Channeling My Energy

Since moving to the burbs I've been finding it hard to find things to discuss on this blog.  Sure, I could tell you about my daughter's awesome two new teeth, or the fact that she still hates anything in the "solid" department, but let's be honest, I just got bored writing that sentence.  (Not that her teeth aren't cool, and slightly terrifying to me...since I could be possibly feeling them in a very, very uncomfortable way in the near future...she eats from my...okay you got it.)  Anyway, this morning I sat down to write something and nothing would come to me.  So, after ten minutes of having college flashbacks of when I used to stare at empty screens for hours on end while my brain couldn't muster a single sentence for my current history paper, I decided to once again leave you, my faithful readers, with nothing to do but check Facebook one more time.  

And then a few hours ago, the following took place:

So, I finally feel like my body has semi-returned back to normal (minus the Dolly Parton wannabes up top) and I've been trying to do a little shopping.  So, after nap time, I packed up the little one and headed for the mall.  After one hour of looking around and trying things on, the little one had a melt down in the changing room, which would have been fine, except for the fact that, the only thing I ended up wanting, after trying on clothes while holding a baby, actually had a flaw on it and which was the only one in my size in the entire store,  So, yep, you guessed it, after all the chaos and tears, the only thing I walked out of the mall with was a crying child.  (And not even gifted wrapped.)

But, hey, after seven and a half months of being a mom, I've learned to let these things roll off my back...or so I thought.  Fifteen minutes later I found myself exiting the freeway onto the streets of Irvine, with an out of control Prius on my tail.  Fearing this driver was rushing to some liberal meeting on the next Earth Day Celebration, I attempted to change lanes to get out of his way.  However, as I was trying to change lanes I managed to cut him off as we trying to do the same.  Consequently, he slammed on his brakes, swerved into the other lane, almost hitting another car, swerved again, and then raced down the street all the while aggressively changing lanes.  And then Irvine did what it does best, stopped the flow of traffic with poorly timed lights and allowed me to meet my friend face to face.  

Now, I'm not sure what possessed me, but as soon as my car came to a stop next to his, I mouthed, "Are you okay?"  (Not in a compassionate way with the tilt of the head, but more like, "What the beep is your problem?!")  He responded, while putting his phone down, with something, but I couldn't hear him because my window was up.  So, I did what any rational mother would do...I rolled my window down and said, "You want to repeat that?"  For the next thirty seconds we traded back insults about one another's driving, I threw in the "I have a child in the back seat" for guaranteed guilt and shame, he retorted back with "you started it," and then I said, "Whatever, you are being an a**hole..."  As soon as it came out, I almost started laughing.  What was I doing?  Sure this guy was being a jerk, but where did that come from?  He then said, "Well that wasn't very nice." (He had a point.)  So, I responded with, "Hope you don't kill yourself on the way home" and drove off.  (I'll admit, I didn't actually mean that...I mean the part that he "doesn't kill himself.")

So, what did we learn?  One, I need to stop berating the lights in Irvine.  Today they were actually pretty awesome.  Two, I'm a great mom.  Why?  Because instead of hitting my child and losing my cool, I remained calm and kind...and channeled that energy into something, I would definitely deem, more productive.  High five to me.

Inside My Studio

Have you ever seen the show on Bravo called "Inside the Actors Studio?"  (What?  I've got literally three things to choose from to blog about.  1. Baby Teething...no one wants to hear about that.  2. Baby not eating...again, no one should want to hear about that.  And 3. TV.  Why TV?  Because that's what I do during the day.  Yes, I watch TV.  Sure, I could read, and learn something, but while you are breastfeeding a baby you've got two options ((What, what, what parentheses inside parentheses!  You are going to get a lot of lists this entry so just buck up and deal with it.))  One, you can watch TV or attempt to hide a book from your "exploring child."  I choose TV.)  I agree with you reader, that went on way too long.

Anyway, there's a show on Bravo called Inside the Actors Studio, where an actor comes on the show and is interviewed by James Lipton, who apparently employes the FBI and CIA to accumulate mountains of cards of information, that will be used to shock and strike up nostalgic memories by these overpaid actors.  Honestly, without fail he'll be like, "Now, your pre-school teacher Mrs. Hillard told us you once said, 'I'm going to win an Oscar.'  Is that true?"  To which the actor will exclaim, "I did say that.  How did you ever find that?"  Oh, James Lipton - why don't you put your detective skills to good use and find out if the Loch Ness Monster is real or not.  (Or something else.  It's not like I'm curious about some lake dwelling, mystical creature.)

Now, it sounds like I'm mocking this show.  I'm not. I actually love it.  I love the talk of "craft," and inspiration and trying to make it sound like their nude scene with a horse was revolutionary. I love it all.  However, my favorite part is at the end Lipton will end with a questionnaire originated by French TV personality Bernard Pivot with which every actor tries to answer in the most Oscar nominated sort of way.  Here's my best attempt...currently as a stay at home mom:

What is your favorite word?

• "Puss" -  It has somehow become our nickname for the little one.  It's obviously short for stinkerpuss.

What is your least favorite word?

• Prepubescent - I have always hated that word. And it has to have the "pre" in front of it.  My mom used to use it to describe my prepubescent weight gain before I hit 10 and started to become a woman.  Yeah, you read that right...10. 

What turns you on?

•  8 hours of sleep and someone else cleaning up dinner.  They call me "the most Romantic Person" behind my back. 

What Turns You Off?

•  House Hunters International on HGTV

What sound or noise do you love?

• My stinkerpuss laughing.  There is absolutely nothing in the whole world better.  Nothing...and I'll fight you if you think otherwise.

 What sound or noise do you hate?

• The sound of someone farting.  I know it's normal and it times necessary, but...

Favorite curse word?

• Depends.  If I'm describing someone it's: #sshat.  If I'm happy and excited it's sh*tballs!  If I'm mad than it's gosh dangit.  No, seriously, it's gosh dangit.

What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?

• A stunt person.  I think it would be pretty awesome to jump out of buildings, get beaten up by Jackie Chan, and ride a motorcycle as Angelina Jolie.

What profession would you not like to do?

• A realtor on House Hunters.

If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the pearly gates?

• "Kate, I can now tell you two things, one, where dinosaurs came from and that 'Heaven TiVo*' does indeed exist."

*I've always believed Heaven is one big TiVo you get to look through of your life. I also believe during these viewings I will be able to prove to the husband that I did indeed tell him to pick up extra milk on May 2, 2008, and that I told him I loved him first.  

Speaking Of Purges, Nikita...

So, not only does my birthday (this was supposed to be posted yesterday...I get that. Okay, I get that.) fall on Tax Day, and Easter in 1979 (the year I was born), but it is also the birthday of Kim Il-sung.  You know, Kim, the Eternal President, the leader of North Korea from 1948 to 1994, you know...that guy.  So, that's pretty cool...because clearly North Korea doesn't produce any weirdos. 

I also found out through Googling "April 15th birthdays," my daily study of random current events, that my birthday is also shared by what appears to be two very different groups.  On one hand my blessed day is shared by past leaders of Communist and crazy countries (Ex. Nikita Khrushchev of Russia and the fearless leader through the Korean War) and on the other, people, who I would deem "Really Website, We Are Calling These People 'Celebrities?'"  Seriously, how are Nikita and I suppose to celebrate our birthdays when we have to share it with Matt Cardle.  Oh, I'm sorry you don't know who that is?  You know Matt...X-Factor Matt....no, hmmm...oh that's right, he won some season of the show...still nothing...yeah, me either.  Or what about Alex Veadov?  Now, I'm sure you know this guy.  He was in that amazing movie called "We Own The Night."  Wait, what am I saying? These aren't celebrities!

Dear Famousbirthdays.com,

My Mom pushed out two girls on April 15th - let's keep this day respectable.

Just Tell Me The Right Answer

I like to think of myself as a rather confident person, who is capable of making my own decisions...well, unless it involves picking a restaurant for dinner...then, I find myself on the floor mumbling, "Please, please, please don't say 'whatever' but just pick something.  Anything.  Just pick something."  (I grew up with a father who would go like this, "You want to go out to dinner?"  And I would say, "Yeah, let's get pizza."  And he would say, "You don't want German?"  You see the game was always, and still is, try to read his mind and guess where he actually wants you to go.  For a child, and now an adult, this game drove and still drives me nuts.)

Anyway, if we aren't talking restaurants I'm pretty good at making decisions.  Alright, BLOGGER stop the pressure.  Okay, there's one more place in my life I'm incapable of making my own decisions - and that would be Amazon.

Take for example, the other day I went to purchase a sippy cup - or for you non-children readers, a cup for a kid.  (Yes, they have thought of everything and every way to suck every last dollar out of parents.)  Anyway, I was going to just buy the first one I saw, until I looked closer and saw the one I was going to choose only had a 4.5 star rating and 83 people only commented on it.  Only 83?  Come on Amazon, you can't expect me to purchase anything that only 83 people felt the need to comment on.  So, then I scrolled down and found a 5 star cup with over 200 comments connected to it. Now, you would think I went with this cup, but in the comments some parent wrote an entire dissertation on how the cup actually gets too tight to open and can cause a slight pain in your wrist.  A SLIGHT PAIN!?  Sh*t, now what?  Do I get the cup, that literally changed the lives of the Muellers in Champaign, Illinois, or do I chance the chronic and probably fatal wrist pain of the Andersons?  Amazon, HELP ME!  Help me find the right cup that will get my kid into Harvard and cure cancer.

I'm happy to report that I did finally, after much prayer and meditation, choose a cup, but now I'm deeply troubled by the fact that OVER 200 people commented on this cup.  I'm not that person, but what compels you people out there to take the time and write these comments?  Do you not have a blog?

It's Just Gas People

If you've ever gotten gas at Costco you can probably answer yes to one of these questions: 1. Have you ever been behind that car that refuses to go around the other car, that is filling up, to get to the open pump, because they are afraid it's "too tight of a fit to get around," or because they think they can just out wait the other car?  2.  Have you ever waited in your car seventeen extra seconds while some idiot decides to check all their mirrors, gauges and blood pressure before they finally pull out? 3.  And lastly, have you ever wanted to kill the moron who stands in front of the gas pump wondering where to put their card in, as if they have never filled their car up before? 

Honestly, why is it that at the busiest gas stations in America people have to be either the slowest morons or the biggest idiots?  I just don't understand. 

So, for the past six years, or since I've been a member at the Cost-CO, I've prided myself on being fast and incredibly efficient at the gas pump.  For example, before I put my car in park my Costco card and Amex are already in my hand.  Two, as soon as the car is put in park, the gas tank door is opened.  Three, I get out of the car, open the gas nozzle, insert cards, push my level of gas, yank on the hose and fill up.  As soon as I'm finished, I reverse the past steps, get into my car, with the cards still in my hand, drive off and put away cards at next light. EFFICIENT.  It's not hard people - unless...you miss a step and then everything goes out the window.

The other day I forgot to open the gas tank door and everything went to hell.  I ended up laying the gas hose on the ground, dropping my cards underneath the car, screaming at some imaginary troll, who was obviously not authorizing my card inside the gas pump, and to finish, I banged my body into the car as I was trying to close the gas tank door, finish pumping and replace the hose in all one motion.  (WHAT?  I was trying to make up some time...by walking through my car.)

So, listen, I promise you, good things will come if you follow the steps.  If you don't...I can't promise that you won't set yourself on fire.

Oh, and if this ever happens to you at a busy Costco, make sure you take off the Duke license plate cover off your car.  As I was searching for my Amex underneath the car I heard someone say, "Hey Duke, you need any help?" 

At The Car Wash

The other day I went to get my car washed...because I wanted to make sure it was ready to be driven in the rain the following day...come on Southern California!...anyway, as I sat there watching some poor guy attempt to scrap off every bug from my windshield, that had sort of melted on since my drive from St. George four weeks ago, I watched a very nice Lexus pull up to be washed.  At first it appeared to be a normal drop off from a normal customer, until the Lexus came out of the wash and was being prepared to be dried by some workers.  As soon as the dry towels had been thrown on the hood, the owner of the Lexus, a woman wearing cowboy boots, a lot of diamonds and a pen holding up her mess of hair (For some reason I never trust anyone, who uses a pen to tie up their hair.  One, it's literally voodoo magic that actually causes this to work.  Don't believe me?  Go find a pen and try it.  It's impossible that one twist of the hair and some four inch long stick will hold it up.  I won't believe it.  And two...well, I don't have a second reason.  Just more of the first.  I'm telling you it's not right.)

Anyway, as I was saying, as soon as the Lexus came out of the wash this confirmed witch lady immediately walked over to the car and proceeded to dry her own car and order the poor man, who's actual job is to dry the car, what to do.  Now, I know what you are thinking...if she's a witch and has the capability of voodoo magic why is she having a normal human dry her car?  Why not construct some type of potion?  Good question, but not where I was going with this.  My questions are these:

1. What has happened in the past to make you so distrustful of the car wash?  Did you once come and realize, once you got home, that instead of drying your car, human feces had been rubbed all over the back? Or did you find out that with "special customers" sometimes car washes insert razor blades into the towels in order to actually scratch the car and not dry it?  Or are you just completely paranoid? 

2. Was your goal not to actually get your car washed, but to come to some type of business and boss someone around?  Was the dentist not listening to you when you kept screaming out, "Re-check that right molar for gingivitis and don't go with that tool, use a bigger Wedelstaedt on anterior for class 3 and 5!"

3. Or has it always been your fantasy to be some scantily dressed woman, soaked in water, sitting on top of a Trans Am for some Warrant music video that drives, no compels, you to pick up wet towels and hum, "She's my cherry pie..." while you go back and forth across the hood of your car? 

Is that one a stretch?  I felt like I was getting a really good vibe of  "yes" on that one.

Alright lady, just take the pen out slowly, and without any of that voodoo magic, just write your answer down.