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?

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.

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.

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 

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.

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.

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...

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.

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.

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.