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.

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.

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...

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!

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?