted on the spot to listen to what else she found hideous about my apparently troll-like skin and greasy, gunk-filled pores, while my children stood by and helplessly watched the drama unfold, their eyes big as saucers.

Finally, I couldn't take it anymore.  I had accepted her free presentation with good humor and didn't bloody her lip when she basically told me I was too grotesque to be walking around with normal people.  It was time to end this before one of us got hurt.  

In an effort to bring about the end of my Trial by Esthetics, I asked, "How much?"

I don't know how they train these people for this stuff, but they do have a knack for it. We got the rundown of a professional salesclerk and were told that the skin of a princess could be ALL MINE for the "low price" of $250.  Jeebus, for THAT, I could buy actual princess skin and make myself a princess suit!  

She sensed my apprehension and suddenly, as if by magic, the Discount Gnome came along and bippity boppidy booped the entire line of skin care down to $125.  I don't know HOW she did it!  Amazing!

Still too pricey for my blood, I declined to purchase her wares.  Now, maybe her brother needed a new kidney or maybe it was costing her too much to keep fuzzy Uggs on her little feetsies this winter, because she REALLY wanted me to buy this stuff.  She was so intent on making the sale, that she whipped out that magical Discount Gnome again and this time the price poofed from $125 to a mere $39.99 for two of the four miracle working products with the additional promise that I could come back tomorrow and get the other two for $15 off the price.  Wait, what?  Was that $15 off the original price or off the discounted price? 


Ah, forget it.  Doesn't matter anyway.  Somehow I managed to peel myself from her evil clutches and escape with my children, my one soft arm and what was left of my dignity.  

While I was at the store, I bought a jar of really good-smelling dead sea salt exfoliant and a bottle of lotion.
Twelve dollah.


Eff you, Kiosk Sniper.

















Sunday, October 30, 2011

This Gobbamned SwivelStore piece of sh*t.

I thought my regular readers would appreciate an update on the SwivelStore that I blogged about not long ago.  It's a hunk of junk, but I'm using it.  Oh, yes I am.  I bought and paid for that piece of shit (or four of them) fair and square so I've earned the right to bitch about it all I want.  And I shall.  I may even link the SwivelStore people to this blog and let them see how irate I am about their cheating, lying ways.  
Fartknockers. 

To get anyone who isn't up to speed caught up, I ordered a SwivelStore organizer through the SwivelStore site online. I wanted to take advantage of their two for one deal (stupid stupid stupid), but when I clicked to order the one...(which was going to be two) it took me to a confirmation page that stated that I had ordered TWO sets of TWO.  Who the fuck needs FOUR of these contraptions?!  Then I noted that the "processing" fee came to a total of $31.00 and change.  WHA...???   Husband of Brilliance later informed me that they had charged the same shipping and handling for each individual item, even the free ones, so I got screwed in a whole different door.  Not cool, SwivelStore, people.  Not cool.

There was no "back" button.  That sucker was processed.  I had Sugar Daddy (see: Husband of Brilliance) call the customer service number that I had found through a laborious search.  He got in touch with one of the many SwivelStore drones and was told, of course, that it had already left the processing plant (man, they're lightning fast...or liars) and the only thing we could do would be to refuse its delivery when it came to the door.  Right.  Okay, then.   We're saddled with the $70 bill for four SwivelStore thingimawhoosits.  Great.  

Its flimsy plastic only holds the small bottles and jars of spices, so if you're looking for something that will hold your glass jars, skip the SwivelStore.  You'll use it once and it will break and fall on your head, causing you to curse the existence of such an atrocity.  You've been warned.


They've even made it difficult to attempt to give these things away as gifts (not that I would try to pass such a plastic nightmare off on my family and friends) as they neglected to pack them in anything but a plastic wrapper and a plain cardboard box.  The only indication that they were, in fact, Swivel Store products is the flimsy little 4 X 6 note card with their name on it and instructions for the incredibly vapid, showing how to use it properly.



Swivel Store, you suck balls.

Saturday, October 29, 2011

Happy Anniversary, Baby...♫ gotchoo-onmah-MII-HIIND ♫


It's been 17 years since that fateful day when Sugar Daddy and I tied the knot and joined the ranks of millions of other wedded couples. I was going to share with you some photos of that day, but who really enjoys looking at another person's boring old wedding photos?  So let's mix it up a little.  I'm going to show you the ones that DIDN'T make it into the Wedding Album of Extreme Awesomeness.
Behold:

Future MIL and unmade, barely awake me on the morning of Black Saturday.  I can't even tell you who that is in the back.  Maybe Future FIL, I'm not entirely sure.
  

John's friend Brian had to get a shot of John's boxers which were specially purchased for the day.  They had little limousines on them that said "Get me to the church on time". 

The Blushing Bride.
(Hey, Kim, can you spot the Suddenly Boobs in this shot?)

Reception shoes.  They said "Just Married" on them. 

Do NOT incur the wrath of Angry Bride!

What's he doing under there?

UVULAAAAAAA!

Is that a propane tank?! 




♫ a little bit softer now, (shout) a little bit softer now (shout)... ♫


 GET IT, FAIR MAIDENS!! 
 




Lookin' Studly.  Don't light that nasty thing, John!

Awesomeness.

What a couple of goobers.

Working together to wield the knife.  
We had no idea what we were doing and I vaguely remember trying to lick that knife off when we were done, but I was thwarted by someone possessing more manners than I. (I was frosting blocked!)

Because once was not enough...everyone wanted John take his pants off so they could see the infamous boxers. Take 'em off, Johnny-boy!

 Every bride should dance to Sir Mix-A-Lot, especially when they are sporting a ginormous bow on their hind end.


Okay, this one's not that funny, and it DID make it into the album, but it was taken in the backseat of a Saab on the way to the reception.  We submitted this one to the paper...after we cropped out the dome light.  ;)



This one really should have made it into the book.  Someone move those candles!
   Just outside the church. 
No one looks quite ready, do they? 
(Is that my FIL photobombing this one?)




You know what?  Can we get just one more shot of those boxers and your supercool dance moves, John? 

Very nice.  Thank you, honey.





Friday, October 14, 2011

There's a Kitteh at the End of This Post.

Title changed from "I'm totally blogging about this, but it's not my usual genre..." 

I was recently given a "presentation" by my MIL about the Esteem Invisible Hearing system...procedure...surgery...whatever.

I listened calmly as she told me more about it and urged me to read the information and watch the DVDs that came in the packet, but my stomach was turning inside out.  I'm sure I had the constipated look on my face that I get when I have to feign joy at something I'm not all that enthused about. 


This surgery is done to replace hearing aids (which I have worn for 16 years).  

Here's the rub:  I don't mind my hearing aids.  They are part of who I am.  I've had 16 years to become accustomed to them and my life is better because I wear them.  I'm not one bit embarrassed to have people see that I wear them (my next pair will be pink if I can swing it).

My hearing loss is of the hereditary variety.  I'm the youngest in my family to have lost hearing (if you know me or have read my blog before you'll remember I started losing my hearing around 16 and got my first hearing aids at 23).  My grandfather started losing his hearing at or around his fifties (that's the closest relation we can figure to have had impaired hearing) and my mother, who is now 74, thinks she may be starting to lose some of hers.  

My point in mentioning the hereditary aspect of it is this:  If one or more of my children develop hearing losses of their own, I'd rather have shown them how manageable my life is without perfect hearing and teach them how to deal with it with grace instead of trying to fight the tide of fate to the tune of $30,000.  

Hearing aids are not covered by insurance.  Ear surgery of this sort (and all the prep-work beforehand) would be completely out-of-pocket.   MIL offered to pay $15,000, but my hearing aids work perfectly well and cost a shit ton less than THIRTY THOUSAND FRICKING DOLLARS!  Hell, I'd love a new pair of hearing aids (in pink), and a nice, new refrigerator.  With that money, you could toss in a few car repairs and still have cash to blow on a laptop (which I really really do want).

Nevermind the fact that any maintenance would be ANOTHER out-patient procedure, which, as we all know, is SURGERY with a less-threatening name.  The drawbacks for me seem to be far more than the pluses.  If it brings more stress into my life and not less, I don't want it, thanks.

Oh, and just the name of this thing is irritating.  "Esteem"?  As in "Self"?  Read the first page of that site.  They're trying to sell this surgery by appealing to our insecurities.  Yeah, because if you can't hear, you're broken and must have low self-esteem.  That's a nice message to send, isn't it?  This chick is not having it.  

Is it really unbelievable that I wouldn't want to change myself in this way? 

What would you do?

(If you stayed with me through all of that, please enjoy this picture of my cat playing checkers.)

Wednesday, October 12, 2011

TamWOW! Saving the world, one crotch at a time.

Why do people doubt my genius?  I constantly struggle with this in my life.  I'm so serious about marketing my Human Dominoes idea, folks.  I really think it would make a ton of money as an impulse buy around the holidays, thereby making me a kazillionaire and Sugar Daddy would be able to retire.  That idea is full of WIN, right?

My ideas go largely unnoticed and/or unacknowledged.  Sometimes I'll see a new product hit the shelves that begs the question "When is enough, enough?"  The answer, of course, is "When it's just too much!"  I have a dream that one of those "Just Too Much" products will originate with me.

This leads me to my next multi-million dollar idea.  
In the interest of protecting cotton crotches all over the world, I'm here to offer a practical solution:

 
Heavier periods require heavier protection.  When Aunt Flo simply cannot contain her enthusiasm and your overnight pad clocks out an hour and a half into its shift, we need something stronger to do the job.  
TamWOW!   Diva Cup runneth over?  TamWOW!  

 

TamWOW.  
You'll say "WOW!"  Every.  Time.

Monday, October 10, 2011

The Wedding Of My Dreams...Yeah, Notsomuch.

I had a weird one last night, people. 
Sugar Daddy and I were renewing our wedding vows at JCPenney.  *nodding*  Yup. JCPenney.  Doesn't everyone choose this venue for their nuptials?   I think the escalators add a nice touch.


It seems that this event had been planned for some time, but I, ever the procrastinator, forgot to double check a few things.    

The dress took three people to get me into it, as my dream self seemed to believe that I could still fit into the wedding dress I wore 17 years and 3 children ago.  It was hard to get fastened, but the material must have undergone some kind of molecular transformation, because the danged thing didn't split apart at the seams.  Hm...must've been one of those rubberized wedding gowns.  I was a vision in white...and reddish purple...but once the blood left my face and was once again distributed to my extremities, I looked fabulous.  


I also forgot to check my ring.  It was missing a stone.  Somehow I had remembered to bring all my other jewelry and a pair of pliers, so I thought I could MacGuyver a new one, but the ring I fashioned turned out to be shaped like some strange kind of butterfly with wings that moved.  It was super-cheesy and not a MacGuyver Win at all, but a massive FAIL.


Then I remembered we were inside JCPenney!  So I sent my mother over to the jewelry department to pick up a new ring and a pair of earrings...because, wouldn't you know it, I forgot those too.  Unfortunately, Dream Mom lacked the fashion sense and superb taste in jewelry that my Real Mom has and the earrings were a disaster, but the ring looked great.


Thank God the alarm woke me up just after seeing the dresses I had chosen for my bridesmaids: hot pink satin with ruffled sleeves, off the shoulder and a skirt the size of Deborah Kerr's in The King and I.  Those poor, poor girls.


Come to think of it, I didn't even see Sugar Daddy in the dream.  Gee, I hope he showed.

Wednesday, October 5, 2011

Candy Begging

YES!  For my city, the kids have from 5 to 7 for Trick or Treat and it's on the 30th not the 31st because there's a parade downtown on the 31st and they want the parade folks to have someone to aim at when they throw their harder than hell Tootsie Roll candies and Butterscotch Kisses.  Ever get beaned with one of those?  They HURT.
Fartknockers.

Tuesday, October 4, 2011

When Random Ninja does stupid shit, the blog benefits.

This morning, in a moment of sheer impulse, I accidentally ordered 2 *SETS* of the Swivel Store spice organizer thingie-ma-doohickey.  That means FOUR of the blasted things will be arriving at my door in two to four weeks.  I didn't want FOUR of them, but the way the site was set up, I thought I had to enter a number denoting how many I wanted, total.  I wanted two...but one comes free* when you order it through their site and I thought...

...well, I guess I wasn't really thinking now, was I?  Can I blame it on lack of caffeine?  Yes, I had a dumb and if I can't get one set taken off our card, John's gonna have a disappointed in my spending habits, but our seasonings will be organized, gods be damned. 


Maybe I'll give one away for Christmas.  Who needs more organization in their spice cupboard?  
Anyone?

Monday, October 3, 2011

How Can You Eat That Garbage?

I live near a neighborhood bar with an adjoining pizza joint.  Ingenious notion, yes, but that's beside the point of my tale.  This past weekend, someone must have gotten the munchies after their evening of drunken tomfoolery and ordered not one, but two pizzas on the way out.   I'm going to assume that it was a case of Beer Goggles Overestimates Beer Gut, because they ate a couple pieces of each pizza...and then left the boxes open on the ground, NEAR, but not IN the neighbor's trash bin.  

Nice. Real nice.   


The neighbor isn't there every day, so she had no idea that there were abandoned pizzas near her city-issued refuse receptacle.  I was going to move it, but being the super-sidetracked airhead that I am, I went inside and did...(probably nothing) really really useful stuff...and completely forgot about the pizza remnants.


This morning, I noticed that the rest of the pizza was gone...all except the crusts.  Obviously, my first thought was that an animal stumbled upon it and had quite a feast, but animals wouldn't leave the crusts, would they?  Who does that?  How drunk do you have to be to eat day old pizza off the ground?  Near a trash can?!  If a human being "recycled" that garbage, I'll bet the stomach cramps they'll have from whatever got into the 'za will have them in the hospital sometime this afternoon.  

(I really hope there's a finicky raccoon sleeping one off somewhere.)

People are nasty. 

Friday, September 30, 2011

My Inner Child Likes Mashed Potatoes

Last week I wrote HELP ME on the inside of a door in the freezer section.  

What?!  Don't look at me like that.  At least my kids were proud of me. 

Life is full of simple pleasures, people.  You have to find happiness wherever you can get it.  I enjoy those little things that make me who I am.  I don't mean my DNA.  Yes, DNA does count as little things and I'll bet if you looked closely at it, you would undoubtedly see that I have some gene in there that makes me weird.  (It's the one that looks like it's giving you the finger.)


I'm talking about your inner child. 

You have to embrace your inner child!  Pay attention to her.  Feed her.  Keep her occupied, lest you find that inner child perched atop a bell tower in your subconscious with a semi-automatic rifle.


I'll be turning 40 this year, and I'm going strive to keep my spirit happy and young; nurturing my soul with things that make me smile...things like writing messages in the windows of the deep freeze and sending my husband random, obscenity-laden text messages.

Today I set all the egg timers at the store to go off after 10 minutes and walked away. 


What did you do today?

Monday, September 26, 2011

Bug Killer, Thy Name Is Erika.

I kill bugs.  I do.  I can't help myself.
To say that I'm sorry for killing them would be a lie.  I don't exactly enjoy taking their little buggy lives, but I also don't enjoy sharing my living space with them, or feeling their creepy little legs on my person.

It's fall.  I haven't got any hedge apples to put around the basement, so I guess it's time for me to announce to the arachnids and insects that seek refuge in my abode that they are not welcome here, or rather that they ARE welcome...provided that they remain unseen.  

Dear creepy crawlies, 
I do not like you.  If I see you in my home, you will be killed.  Those of you who choose to dangle above my bed while I sleep, will find that tempting fate does not prove fruitful, as I squash you faster than you can scramble up that little bit of floss from which you rappel.  

I repeat:  I will kill you.  This is not an idle threat.  
Thank you for your cooperation, 
The Management

File This Under "Poor Sales Tactics".

I got this bit of mail the other day from the University of Iowa Hospitals promoting a meet and greet for their plastic surgery unit.  

Of course there's an airbrushed picture of a model on the front and a list of their services, which could provide millions with a better body image (or add to another million's plastic surgery addictions).
What I find interesting is that they enclosed an emery board with their 800 number on it.  What's the message they're trying to convey with this gift?  It's kind of like saying, "Here, troll. We'll get you started on the path to beauty with this sandpaper on a stick.  When you find that your attempts to file your great schnoz down to a respectable length are futile, call the number and let us help.  Please."  

Oh, and they're serving "mocktails" at this get-together.  What are mocktails, you ask?  They're just like cocktails without the cock.  I have no idea how to make a non-alcoholic Slippery Nipple and I'm pretty sure that a Screwdriver and Long Island Iced Tea would just be orange juice and a soda, sans alcohol.  Shirley Temples and Virgin Daiquiris aren't going to cut it for a surgical mixer.   Seems silly to me to not get folks all kinds of liquored up for something like this.  I'd think they'd promote more business if the people were a little bit lit. 
  
"Boob job?"  *shrugs* *slurs*  "Why the eff not! Let'sh do it!"  *bares chest*

I'd go to that party.

Monday, September 19, 2011

Justified Slobitude

My computer rests on top of miscellaneous garbage and things to be filed.  I don't think there's a desk underneath it all.


I should clean this up.  But what if there really isn't a desk under here?  What if the phone books and empty CD cases and candy wrappers and washcloths and pens and duct tape and an empty shoe box and my bra (wth?) other things I've forgotten (read: been too lazy) to pick up actually do hold my computer off the ground? 


Since I'm fairly certain that it's all the clutter that keeps my computer at eye level, I'd better just leave it alone, right?   I'd hate to clean the mess here and dislodge a keystone piece of this carefully constructed stage from which I perform only to watch the entire thing crash to the floor.   I mean, I need to have my computer.  You need me to have my computer.  You wouldn't want to be held responsible for anything that could happen to me if I was suddenly forced to rack up data charges on my phone.  I couldn't be held responsible for the trauma that my sudden departure from the internet could cause.  Whatever would you do with yourselves?  

Yeah. I'd better not touch it.  


You know, just in case.  

Thursday, September 15, 2011

Masked Intruder Shaken After Encounter With Border Patrol.

Some mornings take you by surprise.  I was interrupted from a game of Words With Friends on Facebook by these words, screamed from the kitchen by my six year old:


"Oh, my gosh, MOM!  BRINKLEY'S KILLING A RACCOON!!"


Thankfully, today was one of those days when Wonder Dog actually did what I told him to and he dropped the masked intruder after I yelled out "LEAVE IT!" from the back door.
After I called the dog off and got him inside, where he mourned the loss of his VERY lifelike squeaky toy, I watched the raccoon -just a young thing- limp pitifully to the base of the nearest tree and climb to safety. 




That's how my day started.
Could've been worse.  I could've been the raccoon.


I can just imagine how the poor little guy felt, sneaking through the yard in the early morning, tired from a long night of scavenging and being suddenly attacked and violently shaken by a great hulking beast of a dog.


I'm sure Brinkley's thoughts were "Hey, cool toy!  Shaky, shaky.  Ooh, it squeaks!  Shaky, shaky!"


I'm also fairly sure the raccoon's thoughts were "HOLY FUCK, WHAT IS THIS SHIT?!  OW OW OW OW!!  SWEET JESUS, MAKE IT STOP!  OW OW OW OW OW!!"




He's (She's?) still perched up in the tree, sleeping, recovering (hopefully not bleeding internally).


It's a fine line I walk when it comes to wild animals.  I'm not a fan of rabies and I've heard that raccoons are big carriers of it, so I don't really want them in my yard...but I don't want them brutally murdered in front of my children by the family pet either. 


Exciting morning, eh?  I tell you, every day it's something.  Makes you just want to jump up out of bed and say "Okay, world.  Gimme what you've got!"


...unless what the world has for you is a big, dumb 110 pound Bernese Mountain Dog with a mouth the size of the Grand Canyon.  Yeah.

**update**
The raccoon made its escape under cover of darkness.  I hope it's learned its lesson.

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Good Morning, Blogosphere.



I went for a lovely walk this morning...in the rain.  It really was a nice walk.  It's a cool September day and the smells in the air are earthy and pungent with the smells of autumn.  Someone was smoking meats nearby and I could smell the hickory burning.  *inhales* *sighs*  I do so love that smell.

I was a little worried that I'd be soaked by the time I got back home, but it was just a sprinkling of rain so I was all good.  I didn't even have to take out my hearing aid or put my MP3 player away.  Now I'm wondering what people do on their runs and walks when it's raining.  Do you have to fore-go the musical accompaniment on your circuit or risk shorting out your system in the rain? 






Tuesday, September 6, 2011

Sam On Childbirth...

Samantha: "Mom, do you have a scar on your tummy from letting me out?"
Me: "Nope. I never gave birth that way."
Samantha: "Oh, so I came out through your..."
Me: "Vagina, yes. You all did."
Samantha: "At the SAME TIME??"

Friday, September 2, 2011

I can't Mom today.

I'm playing Words With Friends on Facebook.  It's taken up a lot of my time today, and I'm actually not quite finished satisfying my need to form words from randomly selected letter tiles.

That said, there are a few things I will not be getting done today...because, you know...I'm busy.

I will not be doing any dishes.  If you need a drinking glass, fork, spoon or plate, wash one.  Unless you're made out of sugar, you're not going to dissolve in the dishwater. 

I will not be vacuuming.  If you encounter a dust bunny you can't step over, I suggest you kick it out of the way or, here's a thought: pick it up and throw it away.  If it growls at you, RUN.

I will not be breaking up any fights.  If you resort to pushing and/or shoving and/or hitting your siblings, you are on your own.  I'm sure you'll rethink your decision as they pound you into the ground.

Ooh, it's my turn.  Gotta go.


Wednesday, August 24, 2011

I haz a button.

Did you know that Amazon has a Universal Wish List Button?  You can download it to your toolbar then click on anything from any site (not just Amazon) and add it to your wish list, greatly increasing your chances of duping your friends into getting you more neat-o stuff.  Er...I mean greatly increasing your chances of remembering the frivolous purchases you planned to make.

Wha-??  I had no idea I could do that!

Click.  Turn off Pop-Up Blocker.  Download.  Reboot.  Voila!


Of course I tried it right away by clicking that little Amazon button from my Facebook homepage.

*I* am now on my wish list.

And why shouldn't I be?!  I'm amazingly versatile.  I go with everything!

Monday, August 22, 2011

On the ride to school this morning, there was a loud burst of laughter from the backseat.  It was Sam.  I asked her what was so funny and she replied, "I'm READING.  Listen to this: *proceeds to read snippet from her book* Isn't that funny?!"

That's my kid. 

Sunday, August 21, 2011

Boys of Summer - an ode

I hate you with every fiber of my being-
Your incessant song drives me insane,
I wait impatiently for Autumn's cooler temperatures,
To send you back below ground with the rest of hell's beasts-
I wish you never existed, oh demons of summer-
Let the first frost hit before you can dig your way to safety.
Die, cicadas, DIE!

Friday, August 19, 2011

Obnoxiously Naked

Locker rooms. 
They're full of lockers...and people.  


Naked people...wet...naked people.  





Have you ever met someone whose nudity didn't make them the least bit uncomfortable...but it made you VERY uncomfortable?  It's not their nudity that gives you the heebies; it's what they DO while they're naked that does.

(I can already tell I'm going in a different direction than what you're thinking.)

Some people treat the locker room like it's their own private bathroom.   It's not!  Trust me!
I know you're used to letting yourself air dry and you like to put your make-up on before your underwear, but that's at home.  In the locker room, we do things a little more discreetly.  There's a more appropriate way to do your business.  It's the Get In and Get Out system and it applies to everyone.  Stick to the system!  

If you're proud of your body and comfortable in your skin, then by all means, you should let it all hang out, in the proper setting, of course.  I'd suggest someplace like a strip club or a centerfold spread or your kitchen.

Whether you have to rinse the chlorine out of your hair or get the Stank out, you go ahead and take that shower, ma'am.  You've earned it.  Nobody's stopping you.  But when you're finished, please don't spend any more time naked than you have to.  For the sake of your more self-conscious peers, please put your fracking clothes on!  Nobody wants to hear about the mystery rash that showed up out of nowhere, we can't identify it and frankly it's really creeping us out.  Get a cream.

I support the fact that you want to do a thorough job of drying off before you put on your jeans and head home, and I could handle the occasional streak, but the Mister Krabs impression...well...

























It's a bit much.
Don't you think?  


Random Ninja...I'm SO not a dude!

In case there's any confusion out there, I'd like to point out that I'm not a man.   There's a reason for this announcement, I swear.  When I created Random Ninja,  I wanted an effectively menacing photograph to welcome my readers. The picture I chose as my blog header was a photo of an awesome and manly ninja wielding nunchucks and he looked like this:
I'm awesome and manly!  Fear me!
If I could remember the name of the artist I snagged him from, I'd tell you, because he IS pretty awesome.  He bears a strong resemblance to the guy who does Ask a Ninja, but he's not...I don't think. 



I digress.  What was the point I was trying to make?  Oh, yes: I don't have a penis.  Stay with me here, people.


I got my first spam comment on a post the other day (a link to a medieval weaponry site), and I thought perhaps my page header (though it was more likely the word NINJA in my title) had led people to believe that I was in possession of outdoor plumbing.  It's been my opinion that any comments are good comments, so the weapons pusher's link didn't bother me as much as I claimed it did, but the notion was already in my mind that I could be mistakenly thought to be a man.  THAT thought bugged me!  My page header needed to change.   I needed something that screamed into the Internet "Let it be known that I do not now, and never have owned a penis! I've never even rented one, despite what any old boyfriends may try to tell you!"


So with a little help from my Paint program and Audrey Hepburn, I was able to edit that manly ninja of manliness and replace his macho mug with one that was a bit more feminine.


Here's the old header:  

















  


And the new one:  I call it "Break Legs at Tiffany's".  *nodding*  Hells, yeah. 


















To recap:  Random Ninja - awesomely random, slays with razor sharp wit...


Not a dude. 









Monday, August 15, 2011

Parental Duty #388: TAKE PICTURES!!

When we become parents, we simultaneously become amateur photographers.  We purchase new cameras and snap pictures left and right, for never has there been a baby more beautiful than our own. You would think that no one had ever reproduced before! 

As they grow, we document as much as we can of their youth.  We take pictures of them smiling, laughing, crying, eating lemons, crawling, sleeping, nursing, picking their noses, making those special "I'm pooping" faces that only a parent could love and thousands of other things.  It's amazing babies don't suffer permanent eye damage from the blitzkrieg of flash photography they're subjected to.  But time is fleeting, and we have to capture every moment before it's gone.  WE HAVE TO.  

It's in the handbook.

That being said, this blog entry marks our ninth year of photo shoots entitled Blissfully Unaware Happy Children On Their First Day Of School.

Ready?   Let's do this!


 Madison stop texting!
They look ready to take the 7th, 5th and 1st grades by storm, don't they?
BRINKLEY PHOTOBOMB!
Yeah, that's more their style.
On our way to take Sam and Lily to their lines.  I'm like a sniper with that camera. 
I guaranteed her that no one else would have a rainbow cheetah print schoolbag that had a patch with GIR riding a pig on it.   Man, is she going to be pissed if I'm wrong.
Hugs for big sister Madison.

Typical of most seventh grade girls, in reply to my well wishes and profession of love, Kitten gave me a fist bump and a "Yeah, bye" before she traipsed along on her merry way. 
"Don't embarrass me, mother.  I know I'm adorable and you want to continue to hug me until the stuffing gushes out of me.   Please don't.  You may leave now."

Another school year has begun.  That's all.  The End.  

Oh, wait...




I know I told Kitten I wouldn't post this picture. I lied.  




 






At least I didn't post this one:
Oh, oops.  Nevermind.



Sunday, August 14, 2011

Discordant Notes

That should be the title of my blog, shouldn't it?  Well, it's not.  I'm keeping it in my back pocket for safekeeping.  This is the Page of Statuses.
Enjoy it.
My children were putting away their clothes. Lily put a pair of socks in her underwear and said, "I've got a penis." Samantha then grabbed a pair of John's socks and said, "I've got a bigger one." Hilarity ensued. They're still upstairs putting stuff in their drawers and laughing like loons.
I'm feeling really lucky after breaking a knife in two trying to fold it with the tombstone pizza cardboard. I can just see the headline: Frozen Pizza Kills. Serves me right for trying to pass that off as a "nutritious meal".
Is the song Tainted Love about anal sex?
Madison is having fun toying with the Stonebridge Life Insurance telemarketers that call here. "Can I speak with Erika Hancock?" "NO." "Okay, I'll call back another time." "NO, DON'T." "Um, what?" "EVER!" "*click*"
How did my child receive a Mastercard in the mail? She's ten!
I cut the frak out of my finger today because I put so much of myself into my work. If you look really closely, you can find the pieces.
"Mom! Buy a flyswatter!" "Why would I buy a flyswatter, when we have a perfectly good subscription to the paper?"
So, John and I were just outside chatting and he pulled up a chair for me, but the garden hose was impeding his progress. "Well, pull that hose outta there," he said. *snicker* *giggle*
I've joined (not defecting yet) Google+. I think I can recruit more people to my army of spork-wielding people pokers if I cover more bandwidth.
Why am I awake? Because I had a thirsty and a 'hafta pee and you needed to know about it. You are welcome.
Madison: THERE'S ONLY ONE MARSHMALLOW LEFT?!?! *grrrr* *stomp stomp slam*
Okay, who made kissy marks all over my mirror?
Be kind and courteous to everyone you meet but have a plan to kill them quickly if necessary.
We are Bjorn Borg: All your underwear are belong to us.
Lily says to me from 6 feet away, "Can you throw me the poopy?" "WHAT??" "I said can you hand me a pooper" "I'm sorry, Lily. I don't have any hearing aids in yet. What did you say?" "Can. You. Get. Me. Some. Paper."

And that's how deaf I really am.
Sam: "MOM! Six words: MY. SHOES. ARE. IN. THE. POOL."
There I was at Wal*Mart, with no phone or camera on my person, helplessly watching the woman in front of me saunter away. All the while, the back of her shirt is screaming at me...and mocking: "This Is Beaver Town!" FML.
All three cats were out on the porch. Zoe looked longingly at the outside through the screen. Frank meowed at the door, terrified and begging to come inside. Phoebe put her butt in front of Frank, daring him to smell it.
In honor of her 10th birthday, Lily has agreed to let us recreate the moment of her birth: "IT'S A GIRL!" "It's a what?! Lemme see that! Hey, it IS a girl!!!"
Lake Superior is just a lake in need of an attitude adjustment.
I have a dreamer. Sam just asked me to play The Last Unicorn song off my playlist and headed immediately into the bathroom to be alone with the lyrics.
Mephistopheles is not my name.
To the makers of Cymbalta: If you have to spend an entire 90 second spot trying to hypnotize me with random people grinning at the camera while a model lists every possible side effect, I'm pretty sure I don't want your drug.
What is Ottoman's superpower?
We are without power and I want coffee and a computer. Strike that. I NEED coffee and a computer. Now.
Deaf Awareness Lesson of the day: LIPreaders read LIPS. You know, LIPS? They're those things on the front of your face that you're flapping madly as you walk away from me.
Whomever thought that I'd be more productive without my computer didn't count on me having this awesome phone.
"Sam, you couldn't have washed that fast. Let me see your hands... *sniff* They still smell like chocolate! You didn't wash them, did you?"   "Well, I LICKED them."
Phil Collins and Phillip Bailey are singing Easy Lover on my playlist and I had such a strong flashback to 1985 that I swear I could smell Coppertone and Fla-Vor-Ice Popsicles.
Don't bother me. I'm blogging.
So I had this dream last night that a friend had a baby. It seems that it wasn't exactly premature, but it was very VERY small (like one whole pound at the most) and because it was healthy and strong (as strong as a one pound figment of my subconscious can be) they sent my friend home with it.

In a hamster ball.
Dear Senior Sitting In The Passenger Seat With Your Hand Over Your Mouth And Nose While Your Husband Smokes A Cigar With The Windows Closed,

I'm sorry you married an asshole.
Why do I choose to use my powers for good and not evil?
Did you know that 3,092 people on Facebook LIKED Herpes? True story.
Can I get some plastic bags with "You have been saved" on them? I don't want to get my Rapture loot confused with the rest of my crap.
I haven't had a knuckle sandwich since 1984.
If i had meant to hit you in the face with the batteries I would have thrown them overhand.
In translating Tween-speak, I've learned that "Yeah, bye" means "I love you too, oh beloved mother of mine". Thought I'd share.
I'm about ready to kill my dog today as he is suffering from some kind of Shitallovermyflooritis.  He's kenneled in the kitchen until further notice. Dumb dog.
I'm going to make a narwhal profile and poke all my friends.
The timing in this next exchange is very important. Samantha doesn't miss a beat.  John: "What would you do with a million dollars?" Sam: "SWIM IN IT." John: "I'll rephrase. What would you spend a million dollars on?" "CANDY."
Today seems like a good day to Google myself.
May is National Masturbation Month. I can't make this shit up, people.
When I die, I want to be taxidermied in bear-attack position.
Thank you, my children, for providing me with interesting status material every day.
Frank is in the living room talking to nobody. He meows in such a way that makes it almost sound like he's saying hello. *mrow-roww* *mrow-roww*
Lily just handed me a plastic Easter egg. "It's empty" I said. "Nuh-uh" says Lily. "I burped in it."
It's painful to watch this mother chase her son around the soccer complex while she tries to watch her older son's game. I think she may kill him soon.
Watched Inception last night. Now I'm wondering if I'm really awake.
Voice from upstairs bathroom: I! NEED! TOILETPAPERRRRRRR!
I can operate my phone with my nose. If I ever lose mobility in both arms and feet, I'd still be able to text you nonsensical blatherings. I hope this is a comfort to all.
Dear Kitty Who Falls Asleep In My Waterglass, when you snort water up your nose you sneeze it right back out again. I'm getting a new glass. Freak.
Well, that's quite a storm rolling in. It's electric! *wakka wakka wakka wakka*
Sam comes into the kitchen: "Mom! Did you fix my whoopie cushion??" *embarrassed* "No..." "Oh. Well then that was AWESOME."
To the asshat woman who flicked her cigarette onto my windshield after I waved you to go first: You'll be happy to know that I came home and immediately wrote you into my status bar, still smelling the smoke and burning rubber of my wiper blade, instead of running your ass down in my van. Next time you won't be so lucky.
To Madison: "Madison, you have to get these dishes done." "But, MOM, I have to go outside and show off my bacon!" Apparently we flaunt our meat byproducts in front of the neighbor folks.
"Look, I understand too little too late. I realize there are things you say and do
you can never take back. But what would you be if you didn't even try? You have to try. So after a lot of thought, I'd like to reconsider. Please, if it's not too late...make it a cheeeeese...burger."
Eating my crazy flakes today.
♫ Like a good neighbor, State Farm is there...with free liposuction and a boob job!
John is on his way to contest a traffic ticket. It's going to be tough for him not to channel Arthur Kirkland and claim that the entire courtroom is out of order.
I am your worst nightmare. Wait, that's too ambitious. I'm more like your third worst nightmare. You know the one that you don't really want to wake up from because while it's a little scary, it's also kind of cool? Yeah, that one.
I'd like to be bi-winning.
I enjoy hearing Brinkley's Mr. Bill toy scream "OH, NOOOOOOO" when he picks him up.
I was called into the living room just in time to witness two little neighbor boys marking their territory all over the foundation of the house across the street. And they make fun of ladies for going in pairs...
John: "Hey, Riki. Two things. One - I love you. Two - Dinner's not gonna make itself."
Grumpy Samantha is funneh. "Sam, it's time to get upstairs for bed." "I. AM. WIPING!" "Oh, I didn't realize. Goodnight, honey." "Don't. SMILE. AT. MEEEE." *covering smile poorly* "I wouldn't dream of it." "GOOD. NITE!" "G'night, hon." *STOMP STOMP STOMP*
I find it sad that I live in a world where Carrot Top is considered funny and sadder that he's in an ad on my screen not once, but TWICE.
"My name is John Johnson. But everyone here calls me Vickie."
I wish to someday live in a world where a chicken can cross the road without his intentions being constantly questioned.
IMPORTANT. Tomorrow Facebook will change its settings to allow zombies to come into your house while you sleep and eat your brains with a sharpened spoon. To stop this from happening go to Accounts / Home Invasion Settings / Cannibalism / Brains and un-check the "Tasty" box. Please copy and re-post.
Dear children, The title of Mommy's Favorite is once again up for grabs on Saturday. Who will be victorious? (Please submit your promises of housework and general mommy pampering in writing by Friday evening.)
It's so much more impressive to tell you we got 33cm of snow, isn't it?
I want to throw my kids into the snow and yell "Marco!"
Samantha is very helpful when she's ill. She's telling the cat not to step on the baking soda on the floor and alerting anyone who comes within five feet of her that she has a fever.
Correction: Samantha becomes Captain Obvious when she's ill. We just took the girls to school and upon reaching the steps at home, turned around, looked at her footprints in the snow and said, incredulously, "Those are my footprints."
I'm moody and pissy. If I happen to lose my head and say something unintentionally offensive to any of you today, please forgive me. kthxbai.
Funny. When I tell the kids to shut off the water in the bathroom, they do it. When I tell the dog, his ears perk up for a second and then he farts and puts his head down, looking embarrassed that he's so utterly useless.
 
Samantha held out her hand and said to Lily "Smell this."

Lily: "Ew, what's THAT?!"

Sam: "My butt."
If the slower two-thirds of my spawn does not move faster in preparing for school, the last third of the spawn WILL kill them both. I'm worried about my carpets.
EXPELLED! Six years ago this morning I was on my way to the hospital. Duran Duran's New Moon On Monday was playing on the radio. I found it cosmic in that it was a Monday (MLK Day, in fact) and a small nekkid person would be bursting forth from my nether regions.

Today is the sixth anniversary of Samantha's expulsion from my uterus.
Frank's meow sounds like one of my children whining "Momma", and if you don't reply to him immediately he meows LOUDER and LOUDERRR. Attention whore.
Conversations With Madison: "Madison, when I come to lunch with you at school..." Madison interrupts: "You can't." Me: "Really, I can't?" "Well, I dunno. But don't." (*giggle* Oh, I am SOOOO GONNA!)
I am of the opinion that Samantha's stick horse should be saddled with the name Elmer. She wants to name him Boobies. What do you think?
How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if the woodchuck was Chuck Norris?
Me: "Madison, are you eating gum off the paper?" Madison: "No, I had gum, but then I was eating paper and it got stuck."
Madison is licking Pop Rocks off the desk. *spitooey* "That's not a Pop Rock!"
These pretzels are making me thirsty.
"This year I resolve to use only padded, satin hangers" Joan Crawford, 1955
I resolve to stop making New Year's Resolutions. I really think this is my year...
Text from Madison: "Mom, you need to pick me up at 10:31." We'll need to synchronize our watches for this...
I'm considering leaving the tree up and putting the kids in a box in the basement. Thoughts?
I am not afraid to admit that I named my child after a mermaid.
I served refried beans with the Christmas tacos last night, making GAS my gift to everyone. Happy pooting, family!
♫ Frosty the Snowman, was infected with Solanum, he was made of snow but the children know how he was reanimated and ate their brains. ♫
When you're putting a second coat of white on a headboard, close the door to the room so the black kitteh in your house doesn't get the idea to impersonate Pepé Le Pew's feline love interest. *le mew* *le purrr* Le white stripe on your fur, dimwit!
The coffee is hot and fresh. Just like me.
I came to the conclusion that I will no longer listen to holiday songs that purposely and relentlessly tug on people's heartstrings until they force their victim into an involuntary orgasm of the tear ducts. Screw you, Christmas Shoes!
What off-color humor can I spew today that will make my friends want to forget they know me?
Someone please get Weekend In New England out of my head.
Interesting discovery: If you want to annoy the snot out of an eleven year old girl, start singing Superstar on the ride to school. ♫ Loooong agoooo....♫
There's a new blog entry. I think it's gonna get me an award...for not killing my children. :)
Don't blow a gasket.
Do hippos have 'nippos'?
Dear Santa, Please bring me a jetpack for Christmas.
How old do kids have to be to figure out how to use gravity to their benefit? The mustard is in the fridge upside down for a reason. Leave it alone, little dingleberries!
Woke up to the smell of coffee brewing and wondered if a Volkswagon Bug had delivered Peter to my doorstep. Now I can't get the jingle out of my head.
Bugsley the Guinea Pig is spending Thanksgiving Break with us...still grateful that none of the other animals have opposable thumbs.
Five-year-old children do not get to play with glitter. Your pictures will have to remain bland and unsparkly until you are big enough to operate the vacuum. Sincerely, The Dining Room Carpet
It don't take money, don't take fame, don't need no credit card to ride this train, what is it?
Maddie: Sam, if you put your ear up to my butt you can hear the ocean.
I'm going to go into a fitting room at Wal-Mart, shut the door and after a few minutes, loudly yell, "There's no toilet paper in here!"
Sam: "I can see our house from here!" Lily: "We're in the driveway, Sam."
Ah, the sound of a house full of estrogen...*stomp stomp* *SLAM*
Dear dinner dishes, F*ck off.
I hate my kitchen I hate my kitchen I hate my kitchen I hate my kitchen I hate my kitchen I hate my kitchen I hate my kitchen I hate my kitchen I hate my kitchen I hate my kitchen...
The holiday season is rapidly approaching and lines are already long. Makes me kick myself for still not submitting that idea I had for Human Dominoes. Anne Marie, come kick my butt, please.
Kids overheard wrestling in basement: "GET OFFA ME! YOUR HAND'S IN MY BUTT!"
These are my crime-fighting culottes and my poncho of peace. I am superhero.

Shove off. I'm sleeping.
Okay, I give up. Where IS Waldo?
Do I strike you as someone who would ever be terribly serious? To my fault, I do sometimes forget to put the little winking emoticon to denote my sarcasm. Ah, there he is: ;)
Lily's Impromptu Boogaloo: ♪ "Spaghetti...I like to eat it with...Parmesan. Spaghetti...I eat it with my...glasses on."♫
Dragon Speech Recognition Software is only 74.99 right now. Is that a decent deal? I've never needed a dragon translator before. Who doesn't get that *rawr* + *fire* = "get the hell outta my face"?
Who wants to see my Mr. Hanky replica? I made it myself.
After discovering that the fake blood I tried to make won't dry on skin, I decided to break down and buy some for Madison. John's reaction to this frivolous purchase is, "Well, you know you can't ever have too much fake blood." Awesome.
Sam sits on the toilet writing poetry. "I grew a beard! I grew a beard! This is really weird! I grew a beard, I grew a beard! This is really WEIRD!!"
Me: "Samantha, I want you to help clear the table." Sam: "Do you mean you want me to take out the cylinders and rectangular prisms?"
I'd like two pickets to Tittsburgh.
So that Bella Swan? She's really just a self-absorbed little whiner, isn't she?
Do they market a chocolate specifically made for PMS? Maybe I could save time this month by going straight to the high octane stuff instead of "sampling" everything chocolate-like in a 50 mile radius.
Today I will Freecycle my kidney.
Today was full of discoveries. I found out I can't hear what it sounds like when doves cry.
I'm no longer young and limber enough to Tumble For Ya.
I'm sure you've noticed that most of my status reports are lyrics that got stuck in my head. Those of you who know me well are aware of my tendency to break into song.
Will Wil Wheaton ever knows just what he means to me?
I'm thinking of creating a website for the allergy-prone and calling it YaChoo. Might even be able to use the jingle Yahoo provided. Need backers.
Wondering if this will be the soccer season when I finally spot the elusive Snuggie-Clad family. They're out there. Somewhere.
Soccer Saturday! Two kids with games out in the frozen tundra of the soccer complex. If I do find any snuggie peoples, I may infiltrate their wraps.
In case my computer goes to the techno-doctor today, I think I want this to be the last thing I say to my Facebook Minions: Corn Nuts.
When you are awakened at 6:30 to leave for school by 7:45 and you choose to lie in bed another 30 minutes before finally heading downstairs, rushing around like a lunatic and complaining that your hair won't do what you want it to before running out the door without a coat on in 30 degree weather, the car will wait exactly 60 seconds for you to grab a jacket before it leaves your tardy butt home.
*turns from pot on the stove* There. I'm not looking. Do your thing.
You should see the look on my kids' faces when I tell them I feel the urge to do the Sun Drop Boogie.
Samantha announces that she farted...then goes on to tell me that it smells like pizza and cake and rainbows. How to I break it to her?
We're all sickos at heart. People often deny themselves that inner sicko and you know what happens? Needlepoint happens. Tissue box covers done in needlepoint....with skirts.
Scary.
"Samantha, what did you get all over your pants?" "Spit an' dirt." Winning.
Sam: I think I know all the flavors of these gumballs. Purple is grape, Green is lime, Orange is orange, Red is Strawberry...and White is snowflake...
So much to clean and so few children to make clean it...
John regarding Diane Lane in skincare ad last night, (without missing a beat)... "Hey, that's whatshername![pause] What's her name?"
Stuff Samantha Says: "Quick! Hold my nuts!"
Parangaricutirimicuaro.
Bringing the dork a ding dong.
I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts.
Go away, Farty McStinkypants!
Something in this office smells like feet. Who's left their punky feet under my desk?!
Sam: "I LOVES me some biscuits! And I love you too, Mommy. You never get stuck in my teeth!"
Dear Tony's Tree Service people, I can feel you hitting my house with that. Please knock it off. You're paying to fix whatever you damage, assholes.
We've decided that if we ever got two more kittens we would name them Stupidhead and Mustard.
Gorilla Glue - Super strong and now made with real gorillas.
The Miracle Whip lid will not fit on the pickle jar no matter how many times you try to screw it on there. *headdesk*
It's a sequel! Soylent Green has a SEQUEL!
Everybody KEGEL!
Everytime I make pancakes I see that little lolcat. You know the one. Someone find it for me.
Low-grade fevers make Madison less crabby than she normally is.
Grenade jokes don't explode on impact.
Goodnight my minions. Rest well. We have much to accomplish tomorrow. Ready your sporks!!
I live to embarrass my children.
I don't like to finance the little things, but I also don't like to wipe in the dark.
I know all the words to the Nerd Rap. Don't screw with me.
I am your personal facebook status creator! 
When I forget how awesome I am, I just look around at my friends...then I measure their boobs
All I want out of this game is to beat my kids and to bowl well. Wait, that came out wrong...
melon baller.
If I could bottle fame I'd put it in plastic containers and sell it at gas stations across the country.
I am the Lord of the Rings. They're onion.
Darling husband, because I love you, I will ignore the backhanded compliment about the mouthwatering steak and how you can't remember the last time you went back for more on a steak night. See? Ignored.
I'm bringing back the Banana Clip in a big way.
Stuff in my fridge: salmonella-y eggs, dill pickles and muenster cheese.
Poor Samantha. She claims that a bone FELL OUT of her knee while jumping on the neighbor's trampoline. "Where did it go?" I ask. "I just TOLD you, Mom. It fell OUT." "Oh."
Apparently guys do make passes at girls who wear glasses...and random strangers on FB do, too.
I feel the need to alliterate: Smelly Shelley smells so smelly.
School registration forms don't have language selection boxes for Pig Latin, Gibberish and Klingon? That seems unfair, doesn't it?
Children sent upstairs to clean. Someone will report the fight breaking out in 3...2...
I was going to seize the day, but it rolled over and told me it wasn't in the mood.
I braided Gidget's hair in my dream last night while singing Everybody Is Kung Fu Fighting.
I'm up. It's o'dark early. Strong storm brewin'. You know, as soon as the tree is taken down, I can go back to loving thunderstorms. Please don't kill me, Tree.
Three girls were dirty. Showers for all. Now we have three clean girls and a very dirty bathroom.
The house is suddenly very quiet with only my three here. I think they're too pooped to peep.
Samantha: Mommy! There's mashed potatoes in these french fries!
Big scary trying-to-kill-me tree has been condemned. Erika: 1. Tree: 0.
Madison observes: "There are weird people at the mall, Mom. I know this because I was staring at some the other day..."
Woke up this morning in the I'm A Little Teapot pose. What was I DOING in my sleep?
I don't enjoy being technically difficult.
Dropped Sugar Daddy off at airport. Yelled "Bye, Jack!!" loudly.
Yes, Samantha. I'm sure that the dead catfish y'all found at the river was VERY cool. No, I don't want to hear what happened to it when you poked it with a stick. Please. Stop. Telling. Me. *barf*
I do believe I'll invent my own religion today. Who wants to be converted?
The password is *whispers* Nutty Fudge.
Sometimes the words flow so freely from my brain to my keyboard. I forget that I'm typing "out loud".
This morning, I learned that vitamin D and popcorn kernels look nearly the same when you drop them on the floor.
Storms are awesome. Except when they make trees land on your neighbor. Unless you don't like that neighbor.
It's hot and wet. Humidity is a horrible horrible, awful, evil, monstrously wretched thing. And it's only 84 today. Feels like I'm in Satan's armpit.
Children, you may go to bed at any time. Now, for example.
How long do I string up children that push the envelope? Is there a proper knot for this? I don't want them to wiggle out.
The water was very warm today. And I mean all-over warm, not just Child-Adjacent Warm.
I brake for babies.
Lily says, "If I had three wishes, I'd wish for 1: to be rich, 2: to be able to breathe under water and 4: to be able to fly."
Mah pool is green. I suspect it's jealous of me.
Madison's joke: First Baby Cow asks Mama Cow, "Why did you name me Daisy?" Mama Cow says,"Because when you were born a daisy petal fell on your head." Second Baby Cow says, "Why did you name me Rose?" Mama Cow says, "Because when you were born a rose petal fell on your head." Third Baby Cow says, "Durr...*pbbbblltt*...DOI!" Mama Cow says, "Shut up, Cinderblock!"
Last night's dream included Marshall Mathers III giving me a Nikon Macro-focus camera that could capture pictures of the moon and asteroids between Earth and that glow-y orb. Oh, and Lubriphonic was playing in what was supposed to be my pantry. Bizarre.
Dingoes eat babies. It's a fact.
Went to bed early last night and dreamed that I tamed an unfriendly Great Dane named Duke, hung out in auto shop with cartoon versions of the T-Birds and fed cattle a bizarre-looking salt-lick with a non-cartoon version of Temple Grandin. I want a do-over.
Lily: "Mom, what does P.U. stand for?"
Lily practices piano to make time pass more quickly. Why does listening to it have the opposite effect on me?
Tooth Fairy visits: "She brought me a money! It's a buck!"
Today I will venture out with my new 'do. I fully expect traffic to stop for me.
Well, traffic didn't stop for me...it did slow down once I stepped into it though. I heard some yelling. Pretty sure that was a compliment.
Duckface. It's what's for dinner.
See Hamlet run. Run, Hamlet, run. He is going to his Mother's house.
On a clear day, you can see wherever.
Why doesn't anyone blame Balthasar?
I'd kill for a banana Wacky Wafer right now.
Happy-fun Pool Time! Sunscreen on? Check. Spawn suited up? Check. Jaws Theme blasting through kitchen window? Check.
Oh, Starbuck's Mocha Frap, why do you treat me so bad?
I am sorry to have offended the Facebook gods and thankful that they are letting me view my messages again.
If you want to watch your children dissolve into fits of laughter, have a discussion about poop.
Apparently it's impolite to play connect the age spots on the elderly.
Last day of school for the spawn. If they ever get out of bed, they're going to be super-excited.
May I offer you a backhanded compliment today?
According to this morning's spam, I can date single people in my area, increase the size of my wangdoodle and receive retirement benefits. Um...awesome?
Oh, sweet caffeinated elixer of life, wake me up!
Black cats are an adventure. I spent five minutes calling a sweater on the floor of the darkened room.
Let this be the Mother's Day marked by a new vacuum and blender. May they provide continuous suction...and be...fruitful? Blended? Whatever. I got cool new stuff!
Where is this fast and loose bovine that's supplying the world with dairy?
On the inside of Madison's Skittles package: "PLEASE TRY AGAIN. This is the hardest thing the rainbow has to do - telling you you didn't win. And if you need some time to yourself right now, the rainbow understands. We'll be on Facebook if you want to talk."
Awakened at 4am by pipsqueak with a problem. Motherhood rocks.
Samantha: Mommy, I found a chip in the couch. I ate it.
Universe, I'd really like to have my glittery unicorn earring tree back, please.
I LOL'd and then my DD and DH LOL's back and then I ROFL'd and they're all "OMGWTFBBQ"? So I got all PO'd and told them to FO.
To my Diva Cup: It's not you, it's me.
Is there a Diva Bowl?
The trees are blowing in the breeze. Get a room.
I refuse to believe that I'm having a Bad Mommy Moment. I think my children are having an Evil Spawn Moment. I will stay here a bit longer and let them exorcise themselves.
Does anyone know what'll happen to a hundred pound dog who has just eaten a pound of cheddar cheese?
For all those wondering about Brinkley's intestinal goings on, we have not noticed any activity apart from the norm...which is massive as it is.
Brinkley Doodie Watch - Day 3: Ran around the yard chasing invisible threats, barked fool head off at neighbor for interrupting his search, circled spot a BILLION times,forgot what he was looking for, circled new spot once...KISMET.
Sam, this morning: "MO-OM! You woke me up! I didn't even have a chance to sleep, and I was REALLY TIRED!" This, after 8 hours of slumber. Whatever, kiddo. Get up.
I so love getting arguing children ready for church against their will. Happy Easter everyone.
Apparently it's harder to dye brown, free-range chicken eggs than it is to dye white, confined-in-their-own-doodie chicken eggs.
Look, man. I ain't fallin' for no banana in my tailpipe!
Madison just helped me discover that the version of Too Shy I was be-bopping to was actually in GERMAN. Playlist FAIL by Riki.
Most disgusting dog toy ever? Braided Bull Penis. It's called The Bully Stick. Beef Jerky is more like it. GAG.
Soup Nazi poem...written on my facebook page...NO HAIKU FOR YOU!
Besides an extra ten cents a can, what's the difference between "mixed vegetables" and "vegetable medley"?
Sam: Mommy, we're not Chinese anymore. Me: Honey, we've never BEEN Chinese.
And the winter storm enters the radar screen to the Theme from Shaft. Now THAT'S one cool storm.
Children of mine, you are too loud this morning. Kindly shut it.
Playing "Chopsticks" faster and louder does NOT make it more enjoyable, Madison.
Good news! We don't have to kill Samantha! I learned that a pencil eraser takes ballpoint pen off a 40 inch flat-screen television! Congratulations, youngest spawn, you got yourself a reprieve.
"Mom, do we have any grapefruit?" "Yes, they're in the fridge. Do you want me to cut it?" "No, we don't want to EAT them." (WTH? I don't want to know.)
Sam: "Mom? I think for dinner tonight I should have Cookie...Cotton Candy...Cookie...Cotton Candy...Cookie...Cotton Candy..."
What does it mean when your dog smells his fresh pile of doodie and then runs away like he's deathly afraid of it?
Aren't you glad we don't have to have our driver's license photos as our avatars? Eek.
Fast kitteh + open toilet = faster, wet kitteh.
Today I think I'll eat cake and poke bears with short sticks.
CHICK. PEAS. Film at eleven.
Samantha is working on spelling Hancock. So far we have HanSock and HasCock. Good thing she doesn't have to learn Boomershine.
Where can I find a three-hole-punch?
Samantha's choice for "Wear a hat to school for Catholic Schools Week"? A tall black witch hat. Is that a parenting fail?
If you're yelling at the Mario Kart characters for making you lose your mushrooms, you may have a problem.
Helping a friend find her roller derby name. I kind of like "Stuff Under My Skates".
Best reply to "How are you" gets an egg McMuffin.
I keep my Scrabble tiles in a Crown Royal bag.
Grumpy Samantha this morning: "What day is it? Tuesday? I don't wanna go to school today. There probably won't even be anybody there. I don't even HAVE school on Tuesdays!" *stomp stomp stomp*
Strange dreams riddled my sleep, leaving me asking the question, "When did I get a parrot named Euripedes?"
Dere's a Blizzard a-comin'! I predict Quad-City shoppers will buy out all the milk, toilet paper and Tylenol.
Will someone remind me what was so bad about Leroy Brown?
I despise doing dishes. I had three children so I'd have one to wash one to dry and one to put away.
Cheese Doodles. Snack food or packing material?
I would like to point out that National Grammar Day was NOT about your grandma. Sheesh.
I am in need of a Big Wheel-riding posse with mad breakdancing skills.
I said, "Chick.  Peas.  Film at eleven."  Is this thing on?

Some Other Stuff I Wrote