Tuesday, November 26, 2013

I Saw it, And I Liked it

This weekend I had the opportunity to see Michael Buble in concert.  Initially I was a little hesitant on going.  I mean, this isn't exactly a concert, someone my age, can or should be bragging about on Facebook or Instagram.  (Facebook status:  "Just got back from Michael Buble...so proud to be white, middle aged and rocking the Sinatra classics!")  Yeah, that wouldn't have worked.  (Okay Facebook status:  "Just rocked out with Imagine Dragons...so high from the residual pot...:)"  Totally cool.  

Anyway, outside of being slightly embarrassed from a social media point of view, Michael Buble was actually...well, was actually pretty awesome.  His voice was butter, the band was spot on, the stage graphics were pretty ridiculous, the crowd 99.9% white and our seats were perfect.  

Now for the negatives....well, actually there's only one and this really only goes out to the gentleman sitting next to me.

Sir, when you attend a concert of Michael Buble, who sings like an angel in a tux, please don't sing along.  If you want to sound like a patient, who recently awoke from a coma of 15 years, and who is learning to speak again by making droning noises, then please sing away at your next concert of Korn, Metallica or Nine Inch Nails.  However, if you are attending a "voice centered" concert, let's keep the moaning singing to a minimum or none at all.  Great.  

Thursday, November 21, 2013

How Do You Really Feel?

On November 15, a news station out of Detroit reported on a man, who erected a 12-foot high middle finger statue outside his home, which is next door to his ex-wife and her new lover, whom she reportedly had an affair with while being married.  After reading this article I had a few thoughts:

1.  Slow clap.  This is brilliant.  The man even has lights that illuminate the massive finger at night.  Listen you cheat - you suck.  Do you deserve a middle finger looming over your house?  Absolutely.  Do you also deserve to be beaten an inch from your life?  Absolutely again.

2.  Why a statue?  Would a billboard sign on the freeway been too fleeting?  Were the "Shame On You" employees too busy picketing Laguna Fitness and Bank of America to plop down across the street?  Were radio spots too expensive?  Why?  I mean, according to the report, the man is a strip club mongol in Detroit.  You would think a true entrepreneur could think of something better.

3.  And lastly, I wondered how hard it would be to erect and place my own middle finger statues?  Say, I wanted to place one next to the fruit inspection stop outside of Baker, California?  Would that be something someone would be able to do for me?  Or on the hood of every parking meter maid in Santa Monica, who is systematically stealing every hard earned dime out of those residents.  Or lastly how about at the White House?  Yeah, NSA, I said that.  Outside the White House.  Because really this Obamacare deserves a large #1 shout out.

Tuesday, November 19, 2013

People I Don't Understand

A few days ago the baby and I flew home from Utah.  As I sat there, wishing a Kindle Fairy existed so the Kindle, that I forgot to recharge, could entertain my baby, I looked around and realized the two guys in my row and the people across from me were just sitting in their chairs doing nothing.  Not reading, not listening to music, not watching TV, not sleeping, but just sitting there.  For a moment I wanted to shake them and plead with them to do something - anything.  What I wouldn't have given to drink a soda in peace without a little hand grabbing my ice cubes, or the amount of money I would have paid to read a magazine - even SKY MAGAZINE!  These people were totally wasting this experience!  So, as I sat there, watching these flying zombies, and wrestling with a surprisingly strong 14 month old, I thought of this entry: "People I Just Don't Understand."  The following is what I came up with as I wished for our plane to somehow slip into Time Warp Speed.

1.  People that don't do anything on planes.  It's weird.  What do you do on Sunday afternoons?  Sit by the window and just stare out it?

2.  People that watch NASCAR.  I think they go in circles 500 times.  I think someone wins?  Be honest, do most people DVR the races and just fast forward to the last three laps?

3.  People that train, enter and win eating contests of hot dogs, and other things that shouldn't be consumed in large quantities.  Did hobbies like golf and running seem too mundane?  Was food scarce in your home and now you are making up for all those missed meals?

4.  People that let dogs lick their mouth.  I know I'll get heat for this comment, but I just wanted to point out, that 9 times out of 10, that tongue was just licking another dog's butt.  Just saying.

5.  People who break down in tears when they see famous people.  You know the idiots who go hysterical if Robert Pattinson touches their hand at a Twilight Premier, or the ridiculous Bielivers, who would kill their own parents for five minutes with Justin Bieber.  All of these people need to just calm down.  You heard me.  Calm down.  In ten years, Justin Bieber is going to be a bloated, heroin addict, and Robert Pattinson will still look like an unwashed vampire.  I speak the truth.

I was going to list more...but I'm afraid to offend.  I think #4 is going to get me in enough trouble.

Monday, November 18, 2013

The Real Story of the Zoo

Recently, the baby and I visited the zoo for the first time.  I got to say going to the zoo as an adult is a completely different experience than when I used to go as a kid.  For example, when you are a kid all you see are the animals.  Real life Elephants?!  What?  Giraffes walking around like they got no where to be?  Kill me!  A baby seal with its momma?  Just tell me where to drop down and cry myself to sleep!  It's amazing.

However, when you are adult the scene dramatically changes.  All of the sudden the only things you see are depressing looking animals, who are confined to ridiculous small spaces, surrounded by their own feces, and who probably offer daily animal prayers that the zoo will one day blow up, or at least one child will get too close to the fence so they can feel like an animal once in their lives.  Honestly, the zoo bummed me out.  At one point, Avery and I watched two rhinos eat their breakfast from some zoo workers. As I watched these "wild" animals chomp down on apples, I thought I could hear the fainest conversation coming from them.  It went something like this:

Rhino #1 (Fred): Oh, awesome, not only do these stupid humans watch me sleep, walk in my five by ten space, but now they are filming me eat these stupid apples.

Rhino #2 (Martha): Honestly!  Hey, fat kid, how would you like me coming up to your table and point as juice runs down your mouth?!

Fred: What are you going to do today?

Martha: Test that fence over there again...and maybe sniff that rock.  How about y....come on zoo worker...master of zoology....let's get the food where I can reach it.  Atta girl...freaking genius.

Fred: I'm gonna kill that elephant over there.  All night long...it's, "Hey, did you see my face on the new banner?  Hey did you see I'm the face of the zoo?"  If I was back home I would shove this sharp thing on my nose up his big, fat, as...Honestly, stop with the cameras!  I'm doing it...

Martha: What?

Fred: I'm doing it. I'm starving myself. I'm getting out of here.  I can't take it.

Martha: I'm going to go sniff that rock.

Okay, maybe they weren't talking, but those eyes were saying a lot.

Monday, November 11, 2013

Random Thought: Adult Announcements of Pooping

If you have a child you've had the following conversation:

All of the sudden your child stops playing, stands very still, makes a little grunt noise or goes a little red, maybe throws in a little squat, and then immediately, goes back to playing.  As you observe this, you find yourself asking the child, "Are you pooping?" and then you say to someone close by, "Ahh, she's pooping."

The other day I did this and then thought, what if we still did this as adults?  Picture this:

You are in a meeting with fifteen people.  All of the sudden the CEO at the head of the table goes from talking about the new project, to completely quiet and focused on something else.  As you all wait, watching him, someone says to the group, "Ahh, it's okay Tom is pooping.  Are you pooping?"

I just think a lot of cool practices get dropped once we become adults.

Thursday, November 7, 2013

"Shame On You" For Hire

The other day, while riding my bike, I passed three people holding a giant sign that read "Shame on" and then had the name of a fitness company that was located across the street.  This wasn't the first time I've seen a sign like this, but as I continued to ride, I started to have some questions about this shameful strategy and I wanted to discuss them.

First of all, what's the point of the sign?  Sure it names the company, but is it really getting the point across  What about a mechanical or a giant inflated finger wagging back and forth?  Or a group of fifty people continually pointing at the building while shaking their heads?  Or a big fart machine that makes loud noises every time someone enters or leaves the building?  Now, something like that would make me stop and ask, "Hey, why the fart noises?  Oh wait, are you saying that company treats their employees like pieces of poo?  Shame on them!"  See what I'm saying?

Second of all, the slogan is awful.  "Shame on You?"  That's the best you got?  Oh, sorry Mom for lying about stealing that gum.  You are right....shame on me.  Come on, we can do better. How about: "You suck!?" "Or (Insert Company) Are A Bunch of Jack Asses?!"  Or "(Insert Company)'s Mamma is so fat/stupid that she....(Insert punchline.)"  Again, what's the goal here?  To mildly protest or make a statement?

Lastly, how should I say this?  What's with the people who are holding these signs because, I'll be honest, a lot of credibility for these bizarre protests are lost because of the "warriors" behind the signs.  For example, the other day I saw a guy asleep in a lawn chair behind the sign, another one was most likely asleep while standing against the sign, and a woman, who was actually holding onto the edge, was completely immersed in her phone. (Probably checking for more "Shame On You" gigs for next week.)  Not one of them looked like they were employees of the targeted company, and most importantly, not one looked like they gave one piece of crap on how this whole ordeal got resolved.

So, here's my final question?  Who created this "Shame On You" company and how do I hire them for my personal gigs?  For example, how much would it cost for me to get some "strong like ox" people to stand valiantly outside Costco and hold a sign that reads: "Shame On You Costco for Switching to Pepsi Products At Your Food Court?"  Or how about a group of traveling sign holders that I could use periodically for people on the road that says, "Shame On You (Insert make of car) for braking before the light turned yellow?"  I'll even take the guy asleep as long as every once in a while he jumps up, runs in front of the sign, points to my preferred target and screams, in a banshee voice, "Yeah, Shame On YOU."  Three times an hour should do it.

Wednesday, November 6, 2013

Too Late For Halloween? Of course NOT!

Now that Halloween is over I thought I would take a moment and review the best and worst costumes I've seen on this holiday.  (None will be included from this last Halloween because we didn't get a single trick or treater!  Not one knock on the door and not a single piece taken.  To be honest, I'm torn with the lack of festivities at our house.  Sure, I really didn't want to be handing candy out all night, but no one?  What's next?  No flags hung on Flag Day?)

Anyway, like I was saying, though I didn't see any tiny humans dressed as ghosts and superheroes the other night, I have had some good and bad Halloweens.  The following are the best and worst:

Best:
1. In college, I saw a guy take white athletic tape and wrap his entire body to be a mummy.  I think what made it so memorable was the fact that he had covered his entire body, face even, with the tape AND the fact that he wasn't really wearing much underneath the tape.  I remember someone asking him how he planned on taking it off, and then after a few moments of silence, you could tell he was realizing he was going to be ripping off a lot of arm and leg hair that night. 

Sidebar: When getting ready for Halloween remain sober.

2. I got to admit I'm a huge fan of the ironic.  One year two friends of mine dressed up as pregnant nuns.  I know as a religious folk I should have been offended, but it was funny.

Sidebar: I think for laughing at that I was sent to Mongolia for a mission. I'm not entirely sure there's a connection, but I'm also not ruling it out.

3. This year my brother-in-law went as the character "Mugatu" from Zoolander.  Was I jealous that he actually went out on Halloween and celebrated the holiday?  Yes.  Did I watch me some Scandal and feel better?  Yes.


And now for the Worst:
1. Any man dressed as a woman, I got to say, gets a red flag out of me.  I mean, I get it, you've always wanted to play with boobs all night without being swatted away by some terrified woman, but that doesn't make it the go to costume.  Sure it can be funny to see a hideous woman, but then, it gets a little weird pretty fast.

2. ALL WOMEN DRESSED AS SLUTTY/ _________(Fill in some random job...nurse, teacher, angel, ninja, princess, grocery checkout employee etc.)  I don't know who in their right mind decided that after the age of 18, all women had to dress like prostitutes, but I've had enough of it.  If you are looking for something other than candy, then fine, if not, let's class it up ladies!

3. Me from ages 6-15.  My mom, bless her sweet heart, didn't really believe in making or buying costumes.  Therefore, every Halloween sort of went down like this:
Night before Halloween Parade:
Me: Mom, I don't have a costume.
Mom: Hmmmm....Here's a plunger...why don't you be a plumber?
Me: Was that last year.
Mom: How about this Hawaiian shirt and camera.  You are a TOURIST!!
Me: Elisa, my sister, did that last year.
Mom: Okay, here's a robe and some pajamas....you are someone going to sleep.
Me: Is that even a costume?  Someone going to sleep?  Should I just carrying a fork and spoon around and say, "Don't you get it?  I'm someone about to eat."

What was the worst and best you saw?

Thursday, October 31, 2013

The True Spirit of Halloween

Well, it's Halloween, and if you were wondering, I'm dressed up as a guilty mother.  Yep, no costume for my 14 month old baby.  No pumpkin.  No plans of trick or treating.  And no Halloween decorations of any kind.  I hate to admit it, but if you entered our home right now, the only terrifying thing you would see is a half eaten bag of candy, that hopefully will suffice for the "Take one" bowl I'm planning on setting outside.  Yep, you heard me, I'm going with the "Take One" bowl.  Why?  For two reasons: 1. My baby goes to bed at 7:30, and if that doorbell even goes off once, I might find myself with some Halloween decorations after all.  (I'm implying a slain body of a child and their caregiver.)  And 2. After years and years of not taking just one, but actually dumping the entire bowl - yes, the bowl too, into my bag, I feel it's my duty to give back. 

So, tonight I'm not only prepared to lose all my candy in one visit, but the bowl I will use to set it out.  Does this make me a better person?  If that's what you want to call it.  Am I righting the universe of all my childhood theft?  Again, if you are going there I'm not going to stop you.  Will I miss the bowl?  Probably, but again, I've been "given" so many bowls in the past - am I really losing anything?  And isn't the death of a bowl really the spirit of Halloween?  I mean wouldn't you say my fellow celebrators of Dia de Muertos, or Day of The Dead, for my non-Spanish readers?  (Yeah, I took some Spanish in middle school.)  Don't know what that means?  Hmmm...it's so sad to see when the original origins of holidays get lost.  Pagans.

Wednesday, October 30, 2013

Attention: Tori Spelling Can't Buy Another Purse!

Each morning as I watch my GMA I realize two things: 1. I think George Stephanopoulos hates his job and his co-workers.  Honestly, I love watching him after they get discussing the results of Dancing with The Stars.  Yesterday, I could literally see him suppressing every ounce of rage in his 4"11 body as they were mourning the recent voting off of Snookie.

And 2. There's a lot of crap that gets reported as "news."  For example, this morning right after reporting about a murder case of a woman, who drowned in a bath tub, GMA did a groundbreaking report on the show The Walking Dead.  I assume this random piece was a lame attempt at reporting some Halloween-ish, but in the end all that was said was:  A lot of people are liking this show about zombies.  Hmmm.  What else GMA?  Are a lot of people eating dinner too?  Do Asian people enjoy rice?  Does the sun warm the earth?  Tell me more!

However, I can forgive the thirty second salute to The Walking Dead, but what I can't  forgive is the piece they ran, after a few teasers and promos at the beginning of the show, about Tori Spelling's new financial woes.  According to GMA, and forgive me if I'm reporting old news to you savvy readers, but Tori Spelling, of 90210, Lifetime Channel greats' like "Mind Over Murder" and "Way Downtown," is being forced to financially cut back.  No more new purses, which apparently, she hasn't purchased in 3 years, no more extravagant birthday parties and...and...and this was the most shocking reveal of all - no vasectomy for her husband.  What?!  What?  Geez Obamacare!  Thanks Afghanistan!  Way to go housing market and your inflated loans. What have you done!?  I can't believe a man, who has been on TV, had his own show and married a TV heiress, can't medically protect himself from having more children!  What do you expect him to do?  Buy....I can't even say the word. 

Thank you GMA for highlighting the real face of our tightening economy and country.  I just wish at the end of the piece they had indicated on where to make donations, a help line I could call, a pledge I could make...something.

And to you Tori Spelling.  I know high school was tough. I mean you almost didn't graduate because of that drunken night, but I want you to know I stood with your fellow students and chanted, "Donna Martin Graduate, Donna Martin Graduate," until I couldn't say it any longer and I will keep being your champion until another channel gives you another reality show, or you make another terrible TV movie or when your mom dies and leaves you some more millions to blow.  Chin up T...another purse is around the corner.

Monday, October 28, 2013

Character Assassination Carousel: Clifford The Big, Dumb, Red Dog

Friends, family, stalkers...I'm pleased to announce that I have found other mothers like myself, who have realized 99.9% of children's books are full of gross inaccuracies, mind numbing plots and leave most of us asking the heavens, "Did someone really get paid to write this shit?!"  After some soul searching and cyber-stalking, I came across an ingenious woman, named Nicole Leigh Shaw, who has created the Character Assassination Carousel, which invites bloggers to express their disgust over books we are forced to read, not once and definitely not twice, but over and over again to our children.




A few weeks ago Jennifer at Beyond The Crib threw off the gloves and took down, no eloquently destroyed, Olivia...and the Missing Toy by Ian Falconer.  Today we are going to take a little ride with Clifford, the big, dumb, red dog and in a few weeks check out Tracy at Crazy as Normal.




Now that I've had a child, I've realized that there are so many things people neglected to tell me before I embarked on this journey.  For example, I heard people tell me many times that the baby weight will just fallll off after I start breast feeding.  LIE.  You know what falls off?  Your self-esteem because that weight ain't going nowhere.  Second thing I was never told - Facebook will be the death of you as a mother.  Did you buy a pumpkin outfit for your two month old so they could be photographed in it for three seconds?  No?  What?  No, Thanksgiving onesie?  How will your 11 week know it's a holiday?  Are you trying to torture your child?  You know what I should have been told/warned - you will begin to loathe your high school and current friends after you see their endless baby holiday pictures.

And, the last thing I was never told, and something I would like to publicly warn future mothers of, is the utter ridiculousness of children's books.  I'm not saying reading to your child is bad, I'm just saying the books you read to them make NO SENSE.  None. Take for example, Clifford the Big Red Dog.  First of all, there is not a government on the planet that would allow this ginormous dog to run around. It would be put down and sent to a lab for testing before Will Smith could even think about becoming some hero and flying an alien spaceship into its brain.  Second of all, what parent thinks a dog the size of a house is a good playmate for a girl named Elizabeth.  Are they hoping that Clifford by accident eats Elizabeth so they can stop paying for cheer camp?  And when the authorities come questioning her whereabouts they can just shrug their shoulders and say, "I think our dog ate her."  This is okay for homework, but to get out of parenting is just unacceptable.  And lastly, let's be honest, this dog is huge.  According to the book, which I'm taking as fact, Clifford bathes in a pool, eats large amounts of food and sleeps in a house equally as large as Elizabeth's house.  So, let me ask you this: 1. What family in their right mind would spend millions of dollars to house, feed and care for an animal that could at any point sit on them and instantly kill them?  2. And you know you are all wondering this...who cleans up this dog's poo?  I mean seriously.  His dumps would cover neighborhoods. 

I just want some realistic books.  None of these stories of a grown man hanging out with a talking monkey, some bird asking everyone if its his mother (don't get me started on this depressing story) or about a genetically mutant dog.  Is that too much to ask?

Friday, October 25, 2013

Random Thought Friday

I'll admit I have a few superstitions...(yes, this is my token Halloween post).

1. Never flash a car that doesn't have its headlights on because they are members of a gang and by flashing them you are inviting them to follow you home and beat you to death.  (If you are shouting in your head WTF - hold on.  I either read this or saw it on the news, but gangs were doing this.  Seriously.  On the East Coast...or maybe they weren't.  Either way, I'm not testing the Irvine Gang system.)

2. In college I always shaved my legs on game day.  Even if it was raining and snowing - legs had to be shaved.  And I had to pee right before they announced the starting line-ups.  Have I continued this superstition?  Um, now I always shave my legs once a week.  Not for a particular game, but for another game time.*  What?  Boo-Yeah.  I won't comment on the peeing.

3. I believe, no, I testify, that flu shots ensure you get the flu.  Every year I've been conned into getting a flu shot - I got sick.  Every year I maintained my regiment of eating copious amounts of cereal and drinking next to zero water - I was fine.

What are your superstitions?


*sex

Thursday, October 24, 2013

Persistence

For the past six trips, no exaggeration, to the grocery store I've been stopped at the entrance by an annoying Alberston's employee offering free samples of some type of alcohol.  (Which, before I continue, I must say I find a little strange. I get we all love free samples, but it was ten in the morning, and I'm not sure most of the moms in the store were looking for a nice shot to chase their coffee...or were they?  Ahh...Albertson's...)

Anyway, the first two times I was offered a sample I just quietly declined and walked by.  The third time this over zealous employee, who I'm pretty sure was severely smashed after three weeks of offering free booze, yelled out three times, "Miss, Miss, Miss..." and when I turned around, I saw him holding a dixie cup of alcohol and offering it to me like it was laced with a date rape drug.  This time, I said back, and to be honest, I'm not sure why I decided to make such a declaration of my alcohol abstinence (probably a throw back to college when I would have to explain to drunken idiots why I have never had alcohol before), I said, "I have never drank and still don't drink because of my religion."  What a role model.

Now you would think that this employee, though probably badly inebriated, would remember the religious testimony I so strongly bore, but a week later, there he was still holding the tempting cup of spirits.  However, his delivery had changed.  This time he said, "I see you have a baby in your cart.  How about a little pick me up."  I'll admit, this stopped me, but only to ask him, "What do you mean by that?"  In his book was a "pick me up" driving drunk with a baby?  Vodka on the breath during a play date at the park?  Passed out before nap time?  I wanted a little clarification.  Unfortunately, all I got, as I made eye contact, was a slurred, "Vodka and Christmas go hand in hand."  Ahh, and now everything is cleared up.

So, I ask, what can I do that I haven't done to fully communicate to this alcoholic that I'm not ever going to be interested in partaking of his free shot bar.  Walk into the store already shouting "No, NO, NOOO!"  Next time give him a pamphlet on AA?  Or take the shot and award him for the being the only person who could officially wear me down to drink?

Any ideas?

Friday, October 18, 2013

Criminal Droppings

Today I read that, "An Oklahoma man was charged with burglary after police allegedly matched his DNA to used toilet paper at the scene of the crime.  Police said that Charles Williams used a home's bathroom while burglarizing it, leaving a mess behind.  Williams was then identified by his droppings."

Um, let me take a moment.  Okay, first what star police officer decided to go above and beyond with his detective skills and test, not only the used toilet paper, BUT the "droppings?"  Why aren't we using this officer for more important issues like: 1. Where's Al Qaeda headquartered?  (Based on their poo, of course.)  2. Who was there that day who decided to relieve themselves right before shooting Kennedy? 3. What's up with Scientology?  (I don't really think he can sniff, (Get it?) this one out, but he seems like a great detective.  I just want someone to explain to me why people follow this religion?

And lastly, Mr. Williams.  Charles.  You broke into a home to steal something.  You have got to plan ahead.  Either you are there to steal something or relieve yourself.  You can't have both.  There's just not time.

Droppings.  My new favorite word.

Thursday, October 17, 2013

The Most Important Gift Catalog In the World

Yesterday, in the mail I received, and I'm not making this up, a brochure entitled, "The Most Important Gift Catalog in the World."  (And no, it wasn't the new Victoria's Secret Soft Porn Catalog.)  No folks, somehow, by reasons unknown, I was chosen to receive this gem.  Enough build up?  Basically this catalog, entitled Heifer International, allows you to purchase either an entire animal or a share of an animal for someone in a third world country.  For example, for only $120 I can buy a goat for a woman in India.  $120...that's it.  Or I can go big and buy the "Joy to The World Gift Basket," which contains 2 sheep, four goats, 1 heifer and 2 llamas for...wait for it...$1,500.

So, I'll be honest, because I'm a terrible human being, I thought this catalog was hilarious.  Again, I acknowledge I'm a terrible person, and if you feel like bowing out of this entry, because I'm about to explain why I find all of this so funny, now would be the time.

First of all, because I have terrible reading comprehension skills, and because a 1 year old was trying to desecrate "The Most Important Gift Catalog in the World" by putting it in her mouth, I totally missed the whole - give the animal to someone in a third world country.  So initially, I thought this catalog was for buying livestock for your loved ones here in good ol' USA, which I thought was awesome - And now, I sort of want to find a company, or start my own, that will allow me to send/buy a llama for my mother in law.  Can you imagine that Christmas?

Scene: (Everyone dressed in PJs around the tree)
Mother in Law: Well, I think that's it.  That's all the gifts!
Me: Nope!
(Pull 2 giant Llamas in from the outside backyard)
Me: Merry Lla-MAS!

Second, of all, as I looked closer I realized the animals were being shipped all over the world, which again, I thought was really funny.  Logistically how does all this work?  You go with the "Joy To the World Gift Basket" and then what?  Fed Ex pulls up to a hut somewhere in Ecuador and unloads nine boxes of animals?  Or do they drop them from the sky and hope that some down and out person will actually keep them and not roast them that night for dinner?  How does someone, from a third world country, go about ordering these packaged animals?  Is there some strange request box for third world countries that someone jokingly wrote; "All I really want for Christmas is a goat from America.  Love, Mizeki Rhodewell from Malawi.  P.S. If I can't get a goat - can I get adopted?"  And lastly, how are they packaged?  Is it just a box with some holes punched in them?  Are directions included like: "Please feed them.  I know you are hungry, but please feed them too."

Lastly, I searched this catalog and not once was I informed of how I could receive a picture of my purchased livestock.  You spend a dollar a day and you get a picture of your adorable orphan.  Spend $5,000 for the Gift Ark, yep, two animals of each kind for some lucky community, and nothing!

In the end, do I think this is real? I don't know.  Will I be using this catalog for my loved ones?  Absolutely.  Nothing says I love you like buying a share of a cow.  Come on people pass this good news along.

Monday, October 14, 2013

Hey, What About Stairway to Heaven

Okay, this picture is sort of a gross exaggeration of a church dance, but how could I not choose it? It's awesome.

I know this will come as a shock to you, but a few weeks ago I was asked to chaperone a church sponsored dance.  (I'm not sure if they were desperate or I haven't really allowed people to get to know me here in good ol' Irvine.)  Anyway, for those of you, who didn't grow up with the pleasure of attending a "church sponsored dance," let me tell you a little bit about it.

1. There's no way you can say "no" to any guy, who asks you to dance.  (I mean, the dance is being held in a church and you are supposed to be a Christian...blah, blah.)  Anyway, I hated this rule.  Inevitably, some sweaty handed boy, who was forced to attend the dance by his mom - so she could have one less mouth to feed that night, would find his way to me, and just as the longest song was being cued up, he would mutter those fateful words, "Will you dance with me?"  I will never forget those awkward seven minutes of robotically turning in a circle as the sweat from his hand ran down my arm.  Simply magical.

2. Again, you are in a church, so the chosen music can be interesting.  For some reason "Stairway to Heaven" by Led Zeppelin was a staple, but I think it's only because the leaders at the time had no idea this wasn't a jazzed up hymn.  And then, there was always my favorite of a song just being stopped midway as the volunteered DJ, who was most likely a parent who knew how to work a tape player, realized the song playing was going down a bad path.  It was pretty awesome to be in the middle of a jamming running man (look it up kids) when all of the sudden the music would come to a screeching halt and "Stairway to Heaven" would begin again.

3.  And lastly, the dancing at these dances was always...well, it wasn't pretty.  Why?  Because again, we were in a church, so there was absolutely no close dancing, which basically translated into a terrible version of the 1950s where no one actually knows how to dance, but just sort of mildly touches each other until "Stairway to Heaven" finishes.  Again, very, very magical.

With all that said, I have to admit I was a little excited to attend my first church dance in 18 years. I mean, now I was on the other side and it was going to be awesome.  I was all excited to nudge awkward boys into asking the pretty girls, who aren't even in their same hemisphere, to dance. I wanted to request "Like a Virgin" by Madonna just so I could hear it shut off.  And I really, really wanted to confuse the kids by yelling, "Hey, you two, yeah you two, let's get a little closer here.  What, is she your sister?!"  It wasn't going to be awesome.  Unfortunately, Fortunately, I got sent home early before I could cause any damage.  Apparently, I was chewing gum.  Major no, no.

Friday, October 11, 2013

Random Thought Friday: Feedbags of War

Like all normal human beings I have a list of questions I would like some answers to once I get up to Heaven.  Wait, you don't have this list?  Come on people, we don't know when our number is going to be called - let's get a little more prepared here!  Curious where dinosaurs really came from?  Yep, I'm going to find out.  Why the dress rehearsal each month when I'm pretty sure I'm more concerned about getting to fifth period on time then having a baby?  There's got to be a good explanation for this.  Why natural disasters, who shot JFK, why do leaves turn beautiful colors right before they fall off trees, why five fingers and not four and are animals up here too?  Etc, etc. etc.

Anyway after these past few days of attempting to wean my 13 month old baby, of the mouth watering goodness that flows from me, I have come up with yet another question:

Couldn't we have installed a switch that just turns this stuff off?  Or at least a drain button of some sort? And lastly, why after we are finished with this whole life sustaining breastfeeding experience, do our feedbags have to resemble deflated life boats, that only float in the water because some sad air has not escaped through all the weathered holes?

Answers? Anyone? Anyone.

Thursday, October 10, 2013

Cheese Deception

Today will always be a special and bizarre day for me.  12 years ago, I entered a training center to learn Mongolian, which didn't really work, and then two months later I found myself on a plane headed to Asia, where I lived for the next 16 months serving a LDS mission.  Now, don't get me wrong, I could go on and on about the life changing experiences I had in Mongolia, but that's not why you read this blog.  Right Mom?  You read it for the humor, and trust me, while in Mongolia some very funny stuff went down.  (You had to find things funny because the country only gave you three choices: Laugh, Cry or Freeze.)

So, here's one of my favorite moments:

When you serve a LDS mission you are always with someone else, who is called "your companion."  (Or "Escapee from the insane asylum"...oh wait, this isn't a story about that.)   At the time of this story I was companion with one of my best friends, Katie McBride.  McBride knew about twenty words of Mongolian more than I did and could tap dance, which I sort of made her do whenever the chance arose.  Yes, it was a beautiful partnership.  One day we found ourselves teaching inside this Mongolian tent, or ger, to...and the details are getting slighty fuzzy here, but I think a family.  Anyway, while we were teaching the man offered us some cheese.  Now before I go any further I should explain that food in Mongolian is pretty awful.  It's...no I think that sentence actually covered it...it's awful and this cheese was no exception. I think if I remember correctly, it was from camel's milk.  Didn't know camels made milk?  Well they do and someone in the world is making cheese out of it.

Anyway, McBride and I had this stupid rule that whatever the one ate the other companion had to match it.  The rule was going really well until one day McBride threw out a bowl of mare's milk, which tastes exactly like baby throw-up, out the window before the person, who gave it to us, returned to the room.  Unfortunately, I was still holding my bowl and since hers was empty I was forced to actually drink mine so we didn't offend our host.  To say this caused some friction to the rule would be a slight understatement.

Back to the cheese.  So, there we were trying to bite and chew through this forsaken camel cheese, when I realized the small stool I was sitting on allowed me to discretely lower my cheese, without anyone seeing me, and hide it in my shoe.  Which I did....without telling McBride.  So, there I sat with no cheese in sight, a satisfied look on my face, and then I did the unthinkable - I asked for some more.  Immediately, McBride shot me a look and realized she was going to have to finish her piece of cheese and then get an additional piece!  Quietly, she asked me if I had eaten the cheese, and I told her, like any honest missionary, "Yes."  This continued through a couple more pieces, until one fateful pencil rolled off the table, and as McBride reached down to retrieve it, she saw my shoe lined with pieces of cheese I had claimed to enjoy.

Folks, I saw lives changed in Mongolia because of the work I was blessed to be a part of.  However, the moment McBride's eyes widened in disbelief at my cheese deception was the true time my life changed for the better.

I can't remember what exactly happened afterwards, but I think we started throwing the cheese at each other once we got outside, and then some kids came by and started eating our discarded cheese.  Oh, Mongolia, how I miss you.

Monday, October 7, 2013

Attention: Costco Sells Food You Can Take Home

I don't know about your local Costco, but I'm pretty sure the people that frequent mine have never seen free pieces of food being handed out.  I swear, I'll come around a corner and three hundred people, of all races, will be crowded around a terrified Costco employee, waiting to snatch a piece of steaming DiGiorno pizza like it's the first piece of food they've seen in six days.  People, I get it, it's like delivery pizza, but come on!

No seriously, will you people explain yourselves?  Is a trip to Costco your only food source?  Do you think the membership card is actually a pass to a free buffet of small pieces of cheese, sausages and kid vitamins?  Do you wonder what people are putting in those big carts, and why it seems that most of the food is all packaged up and not readily edible?  Why are you waiting for that snot nose kid to finally getting around to putting out new samples of coconut water?  Are you that excited to try an over-hyped source of hydration, or do you have some time to kill before you read a free book or look through other people's pictures, that haven't been picked up yet?

And lastly, let's make a pact, you crazy food starved zombies, once you've created the massive cart traffic jam with your nonsensical waiting game of a sample of Hidden Ranch Valley, get your sample and then...and here's the important part, MOVE ON!  Do you know what the measurements are of a Costco shopping cart?  It's like two Shaquille O'Neal's.  So, let's stop the madness.  You aren't going to ever buy the Wheat grass shake starter kit, and you know what a Dorrito chip tastes like - you do, don't lie, you do - so you don't need a sample of it.  You don't.

So, here's the rule:  If you are passing by and you can grab a sample without breaking stride, then fine, grab away.  Otherwise move on.

Thursday, October 3, 2013

Let's Keep the Family Off The Window

For those of you, who faithfully read this blog (I'm talking about you, husband) yesterday, I mentioned I had a few thoughts while driving the mind numbing drive from Salt Lake City to Irvine.

Here's thought #2:

What's with "Family Decals" on cars?  You know the ones I'm talking about.  The ones....wait, before I go any farther let me just apologize to any of you who have these decals on your cars.  They are totally cool and a great keepsake of your family.  Alright, where was I?  Ah, yes, you know the stickers that are usually plastered on some giant van or SUV showing the whole family and sometimes pets?  Well, I find them weird.  Here's why:  (And mind you these are what I came up with while driving behind an SUV, sporting a family sticker portrait, going 65 in the left lane.)

1.  Somehow I feel like these stickers aren't telling the whole story.  Sure all the kids seem to be smiling and Mom and Dad seem perfectly content, but what's really going on?  I just wish someone would be honest.  I could support a lame sticker family portrait with an additional sticker description placed underneath that read: "We seem happy, but we have three mortgages on our house, my husband and I sleep in different rooms, our son doesn't know he's adopted and I was going to place a sticker of our dog, but he was accidentally run over by the mailman."  Two honks and a wave to you!  Thanks for the update!

2. What happens when you have another kid?  Is there a website you can order just one stick figure girl or boy from?  Do you have to buy an entirely new set?  What if your husband loses a leg?  Do you scratch off part of the sticker?  And honestly, explain to me sticker divorce.  Does Dad go all together?  Do you put him in the corner with a mistress sticker?

3. Adding names shouldn't be allowed underneath the stick figures or faces.  You know why?  Because now, instead of yelling hey, "Suburban, let's move already!"  I'm now yelling, "Hey Tom, why don't you and your ugly wife, Sue, and three kids, Molly, Ryan and Elliot, move over to the appropriate lane for your ridiculous lack of speed understanding!"

Think I'm wrong about these stickers?  Hit that Mommy Icon and tell her all your problems with this post!

Wednesday, October 2, 2013

Cool Mom Coming Through

I decided out of solidarity to our government I would shut this blog down for a few days.  Sure, it seems selfish and sort of stupid, but if National Parks aren't open, then this blogger is keeping her snappy observations to herself.  Now, please enjoy "Cat in The Hat..."

I'm kidding...I don't care about our government (or lack there of), no, folks, I've been road tripping.  For the past two weeks I've put almost 1,500 miles on my car and what do I have to show for it?  You guessed it - lots of random posts circling in my head.  Here's the first of many thoughts I had while driving on the I-15.

ONE

After having a baby I made a promise to myself.  I said, "Kate, you are not ever, EVER going to put princess and unicorn stickers all over the windows of your car. You will not listen to nursery rhymes while driving down the road and you will not start driving like a nervous senior citizen just because you have a baby in the back.  Stupid people will still be honked at, and maybe flipped off, depending how moronic their driving is, and you will never put a "Baby on Board" sticker on your car, no matter how much money and fame* you are promised."  (It was a long promise and a long talk in the mirror.)

Now a year into being a mom, I'm proud to announce I've been able to keep most of these promises:  The horn is still my best friend, speed limits have been ignored and no stickers to speak of.  I do, however, need to make a confession.  I might have sung "The Wheels on The Bus" over and over and over again as I drove from Las Vegas to St. George, Utah.  I might have.  (Apparently, my baby finds my angelic voice soothing.  Or maybe less annoying that AC/DC's "Highway to Hell."  Listen, I'm not a doctor.)  

Anyway, I might have also cursed the heavens after covering most real and imaginary animals, car parts, human noises and robots, when I couldn't think of any more forsaken things that (insert blah, blah) "...all through the town."  Eventually, I found myself singing, "The mom in the car is going insane, going insane, going insane.  The mom in the car is going insane all through the towwwnnn."  I think it was my best verse yet.

Listen, I'm still a cool mom and just because I rock a little "Wheels on the Bus" and maybe "BINGO" doesn't mean anything. Right?  No, seriously, right?

*I acknowledge there's a very slim chance any fame can be awarded for announcing to people a baby is in your car.  Announcing you are holding a baby hostage would probably get you more face time. I acknowledge that.  Listen, I'm keeping it real.

Hey hit that Top Mommy Blog Icon for me.  My absence has caused a massive slide.  Tap twice and I might send you a recording of my "Mommy Gonna Knock You Out" songs. It's a gamble worth taking.

Tuesday, September 17, 2013

Totally Worth $25

Today I read the following article:

Pregnant women across the country have taken to Craigslist to sell positive pregnancy tests for about $25 a pop - no questions asked.  The unusual ads even suggest some creative motivations for buying the trumped-up tests. Some, for example, 'suggest buyers use the tests to finally get longtime boyfriends to propose.  Other suggest pranking mom and dad.  And one even suggests asking for money for an abortion and then using it to go on a vacation.'  - ABCNews.com

Um, where to begin here?

1.  I'll tell you right now my first thought, after looking at my positive pregnancy tests, was not to find a good buyer for these valuable sticks of urine.  Instead, I had these two thoughts: One, "With all the miraculous achievements in science, you would think someone could invent a pregnancy test that contained a clear answer."  Honestly, I think it's a whole scam.  You know why women take three to five pregnancy tests?  Not because they enjoy cleaning up sprayed urine after placing a stick at the wrong angle while they are performing the test.  No, they have to take 3-5 tests just to determine if indeed that's two lines and not 1 and 1/2 lines, which might mean you are pregnant, but also might mean you didn't check in time, or that the stick is faulty and requires a second try.  Come on pregnancy tests!

And my second thought was, "The handle of the stick didn't get peed on right?  Because the husband is holding them up really close to his face."

2. $25?  You know what you could buy with $25?  Three boxes of pregnancy tests to actually determine if you are pregnant.  (Okay, I'll let it go.)

3. I don't know who I'm more ashamed by - the ones who posted the positive test or the ones, who actually had to go searching for, "Positive Pregnancy Tests" on their Chicago based Craigslist.  What else were these people searching for?  "Albi for Friday Night," "Fake Death Certificate" (You know, to prank Mom and Dad), "Black Market Goods?"

P.M.S...Go Hawks!

A few entries ago I wrote about a teacher of mine, who would take pictures of kids making out at our middle school dances and then post them on a hallway bulletin board.  After the entry posted, a good friend of mine from high school informed me that dear, dear Ms. Schmidt, the photographer, had recently passed away.  Truly, if there was any justice in the world, my middle school - Patton Middle School (yes, go PMS) would have organized an exhibit of her greatest shots, but alas, I fear like all great artists, her masterpieces will be lost.  So let me just say, Ms. Schmidt, I know I cursed your surprise flashes many nights, and probably made a few out of control demands for your film and negatives, but please know, I sincerely thank you for never posting my compromising pictures during Parent Teacher Night or inside the yearbook.  You were truly a class act.  Rest in Peace.

Sorry, sometimes you just have to pay your respects.

Anyway, after reminiscing about Ms. Schmidt I started to reflect on my other bizarre middle school teachers.  (Hopefully, these memories won't spark more deaths and surprise obituaries.)  Here's a few of my favorites:

Mr. Breevort 
Description: Taught science.  Had a scar that ran across his face.  No one knew where the scar came from, but everyone had their theory. While I was there it involved a motorcycle accident and bunsen burner.

Why I remember him?  Had a ridiculous temper.  One minute he would be teaching about Roy G. Biv, and then the next minute it was like he was having a PTSD rage episode.  I want to say he threw a beaker, but I could be making that up.

What I learned?  Well, nothing, unless you count survival - because that is not something you read in a text book.

Mr. Dissinger
Description:  Sex offender mustache, feathered hair, obsessed with Penn State and openly flirted with every student teacher.  (Even the none cute ones.)

Why I remember him?  After watching the video The Miracle of Life, which should never, ever be shown to kids or humans, he passed out pieces of blank paper and had us draw something from the movie.  Again, just so we are clear, twenty seconds after being completely traumatized over seeing a baby come out, 13 year olds were told to draw pictures of it.  I think I drew a sad face and put my head down.

What I learned?  The Penn State fight song and that I never wanted to have a mirror during child birth.

Senora Lazer (I think)
Description: Small.  Very small.  Even at 12, I remember thinking she was the smallest woman in the world.

Why I remember her?  Well, outside of her abnormal size, and the fact that she began my disdain love for foreign languages, one day I received a note from my homeroom teacher that Senora Lazer wanted to see me.  I went down to her room, and after a little awkwardness, she blurted out, "Have you ever heard of 'Party Trains?'"  To this day I'm not really sure what "Party Trains" are, but she wanted to know if kids were having them on the weekends?  For a moment I remember being slightly flattered that she thought I was the one to ask on current trends among my peers, but I had no idea what she was talking about.  Eventually, she said something like, "Well, you'll know what they are if you see them, and if you do, will you let me know?"  I nodded and then headed back to homeroom.  I'll be honest I spent the rest of the year going to parties wondering when the "Train Party" was going to start, and then fearing I was attending the wrong parties because clearly no locomotives were showing up.

What I learned?  Spanish teachers should stay Spanish teachers and not venture out to pathetic adolescent detective work.

If you know what a Party Train is please send me a message and hit that Top Mommy Blog Button...she looks like she could use a Party Train.

Monday, September 16, 2013

What A Beautiful Dog You Have!

Babies in strollers?  Makes sense...they can't walk.

Old people on motorized carts at the grocery store?  Totally cool...they probably shouldn't be walking.

Injured people in wheelchairs?  By all means, bring it...how else are they going to get around?

Dogs in dog strollers?  Um, no.  No.  And are you kidding me?

The other night, while I was pushing my 12 month old baby (Oh, for non-baby people that's 1 year*) I saw a nice woman pushing a stroller my way.  As I looked down to do the obligatory check to see if my child was cuter than theirs, I saw a dog neslted inside.  (Not an ugly baby, but an actual dog.)

Dog lovers out there, please help me.  Why are you people putting your fully capable, walking animals inside strollers?  Was there a massive screw up at the hospital, and by accident you took home a dog, and now no one has the heart to tell you that little Timmy, who seems slightly behind developmentally, is not actually a baby?  Or did you misunderstand the vet's directions of getting the pet out for walks?  Did you not understand that the pet actually has to do the walking?  And lastly, why did you go with the stroller?  Haven't you ever thought of using a Baby Bjorn, an Ergo Baby carrier, a Moby Wrap or the Maya Wrap?  Didn't you know that all the experts recommend close contact with your baby...oh wait.

* The month count down drives my husband crazy.  I've started telling people I'm 34 and 6 months.

Friday, September 13, 2013

Random Thought Friday

I'm trying to convince the husband that spelling out the word S.H.I.T is funnier than actually saying the word.  For example, I think it's funnier to say, "Today Avery played a little outside, we went for a walk and then she ate a lot of S.H.I.T," then saying, "Yeah, Avery played a little outside, we went for a walk and then she ate shit."  Saying that way makes it sound like I literally emptied her diaper onto her high chair and said, "Bon Appetit."

Am I right?  Don't you think he's full of S.H.I...

Thursday, September 12, 2013

A New Method For Buying Fruit

I'm at the grocery store yesterday, trying to find something for my one year old to put her in mouth and then spit out, when I see two guys picking up, smelling and inspecting fruit.  Hold on, I know that isn't strange.  When all of the sudden one of the guys rips open a bag of grapes and proceeds to eat one.  He then shakes his head and tells his friend to try another grape from a different bag.  This continues through four bags until they decide to purchase the last one.  

I know what you are expecting from me.  You are expecting a snooty and indignant response to these morons.  You want me to say something like, "It's cool that my local Albertson's has become an indoor Farmer's Market with free samples."  Or "If this is how these guys buy food, how do they purchase clothes?  Go work out in three pairs of boxers and finally buy the ones that didn't totally ride up their hiney as they exercised?"  I get it.  The reading of the blog has led you to these conclusions, but let's be honest...Their method of buying fruit, though slightly unorthodox, is probably better than my style of constantly Googling, "What does a ripe mango look like," and when I can't get service, resorting to holding up different pieces of fruit to the light until I hear the Field of Dreams whisperer say, "Buy it and diarrhea won't come."  

I'm pretty positive the grapes they took home were way better than the watermelon I purchased by tapping on it like I was looking for a hidden door.

Wednesday, September 11, 2013

My Mom Is Cool


I don't know how the choosing occured up in Heaven, but I'm sure glad I came down to this woman.  Happy Birthday Momma.

Tuesday, September 10, 2013

Hey Church, Clean My House

I love my church.  I really do, but there are some ridiculous things associated with it.  For example, my ward, or congregation, has a Google email group, where people can post announcements, solicit for babysitting and even give away things.  It's great and can be very helpful, but every once in a while, I think people go too far with this Christian Helping email.  For example, the other day someone wrote, "My daughter needs to go to Utah next week.  I was wondering if anyone was heading up there and would be willing to take them."  Utah?  I get it, we have a lot of people from Utah in our congregation, but it struck me as a little bizarre that someone made it sound like, "Hey is anyone going to the store?  Could you take my daughter?"  

Or yesterday someone wrote, "My vacuum is on the fritz again.  Does anyone have a vacuum I could borrow?"  Borrow? I will only allow this nonsense to continue if she promises to write this email once a week and never, ever, buy another vacuum. I think it would be pretty awesome to see if we, as a church, could not only supply her a vacuum a week, but next month, I want her to start requesting someone to come over and do the actual vacuuming.  And then I want the third month email's title to only read, "Bathroom Cleaning Supplies Anyone?"  (What, I stay at home all day with a 1 year old, I'm deserve to see how far this can go.)

I acknowledge I need to get out more.  I just want you to know that.

Monday, September 9, 2013

The Family Hog Or You

This weekend I will freely admit that the husband, baby and myself did a lot of football watching.  A lot.  So much so that I find myself checking for imaginary time clocks before I shout, "hike" and yank open the refrigerator and dishwasher.  Get it?  No?  Stupid female readership.

Anyway, while we were allowing the TV to parent our child for the weekend, a ridiculous commercial kept playing between time outs.  The commercial was advertising a dating site entitled: www.farmersonly.com.  According to the commercial, made by actual farmers with a camcorder, this is a real dating site where lonely farmers can meet women, who want to live on a farm, alone, with a lonely farmer, who decided kissing the farm hog was probably bordering on "wrong", and thought a real woman might be a better idea.

After seeing this commercial for the fifth time, and wondering if the lack of Cialis commercials means ED has finally been cured once and for all, I decided to check out this site.  (Sure they say, "City Folks Won't Understand," but I grew up in rural Pennsylvania.  My last name is Hick.  Get it?  That's what the title of my blog means?!!!  Anyway, I'm basically one step away from being a complete hillbilly.)

So, while the husband was throwing some food at my child, I looked into this dating hook up, and man, good thing I'm spoken for because ladies, ladies, ladies...are you looking for a creepy 70 plus year old man, who likes wearing suspenders and truly decided "INTHERUTT" was a good username?  "In The Rutt."  (Insert way too easy joke about bestiality here.)  As I scanned "my matches" (determined through a very extensive algorithm based on my email address) I kept thinking, "There's no way this is real."  Honestly, these guys looked like a cross between a "Lonely Grandpa website," and a not so secret anymore sex offender registry.

And now for the bad news...oh wait, I think I covered that.

So, here's what I'm taking away from this little exercise.  One, bring back the awkward commercials of men painting rooms and doing dishes with women, where you get to actually see Cialis kicking in based on their expressions.  Cialis and football should always go hand in hand.  Two, If you are looking to be called "Ma" and work 15 hours a day shoveling horse manure, there just might be a site for you.  And if you are looking to see if there are any sex offenders in your rural neighborhood, there just might be a site for you.  And three, do you think my husband would understand if I just sent a "flirt" to "INTHERUTT?"

If you were offended by the hog kissing comment please click on that "Top Mommy" Icon.  She'll understand.

Thursday, September 5, 2013

I Swear I'm A Girl

Listen, I realize as a woman I'm supposed to love three things:  1. Chocolate.  2. Purses. and 3. Cupcakes.  Well, folks, check my ovaries because I don't get any of these things.  Chocolate is good - don't get me wrong, but what's with the dying devotion to this stuff?  I remember after a particularly hard day at work a woman said to me, "I think you just need to head home, put your feet up and grab as much chocolate as you can find."  What?  Why?  Did she think a ridiculous amount of insulin pulsing from my pancreas was going to magically make all my troubles go away?  Did she grow up in the Willy Wonka factory?

Ah, yes, and then purses.  I see the functionality of them, but I don't understand the hype or size of these insanely overpriced things?  What pray tell are women carrying in these purses the sizes of laundry bags?  Are they carrying laundry?  Costco quantities of gum?  Tax refunds and receipts from the past ten years in case they are stopped for an immediate audit?  What?  Seriously, in my world I need an American Express, car keys and a phone.  Am I even allowed to carry a purse with so few things?

And lastly, cupcakes.  Ahhhh...cupcakes.  I just don't get it.  I'm sorry - revoke my right to sit while peeing - what is with the cupcakes?  First, holy icing.  Who thought it would be a good idea to put a stick of butter on a dried out inch of cake?  Who? I want names.  And don't even get me started on the prices.  Well, you did, you got me started.  $3.50 for a "shoulders shrugging and best Robert DeNiro face" piece of cake and some cream cheese infused, sugar whipped, cinnamon spread of pasteurized milk from organic farms in Ireland  (Alright, I got a little carried away there) icing.  Folks, I'm not going to lie, I've had this amazing icing before and it came from a nasty cake bought from Alberstons.  It ain't special - just overpriced.  

You know what I would rather spend $3.50 on?  A sign and stick of wood that I would place outside cupcake store that reads: Don't Buy This Stuff.  Or stock in a time machine company so I could transport myself back before the cupcake rage and enjoy gobs and gobs of ice cream cake.  Now, that is something worth getting excited about.  Or a box of cake mix and icing from the grocery store!

Listen, I'm a girl - I promise.  I cried during The Help, I gave birth, I'm always cold, I hate maps (that's for the husband) and I shave...at least once a week.  Just stop with the unwritten laws of females!

Go ahead click that female to your right.  All the girls are doing it.

Wednesday, September 4, 2013

Don't Move A Muscle

Well it's official - we are back from Hawaii and my baby was not thrown off the plane for making a ruckus.  I would say that definitely calls for high fives all around.

So, what have I learned from traveling with a little one?

1.  Vacations are no longer big adventures of hiking, exploring and laying on the beach. No, they consist of seeing the sun rise, asleep before nine and taking turns watching a baby while you begrudgingly say, "No, I'll stay in this sand filled hotel room.  Please, go outside and sit by the pool.  No, really, vacation is about catching up on Judge Judy."

2. You know those guys who stand for hours pretending to be statues?  You've seen them, orrrrr maybe you haven't.  Anyway, I now have a great and deep admiration for these hardworking freaks of nature.  Why?  Because after traveling for five hours on a plane you'll do anything to get your baby to sleep.  So, there I sat with a sweet and sleeping baby resting in my two arms that were slowly losing blood flow and causing an old dislocated shoulder from college to flair up again.  As I quietly tried to adjust, relief came, but was quickly replaced with a left butt cheek going to sleep faster than my baby, and my neck slipping into a muscle spasm.  "Why was this happening?!" I wanted to scream, but as I went to take a deep breath, she moved.  Immediately, I froze and as she slipped back into her happy oblivion, I realized I had committed the cardinal sin of holding a sleeping baby - I HAD CROSSED MY LEGS.  How could I make such a rookie move?  I had twenty, maybe 14 seconds before my entire leg was going to go numb.  Panicked I checked to see how asleep my baby was.  Could she stay awake as I moved my leg? Was it worth the risk?  Answer comes in two parts:  1. You are an idiot.  2. No.

So, for future parents, who are looking to travel with a 1 year old, have zero expectations for your vacation and two practice holding a sack of rice for hour without moving (have someone poke you and press on your bladder to really hone your skills.)

Oh, yes, we are still doing that Top Mommy Thing. Click it. Click it.  I'm #9 Yo!  Gracias for the help!

Sunday, September 1, 2013

The New Large

Just so we are clear "Huge" is now a size?  What's size is after "Huge?"  Ghastly?  Ridiculous?  Circus Tent?  Tarp?  Kill Yourself?

Tuesday, August 27, 2013

I Want My MTV

So, I'll admit it, I'm 34 years old, and WHILE MAKING DINNER, I might have watched MTV's VMA Awards Show.  Here's my thoughts:

1. What. Was. With. The. Outfits?!  Robin Thicke was straight up dressed like Beetlejuice.  Dude, you made a porn video for your song - the least you could have done was steal a costume of a "surprise mailman" or "Pizza Delivery Man."  And Lady Gaga and Hannah Montana I didn't tune in to see your white bodies flippy flopping all over my screen.  Lady Gaga let's go back to raw meat, and Ms. Miley, Ms. Miley let's at least wear some granny nude underwear next time.  I saw a little too much butt wiggle - and not in the good way.

2. Who. Are. These. People?  Sadly, the only people I truly recognized were the following (and the thoughts that accompanied my recognition) Will Smith - I wish he was performing "Gettin' Jiggy With It."  N'Sync - I wonder how many phones calls from Joey Fatone it took for JT to finally acquiesce and do this fifteen second version of "Bye, Bye, Bye?"  Do you think they knew Lance Bass was gay back then?  Taylor Swift - She reminds me of that hot girl in high school who everyone wanted to date, but then broke up with after they found her standing over them in the middle of the night whispering, "Hi, honey...I just wanted to watch you sleep."

3. Avery. Is. Never. Watching. MTV.  I'm sure my parents had this thought back when Warrant was singing "Cherry Pie" and Right Said Fred was telling us how sexy he was, but seriously, this show was ridiculous.  Whatever happened to the good ol' days of videos?  Real World that was real and not a bunch of drunk whores and meatheads?  Kurt Loder, who reported on music news like he was reporting a serious nuclear blast in Russia?  Where did the good days of MTV go?

I'm old.

Monday, August 26, 2013

A Birthday Note To My Daughter

Dear Avery (*) -

If you are reading this it means two things: 1. Your snooping has finally produced something useful to explain the nagging neglect you always felt in your heart.  Or  2. I have passed away in shame, and due to the requests in my will, you are now finally allowed to know the truth.

Here it is kid, in a week you are going to turn 1 years old, and everyone, from random strangers at the store to close family members, have been badgering me to answer one forsaken question:  What am I going to do to celebrate your first birthday?  Ideas like princess themed parties, bouncing houses, clowns and big spreads of food have been thrown around, but here's the truth you - you are almost 1 and your brain capacity is not that big. In fact today, you tried to eat a computer cord.  A computer cord!  And as I tried to stop you I realized you were chowing down on a cheerio you had found somewhere near the couch.  Listen, bottom line is you actually have no idea your birthday is in a week, and therefore I'm not really going crazy in the whole "celebrating" category.  Yep, you read that right, I'm consciously deciding NOT to really celebrate your birthday.  Sure, I'll wake you up in the morning and say, "Happy Birthday," change your diaper, offer you some special momma brew (from under my shirt), let you play, give you a cupcake and then take a picture.  Will you get some gifts?  Sure...oh wait, I've already given them to you.  Remember?  Yeah, I didn't think so.

So, listen take this letter to your therapist, put it on your refrigerator so your husband will understand why you are so needy, but please know, I don't regret this decision.  Don't get me wrong, I do love you, I'm just not in love with all the crazy moms, who feel the need to throw extravagant parties for a child, who doesn't even really know if their parents are the ones smiling at them or the ones on the couch.

Love Mom.

* Or addressed to all the crazy moms I've encountered.

Friday, August 23, 2013

Random Friday Thought: Parenting Test

Does this make me a bad parent?

Situation:  
1.  Baby poops in bath.  
2.  Baby is changed.
3.  Tub is washed with gasoline, bleach and repainted.

Immediately after all this baby is given a new toy, that I was going to give her as an early birthday gift after the bath.

Have I just taught her a terrible lesson?  

Poop in bath = Massive reward 

Thursday, August 22, 2013

There Are Such Things As Stupid Questions

Just now, and I'm not making this up, I googled, "How long should you cook a rump roast."  (What, I'm getting my domesticity on.)  Immediately, I was directed to the website: answers.yahoo.com where someone has already asked this question and received 12 answers.  Yes, 12 people took upon themselves to answer this stupid question on the internets.

According to the "users" Ginarene71 offered the "best answer" with 4-6 hours.  I'm not sure what constituted this being the "best answer" since Sheloves_dablues answered 8-10 and even included a recipe for a rump roast.  I got to say if I was voting I would have gone with sheloves_dablues for the name alone and maybe for the extra mile of a recipe.

Anyway, once I got my rump in the pot, I started looking a little closer at this website.  Apparently, you can join this site and then either become a master answer giver, which allows you to earn points, based on how helpful you are, and join certain levels of wisdom givers.  Apparently, Ginarene71 was a level 5 answer giver with 5,408 points.  Yeah, I thought the same thing - dayyyummm Ginarene71, yous helping all sorts of peeps. (You weren't thinking that?)  The other aspect of this bizarrely helpful website, are users can use it to ask all sorts of ridiculous questions.  I'm not sure if you are given points for your inquiries, but if you are I would like to award some points to the following people who asked these questions:  (These are real preguntas...5 years of Spanish, what??!)

"If you could be a STD, which one would you be, and why? (User: "What."  Level 5. Points: 5,679)

Personally I would give this ten points because it did generate two answers of: HIV.  Yes, two people thought HIV was the top STD, high five to Americans.  However, I would also have to subtract four points for lack of originality.  Who hasn't been on a long road trip and NOT asked this question?  I mean, take me down I-95 and I'll be pulling out the "favorite STD" question by the first toll booth.

"How do I convince him I'm pregnant?" (User: Violet.  Level 1.  Points: 132)

1000 points subtracted!  Why are you bothering the inter webs with this garbage Violet?!  You know how you convince him you are pregnant?  Go to a store called CVS, Walgreens, a grocery store, and buy, now wait for this because this is crazy...a PREGNANCY TEST.  Then show him the results.  It's mind blowing.  (Did I just become a level 8 answer giver?)

What level would you be?

Hit Icon Now.  Gracias.

Wednesday, August 21, 2013

Stranger Danger

For the past two days we've been kicked out of our home so our landlord's handy man could redo our floors.  Why are our floors being redone?  Well, like everything in this forsaken house, the tiled floor was done on the cheap and consequently was beginning to chip.  And you know who likes to put tile chips in her mouth - yes, the baby.  

As I handed over my keys to Max the handy man, and headed to my in-laws for the night, I began to wonder what good ol' Max meant when he said, with a sort of suspicious Iranian look, "So, don't worry we'll just be here all night working on the floors."  Just...working on the floors.  Why the need to emphasize "the floors"?  Was that code for: And once I see your car disappear I'm totally trying on your clothes, reading a magazine on your toilet and licking all your spoons?

Honestly, it's weird having a stranger in your house.  You start wondering what they are going to think of you.  Are they going to look at your refrigerator and think:  Geez, is there a new diet out there that consists of salad dressing, milk and old salsa?  Or Are these people poor?  

Are they going to look at your bathroom and question: So, the Oral B Electric Toothbrush doesn't actually have to look remotely clean to brush your teeth?  Hmm...I could have sworn hair and face wash would hinder the proficiency of the brush.  Guess not.  

And lastly, are they going to make a quick review of your closet only to decide: So, I'm guessing the husband has a job based on the suits, and she...hmmm...she either died ten years ago and he can't let go of her clothes, or she feels clothes are just means to cover the body and not to actually make a fashion statement.

What would a stranger say about the state of your home?

If you're a peeping Tom click that Mommy Icon.  You just need to click it.  It will redirect you there and then you can walk away guilt free.

Tuesday, August 20, 2013

Middle School Debauchery

The other day I had my music library on shuffle when all of the sudden 1990 came blasting out.  Yep folks, I'm talking a little Poison.  I'm talking a little "Something to Believe In."  I'm talking Brett Michaels pre-weave, height of hair bands, tight pants and one of the best power ballads of all time - and yes, even better than that ridiculous "Open Arms" song by Journey.

So, there I stood, in front of an almost emptied dishwasher, immediately transported back to sixth grade when each month our school would hold a dance, that basically entailed three things: 1. Power Ballads upon Power Ballads 2. A lot of tight swaying back and forth in small circles with the love of your sixth to eighth grade life.  And 3.  Either your first kiss, the beginning of your mastering the kiss or a full on make out.

I lived for these dances.  For two hours the gym was transformed into a dark abyss of dancing and adolescence debauchery and I loved being in the middle of it.  Some time after my third dance, my boyfriend and soul mate, decided he was going to take our American kissing to France, and as they say, "Boom went the dynamite."  Immediately, I was sought out for advice on how to go about the tango of tongues, sixth graders whispered things like, "She's a real woman," and "Wow, she is so brave," as I did my best running man (look it up kids) and Kid N' Play (again, look it up.)

Some time around seventh grade a letter was sent home from the PTA informing parents that kids were getting out of control at these dances. I remember my mom sliding the letter towards me, while asking, "You know anything about this?"  Did I know anything about the abnormally tall seventh grader pressuring kids of all ages to kiss in front of hundreds of their fellow middle schoolers?  Um, maybe.  Was it a miracle that this abnormally tall seventh grader, with teeth going every direction, was actually being kissed at all at these dances?  Absolutely.  Was I going to tell my mom that this letter was actually inspired and directed towards me?  No.  Will I stop with the questions?  Okay.

The last and strangest part of these dances was that fact that a teacher, named Ms. Schmidt, used to walk around taking pictures of kids making out.  She would then post the pictures, no not on Facebook, but on a billboard in the hallway.  Then every Monday a crowd would form around the billboard to see if they had made the "wall of shame."  Fortunately, I was never caught, but that didn't stop me from fasting and praying during every Parent/Teacher Night that Ms. Schmidt didn't pull out some hidden gems for my parents to see.
For some reason at the time I didn't think this was strange, but now almost 23 years later, I find myself wondering what in the beep was wrong with this lady.  In her house is there a wall of hundreds of pictures of middle schoolers making out that, while stroking her twenty cats, she sits in front of and admires?  Honestly, how was this woman not fired?

Before I close I would like to report that I got my act together in high school and managed to not get pregnant.  I know, you were all thinking I was headed down that path - I'm sure Ms. Schmidt has the evidence to prove it.

Want to feel that rush of 7 minutes in Heaven again?  Then click that Top Mommy Blog Icon.  It will feel so good...

Monday, August 19, 2013

And...You're Dead

Hold on, let me sit down on this old chair on my stoop...alright, hold on, hey kids, yeah you, stop all that racket!  Okay, ready?  I think I'm officially ready to make my "back in my day" comment.  Okay, seriously, these days movies are dumb.  Seriously dumb.  Tell me the last movie you saw and thought, "You know what, that was a great, realistic portrayal of human life."  Go ahead, I'll give you some time to think. See you can't think of a single movie because they are all dumb.  Take for example, Iron Man 3 (The last movie I saw in a cold morgue of a movie theater...honestly, what's with the temperatures in movie theaters?  Have watching movies gotten so intense that us fat Americans now need air conditioning to handle the slight increase in our heart beats as we suck on 34 ounce sodas and stuff our faces of cheese wiz and popcorn?)

Anyway, as I was saying, Iron Man 3, was ridiculous.  Utterly ridiculous.  Spoiler Alert: Iron Man is actually a guy, a real human, dressed in a suit of iron.  He's not from some mystical place, with superhuman powers, but just a guy with a nightlight in his chest.  Therefore, if he's say, hurdled off a building, he shouldn't survive.  There's no metal, that I know of, that can actually form to your body and save you.  Where did I come up with this conclusion? Um, let me see, oh yes, people in iron planes fall and you know what happens? - They die.  People in iron cars get in crashes and, oh wait maybe you know this one - they die.

Therefore, to combat all the stupidity I see in movies, I've come up with a coping mechanism.  It goes like this:
Movie: Due Date with Robert Downing Jr. and Zach Galifianakis.  
Scene: Zach falls asleep at wheel, car falls off overpass and lands on its top.  No one is hurt.
Coping Mechanism: Say in calm voice, during scene of car spinning in slow motion and characters moving inside of car:  "You're Dead."  "You just died."  "Nope, funeral is coming...now."  

I don't know why, but there's something very liberating about calmly calling out all the unrealistic things movies try to get away with all in the name of entertainment.

Try it next time someone runs across a room while another person is firing a close range machine gun at them.  "You just got shot," "You're dead by multiple gunshots to the chest," "You are not going home tonight," "Don't call 911, You're dead."  "You're dead."

Ahhhh...and scene.

What?  I'm still soliciting votes for that Top Mommy Blog thing?  You betcha.  And now...I'm dead.

Friday, August 16, 2013

Random Thought Friday: Rabbits Are Terrifying

In my neighborhood, here in Irvine, there are a ridiculous amount of rabbits.  A ridiculous amount.  And to be honest, they totally freak me out because when I was five years old my neighbor had a rabbit and it bit me in the leg.  I had to get tested for rabbis, kids from all over would come over to see the "rabbit bite," my parents waited for me to foam at the mouth - it was awful.  So, now almost thirty years later, I'm just waiting for one of these monsters to strike again.  And if they do try, I swear to you faithful readers, I will have no problem launching a sweet bunny with my right foot for all my neighbors to see.

Have a good weekend.

Thursday, August 15, 2013

Slapping Could Become A National Holiday If You Are Willing To Help

The other day was National Middle Child Day.  (I didn't celebrate it for fear of offending one of my siblings.  I mean, I have an older brother and a twin sister, who is older than me by 28 minutes, you tell me, genius of genealogy, who's day it is?)  And, yesterday was Left Hander's Day and on the 30th is Marshmallow Toasting Day.  Can we just stop this madness?  I mean, seriously, what is going on here?

First, who decided and fought for April 4th to be National Tell a Lie Day?  Was there a march in Washington I wasn't told about?  Was I told and LIED TO that the march was in New York?  Did it require a lot of signatures?  Did people even write their real names?  Did my father sign it "Clark Kent" like how he signed all my report cards and bad tests?  What do you get someone for this holiday?  Tell your boyfriend you are pregnant with someone else's baby, and when he freaks out, you say, "Silly, it's National Tell a Lie Day.  Remember?!"

Secondly, who is aware of these random holidays and are people out there actually celebrating them?  Is someone right now taking an oath of silence until June 15th where they can officially scream, because it's National Hollering Day, at their entire office for the whole work day?  Or is there a mass murderer out there just plotting his day of terror on National Beheading Day, when he can chop a bunch of heads off and plead, "But, but, but...it's a holiday?!" when he's arrested?

And lastly, and most importantly, are all the days taken up?  Isn't there still stuff out there that should be, no needs to be celebrated?  Like National Slap Someone Day?  What, there's only been failed campaigns on Facebook to promote slapping of co-workers and general idiots?  And even a "Slap Someone's Butt" didn't really take off?  No one has locked up this day?  Fantastic.  Bring on the signatures, bring on the open date, hopefully some time around the spring - let's get this one on the books. Who's with me?

All holidays can be found on http://www.holidayinsights.com/moreholidays/

If you would like to sign my petition please slap or click the Top Mommy Blog Icon to your right.