While Beebie and I were trying on swimsuits last weekend, this song was on a constant loop in my head.
Really. Literally. What AM I gonna do wit all dat junk inside my trunk? What AM I gonna do with all dat ass inside my jeans? Sigh.
So then I remembered another version of the same song.
Alanis is a genius.
That reminds me, Kev - where the fuck are my Icies??
And this is a bonus, just because I love it.
Equity, rightness, probity, executive; triumph of the observing side in law.
Justice is about cold, objective balance through reason or natural force. You can't keep smoking and drinking without consequences to your health. It is the card that advises cutting out waste and insists that you make adjustments, do whatever is necessary to bring things back into balance, physically, emotionally, socially, spiritually. It is a card of balance and harmony; if there is imbalance, the correction may
require recourse to the law.
What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.
In case you were wondering.
I went to Knitorious to pick up my Stitch N' Pitch tickets shortly after I ate the funky chicken, and while a yarn shop would be the ideal place for Death to grab me in his cold, bony hand (just think how few lucky people get to die doing something they love), I survived to knit another day.
Thursday was Beeb and Pie's last day of school. Beeb's last day of elementary school and Pie's last day of Kindergarten. I'm melancholy about it. Plus I'm not looking forward to a summer of being awakened at 6:30 by one or more of the Apes asking me, "Mommy, where are we going to GO today??"
Grrrrrr. Nowhere. How's that sound?
Friday I took them to the Zoo. I even sprung for the 3-D motion simulator Dinosaur movie (my advice: save your money) AND lunch at McDonald's. Then, on the way home, Beeb asked me if we could go to the pool. They've come to expect constant entertainment. And I just don't have the energy.
In the next couple of weeks they'll go to Bible School at a Lutheran Church, then Summer PSR, and then another Bible School at a Presbyterian Church and maybe another, I haven't decided. They go back to school August 13th.
Saturday the forecast was for sunny skies and a high in the mid 70's. We had to take Pie to his Archery class 40 minutes away, and from there we were planning to go straight out to Chez Inlaw for the big Memorial Day par-tay.
The forecast was hella WRONG.
We were all wearing t-shirts and shorts, and it was pouring rain and maybe 60 degrees out. So we made a stop at a rural WalMart for some emergency jackets (I myself got a NASCAR shirt) so we wouldn't freeze our balls off because this big par-tay is outside, and it's for ALL the people who live out in their country club neighborhood. It's a big deal - free food, free beer, petting zoo, inflatables, free beer, and free beer.
But the weather was freaking me out and I was totally nervous that the shit would get cancelled and we'd get stuck at FIL's house all day. I brought my Urgent Care paperwork, just in case FIL brought up my devious plot to skip out on Mother's Day. But, as it turned out, the clouds parted and God smiled down on my Free-Beer-Lovin' Ass. I drank a LOT. Haven't been that drunk since 6th Street. And it was great.
My interaction with FIL was minimal, but at one point he pointed out the guy from the symphony that he's all tight with. The guy I told had perfect teeth, remember? He told me I should go talk to him because I've mentioned to MIL (in front of FIL) that I think the symphony dude is Dashing. Impossibly handsome and impeccably polished.
He's right over there, Sarah, you should go say hi to him!!
MIL was trying to get FIL to leave me alone - not sure if it was because she thought I was upset that he was fuckin with me or if she was more concerned that I would actually go over to Mr. Dashing and tell him right to his flawless face how totally beautiful he is. I was wasted enough, I probably would have.
I'm just trying to get her to go over to him and say hello!
So my drunk ass comes back with, in not just my Out Loud Voice, but my Drunk-Off-My-Ass Out Loud Voice (which only surfaces on special occasions):
But, FIL, I think it would be WAAAAAAY more fun if you went over with me, don't you? Then he can be extra special sure to remember how he knows me. I'M FIL KARMA'S CRAZY DAUGHTER IN LAW.
And that was the end of it. Don't fuck with Drunk Girl in NASCAR Wear. Seriously, don't.
Sunday was Ren Faire. And I don't know if it was because of the rain or the fact that the second time around the novelty factor was kinda not really there. Once you've seen a dude dressed as an elf, it loses shock value. And I didn't get to gnaw on a greasy, dripping turkey leg after all because they were 8 bucks!
Hell to the no.
I did, however, eat my last Cannonball - those awesome deep fried Oreos they sell there. Why my last, you ask? Because, like a dumbass, I had to ask if they fry the Oreos in the same vat of grease that they fry the Fried Pickles in.
THEY DO.
Sure, I concede that I couldn't taste the pickle in the deep fried Oreo, but it's just the principle of the thing. Pickles and Oreos just shouldn't live that close together. And they sure as hell shouldn't be swimmin in the same grease. UGH!
I'm eating some leftover chicken I'm not sure about. I can't remember when I cooked it. At least a week ago, maybe longer.
It didn't smell funny, and it doesn't taste funny, so it's probably ok, right?
Right?
Probably?
At least if I die from eating rancid chicken I won't have to go out to the Inlaws on Saturday. R should probably count on dragging my corpse out there anyway, though. Wouldn't want FIL to think I was elaborately faking my own death. If only he knew how many times it's actually occurred to me. If I could come up with something I thought might possibly work, I'd have done it already.
Anyway, just in case this is my last post, I love you all, and thanks for the mammaries. :)
- PK
And what do we take, apart from quizzes? MORE QUIZZES!!!!!
Apparently, Woody Allen will be directing the epic film based on my life story and Tom Petty will do the soundtrack. Hopefully I'll get to play the part of myself, as I've become quite adept at being inappropriately seductive while resisting my Antihero urges to crush the weak.
The Recipe For Sarah |
 3 parts Uniqueness 2 parts Energy 1 part Fascination Splash of Drive Limit yourself to one serving. This cocktail is strong! |
What Sarah Means |
 You are the total package - suave, sexy, smart, and strong. You have the whole world under your spell, and you can influence almost everyone you know. You don't always resist your urges to crush the weak. Just remember, they don't have as much going for them as you do. You are usually the best at everything ... you strive for perfection. You are confident, authoritative, and aggressive. You have the classic "Type A" personality. You are wild, crazy, and a huge rebel. You're always up to something. You have a ton of energy, and most people can't handle you. You're very intense. You definitely are a handful, and you're likely to get in trouble. But your kind of trouble is a lot of fun. You are truly an original person. You have amazing ideas, and the power to carry them out. Success comes rather easily for you... especially in business and academia. Some people find you to be selfish and a bit overbearing. You're a strong person. |
How You Are In Love |
 You take a while to fall in love with someone. Trust takes time. You give and take equally in relationships. You need your space and privacy. You don't like to be smothered. You love your partner unconditionally and don't try to make them change. You stay in love for a long time, even if you aren't loved back. When you fall, you fall hard. |
You May Be a Bit Histrionic... |
 Dramatic and over the top, you crave attention. And you'll do anything it takes to get noticed. You love to be seductive, even when it's inappropriate. If you're ignored, you're easily hurt ... and act out even more! |
You are the anti-hero, the near reverse of the ideal superhero. You walk a dangerous line between good and evil, more so than any other type of "hero," and in fact you can barely be called a hero at all. You get the bad guys using bad guy rules. Many other superheroes see you as a criminal, and may try to take you down. But that doesn't stop you from taking the law into your own hands. Examples: Punisher, Wolverine, Deadpool, Spawn.
| Link: The Superhero Archetype Test written by rhombusoval on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the The Dating Persona Test View My Profile(rhombusoval) |
Your score lands you somewhere in the neighborhood of Tom Petty. Still breaking hearts after all these years, Petty may not be as prominent as he was in the 80's - but he remains one of the true rock 'n' roll gods.
It's tough to peg Petty on the humility scale. As one of the last true rockers alive, he embodies the stomp and swagger that people usually associate with a rock and roll frontman - and he certainly knows his place in the pantheon. Even so, Petty avoids the self-aggrandizement that plagues other aging rock icons and instead prefers to speak from the sidelines as a still, small voice of reason. He approaches himself and his music with a self-deprecating sense of humor, and appears open and easy to talk to. He may be an icon, but he's one that most people wouldn't mind sharing a beer with. Your high humility scale suggests that you, like Petty, won't let your godhood go to your head.
As with his swagger, the vast majority of Petty's excess comes on stage - and even then it's almost entirely an excess of rock. He is a musician's musician, a songwriter's songwriter. You don't picture Petty on silk sheets surrounded by hundreds of groupies (although that might be true, for all I know) - nor do you imagine him riding in the back of a Hummer limo. He is a simple man. Your low excess score suggests that you, too, retain a down-to-earth style even though you could afford to purchase half of the boutique stores in Los Angeles.
If there's anything that Petty's lyrics overall encourage you to do, it's to think. He's not immune to having pure rocker moments in his music, but he has a lot of subjects he's very passionate about and that he's willing to approach through his art. Your high worldliness score suggests that you, like Petty, want your audiences not only to rock, but also to rock the vote. And their school board. And their town hall. And anything else where they can provoke positive change in the world.
| Link: The Rock Star Persona Test written by AlterVista on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the The Dating Persona Test View My Profile(AlterVista) |
Be prepared to have your life story shot entirely in New York City -- though lately Woody's been loving shooting in London. Also, your music soundtrack is all jazz from before 1949. Filmography: Annie Hall, Manhattan, Stardust Memories, Everyone Says I Love You, Match Point, Scoop, etc. Woody has released one film per year consistently for the past 35 years. For the past 15 years he's been trying to make films like his older, funnier ones, just like characters in his Stardust Memories film suggest throughout. Regardless of his personal life, his films are American classics.
| Link: The Director Who Films Your Life Test written by bingomosquito on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the The Dating Persona Test View My Profile(bingomosquito) |
EDIT: I love the convenience of having a camera with me at all times, but sometimes I take a ton of pics and forget what pics I took, and then I scroll back through them and realize I'd meant to post them. So here ya go.
I'm so sick of yogurt. EDITED TO ADD: Seriously, does this even look appetizing?? This is supposed to be Caramel Delight. Looks like poo.
I've been on antibiotics for about a month now, with the bronchitis and the strep. EDITED TO ADD: Check out the size of these fuckers.
When I originally picked up my prescription the pharmacist - a man - reminded me to eat a lot of yogurt while I was on the antibiotics because, as he put it,
"Ya don't wanna get a yeast infection..."
I even made him say it out loud again because I couldn't believe a GUY was trying to tell ME I didn't want to get a yeast infection. HELLO!??!! Of course I don't want to get a yeast infection.
Has HE ever had one? He doesn't even KNOW how much I don't want to get a yeast infection. He might have learned that in Pharmacy School, but I learned that shit in Girl School.
Plus, in Girl School graduation requirement Advanced Itchy Crotch 101 they taught us about the benefits of Cranberry Juice. Betcha didn't know that, dude.
Fortunately (I suppose), I've had too much going on to be sidelined by Feminine Itching. Last week was insane. R had taken several days off for various reasons. He took Monday off because that's the one day of the week that I am kid-free for a few hours in the morning, and it would be our last chance to spend a little time alone together for a while. And of course I was still sick that day, and not a whole lot of fun to be around.
Tuesday R worked and I was better enough to get through a typical Tuesday, hanging out with the boys in the morning and then getting Pie to school in the afternoon and then hanging out with Tito until everybody else gets home.
Wednesday I had agreed to help out at Beeb's Junior Achievement BizTown field trip. I got to work in the Print Shop EDITED TO ADD: with the woman (yes, woman) sporting the sexy denim suit in this picture, taken at another event.
She was totally checkin' me out. And so was this punkass kid:
But I honestly couldn't blame them. I'm smokin' hot.
Our stellar group made $97.55! Beeb was the CFO at Build-A-Bear Workshop, and it was a bit disturbing to see her lack of money management skills.
R took this day off so he could watch the boys while I was gone most of the day. And he spent four hours playing Star Wars Legos: The Complete Saga on Wii, at the request of Tito and Pie. Wednesday evening R and I went to pick up a Freecycled bunk bed for the boys. They LOVED it, and R was the hero of the day.
Thursday we didn't do a whole lot of anything except R went to Lowe's 3 times to pick up materials to build a kickass ladder for the aforementioned bunk bed and I went to lunch with KOFA Kevin. Later at home, the phone rang and it was my new best friend - the counselor from Beeb's school.
I didn't get a lot of the details, but apparently Beebie tried to strangle herself on the playground by tying her jacket around her neck on the swings after one of Beeb's friends dissed her for a boy. School policy is that if your kid tries to kill herself at school, you have to come and pick her up immediately, for her safety.
All I know is that the emotion behind it was her steadfast belief that EVERY girl in the fifth grade has a boyfriend except for her. Even just speaking mathematically, that's impossible. There are way more fifth grade girls than there are boys. And anyway, what are 10-year-olds doing with boyfriends? They can't drive. I'm not driving her and some boy to the mall and dropping her off for an hour or anything. Does she honestly think I'd even LET her have a boyfriend?
My initial reaction? As horrible as it is to say, I was pissed off. Insulted, even. Have I not done my job? I don't have the time or the energy or the financial resources to put into fixing her right now. And I really thought she was above all that - secure in herself and mature beyond her years. Seriously, after all that text messaging bullshit?
I had no idea what to do. I didn't want to say the wrong thing, I knew I couldn't be angry with her, so I asked the school counselor to refer me to someone Beeb could talk to. And guess what name the counselor give me? THERAPENNY. My therapist. What are the chances? Unbelievable.
Beebie, like every other 5th grade girl, believes that the reason why she doesn't have a boyfriend is because of her physical appearance. She wants me to let her shave her legs. I don't care, shave 'em, I said. But A) it's a total pain in the ass and once you start you can't ever stop and B) if think that once you shave your legs the boys are going to flock to you all of a sudden, you're going to be severely disappointed. But whatever, Beeb, if it makes you feel better about yourself, then be my guest. Shave your legs. Knock yourself out.
Thursday night was also the DARE (Say No To Drugs and whatnot) graduation where Beebie read her award-winning essay, which was on, of all things, rising above Peer Pressure. Poetic.
Friday night Beeb's Special Chorus sang the National Anthem at the Cardinals' game. Our seats were literally one row from the sky. But the view was really quite spectacular, as long as you don't mind not being able to read the names on the players' jerseys.
I think it's funny to argue balls and strikes from the Upper Upper Deck.
The Cardinals lost, but we had a good time. There was this dude in the row in front of us eating rolled-up slices of salami, talking to himself with his hand over his ear (like he was the radio announcer giving the play-by-play), and cheering wildly and incessantly, even when there was no action on the field. He was seriously weird.
At one point I had to pee reeeeeally bad, but I was afraid to get up because if anyone walked past him, he'd hold his hand up for a high five. I know it's ironic - I'll flash anyone driving down Highway DD, but I just will not high-five a stranger. Especially one I'd observed eating salami and licking his fingers for the last two hours. Gih. No, thanks.
You can see him in the background of this pic, about to give a high-five to some random person in the stands.
Saturday R had to work, Pie had a party to go to, and it was a magnificent day outside, so the kids and I met KOFA Kev and his absolutely adorable little girl at the park for a little while. Nice time. And Kev got some seriously sharp-lookin new glasses. Yowza.
Sunday we took the kiddos to Grant's Farm for beers number 3 and 4. I tried the Bud Light Lime. Gotta say, I'm not a fan. 
Seriously, how cute am I? EDITED TO ADD: Even the Clydesdales were turned on. Check it.
Later that afternoon, after much discussion, R and I reluctantly decided we'd go to Chez Inlaw next Saturday for their big Memorial Day shindig. I was hoping R would have to work and we'd be able to get out of it, but no such luck.
Anyway, we felt that our attendance would be a good move, politically. I hate that we have to think politically when it comes to the Inlaws, but whatever. I'm still pissed that FIL doesn't think I was sick. Perhaps more Germ Warfare Muffins soaked in rancid butter are in order.
Oh, and get this - I found out that when R and the kids were out there on Mother's Day, Beeb sent me a text message from R's phone, and FIL caught R checking it. He asked, "What, are you doing, sending Sarah a message???" Like, what the fuck business of yours anyway is it if my HUSBAND wants to send me a message to ask me how I'm feeling when I'm SICK AT HOME BY MYSELF WHILE MY HUSBAND AND KIDS ARE OUT THERE KISSING YOUR MISERABLE ASS ON MOTHER'S DAY, YOU FUCKING DOUCHE?
And R very, VERY foolishly brought up the fact that in the text message, Beeb had asked me to wax her eyebrow. She has the hereditary monobrow that I lived with until college because my mom never offered to wax it. FIL pounced on this instantly and got in Beeb's face, looking for the place Beeb wanted me to wax. "C'mere, lemme see... Do people even GET this close to you??" he asked her - totally all up in her grill. She was on the verge of tears, according to her. Last time we were out there, if you recall, he gave her a completely inappropriate amount of shit about her weight. No wonder the poor kid has such a fuckin complex about her appearance. Thanks a LOT, dick.
Mrs. Aldi had her back, in her signature completely half-assed manner... "Oh, it's a difficult age for girls..." And MIL, God love 'er, brought up Brooke Shields.
I was beyond FURIOUS at R, and I made him apologize to Beebie. R saw that this was really his fault for even bringing it up, and thank Christ I wasn't there, or I would have Torn. Shit. Up. Nobody will mess with my kid, or I will go into Mama Bear mode. Y'all have seen it. It ain't pretty.
Wanna know what I told Beeb to do if FIL ever hurts her feelings EVER, EVER again? I said, Beeb, he has NO idea how to deal with people's emotions. So if you tell him something he said or did hurt your feelings, he won't know what to do. He would be completely and utterly disarmed. He's clueless. So if he ever upsets you, just tell him that what he really hurt your feelings. And guess what? His brain would explode.
I almost hope he does something just so I can witness this.
I'm bored.
Not really. I'm just unmotivated.
And unapologetic, too. Nyah!
MIL called yesterday to see how I was feeling. And I'm actually feeling much better. I can't decide if I believe she called of her own volition because she actually cares, or if it was at the behest of FIL, calling to see if I sounded sick enough for him to buy my bogus tale. I suppose both could actually be true.
FIL would probably give Satan tips on how to run shit more efficiently down there.
Sigh.
So get this -
I didn't have to go out to Chez Inlaw.
HOW did I swing that, you ask? Easy.
A blazing case of Strep Throat.
I actually thanked God.
I got up at about 8, took a shower, dug through my panty drawer (smiling to myself as I pondered the fact that people all over the world knew exactly what pair of panties I'd be slipping into this morning), and looked at my throat in the bathroom mirror. My tonsils were white. That can't be good.
R told me to go to Urgent Care really quick so hopefully I could get some meds and be back in time to go out to Chez Inlaw. It was reminiscent of the time I had to pack all the kids into the Mazda and drive myself to the ER with a kidney infection on my birthday. Remember that? That's a classic PK tale.
I should mention that the day before, Tito had had a 103 fever and had been really lethargic so R took him to Urgent Care where he promptly threw up in the waiting room. So I was already trying to silently contain my joy when the possibility that I might not have to go out there after all originally surfaced with Tito being sick.
R called on his way home, however, announcing that Tito after a dose of Tylenol, Tito had had a miraculous recovery, and my hopes were all but dashed. Still, I wasn't feeling too stellar myself, and I mentioned to R that if I felt this icky tomorrow, I didn't think I'd go out. R pointed out that FIL probably wouldn't believe I was sick. FIL can suck it, for all I care. What's he want, for me to go out there, show him my paperwork and my perscription, spit in his iced tea and then sit back and gloat when he suddenly starts feeling sick too? WhatEVER.
When I thought about it, though, how totally pathetic is it that he thinks I'd feign illness to get out of going there? Does he sense how much people hate being around him? Does that just scream insecurity? Not that I'm above feinging illness or anything; I'd rather perform cataract surgery on myself with a rusty butter knife than spend a day out there, but shit, if I'm sick, I'm sick.
Screw you.
I kinda hoped that after remembering me home alone sick on Mother's Day it might actually dawn on them that Mother's Day is for ME too, and that their son is not only their son, he's also MY HUSBAND and MY KIDS' DAD (I'm pretty sure). God forbid my husband and kids stay home with ME on Mother's Day. No, no... you've had, what 40-something Mother's Days now? I've got my whole life ahead of me.
So, like I said, I drove myself to Urgent Care with my throat on fire and my whole body aching like I'd been beaten with a bat. R and I decided that if I wasn't out of there by 11, he'd take the kids out by himself. It worked out quite well, because at about 11 I got swabbed for the strep test and sure enough, I had it.
R asked me in a text message what meds I was getting, since he was pretty sure FIL would ask - and R was right. When he and the kids arrived, the first thing out of FIL's mouth was "So... anitbiotics for five days, then?" Dick.
R thought I should go out anyway because he knew FIL wouldn't buy it for a second, despite my having a contagious disease. Perhaps he was reacting to my saying how sorry I was that I wouldn't be able to go. I was really only sorry because I knew he'd miss me and of course I'd miss out on any Aldi shenanigans. And R said there were some good ones.
First of all, Aldigirl was forced to bring her homework out to Chez Inlaw. When FIL asked why they made her bring it out there (which I thought was kinda tacky, personally), Mrs. Aldi said, Well, she didn't do it on Friday, and then she didn't do it on Saturday... BE THE PARENTS, you spineless idiots. What was she doing Friday night and all day Saturday? COME ON.
But it turned out to be rather hilarious, according to R, because part of her homework was a word problem which went something like this:
You are in a marching band. Each row has 15 band members, and you are in the 9th row. How many band members are marching ahead of you?
Aldigirl's answer was 9.
It was a good thing I wasn't there because I TOTALLY would have made some delightfully catty comment about how this was some Halfwit Community College Marching Band and Aldigirl would be the one in the zebra-print leotard twirling a baton and catching it in her teeth while she turns a cartwheel and lands in the splits.
Reverend and Mrs. Aldi sat at the kitchen table and picked this word problem apart as only they could. Really kinda sad when the two of them combine their brainpower. It's like they're rubbing two wet noodles together, trying to get a spark. Unbefuckinlievable.
Well, it's really not cleeeeeear what they're aaaaaasking in the quehhh-stion... are they asking how many members are directly in front of you? Maaaaaybe... I dunnooooo... that would make sense, though, I mean, wouldn't it? Maaaaaybe... I dunnooooo... Yeah, I'd say 8, wouldn't you? I think so. Because the arrrrrrgument could logically be made... .
GOOD GOD!!! Ok, yeah, perhaps you have a valid point, but read over the rest of the homework to get a sense of what concept they're trying to promote here. Is it How To Spot A Trick Question? Or could it possibly be BASIC FOURTH GRADE MULTIPLICATION? I'm so glad I wasn't there. I would have had to leave the room so I could giggle and pee my pants in privacy.
And Aldiboy also made an appearance as he ate one of the chocolate pumpkin muffins I made the night before. Aldiboy shoved an entire muffin in his mouth while jumping up and down on the sofa and chanting Cupcake! Cupcake for ME!!
Now that I think about it, I licked my fingers a couple of times as I spooned the batter into the muffin cups. We'll see if FIL starts believing I'm sick within the next day or two.
So, all in all, it was one of the better Mother's Days in recent history. I stayed in bed, the house was quiet, I watched baseball and drifted in and out of consciousness. Plus I got my card for my mom in the mail in plenty of time for it to arrive on Saturday. All was well with the world.
The kids really didn't do much for me and I didn't care. Beeb wrote me a poem which she affixed to a piece of construction paper, and then she drew a pickle at the top and the bottom of the paper. AND - she dipped her finger in pickle juice and dabbed it onto the pickles she had drawn, for added realism. Sick, twisted, warped, demented and wrong, but kinda brilliant, no?
I had to applaud her, honestly. That's totally something I would do just to mess with somebody. Brava, Beebie.
I know you're dying to hear how I'm going to spend my Mother's Day Weekend. I have a history of shitty Mother's Days, in case you've forgotten. There are a few Mother's Day Malaise stories under Archival Highlights in the sidebar.
I hate Mother's Day. I don't hate my mother or anything, it's one day of forced gratitude making up for the other 364 of being taken for granted. It's the greeting card and flower companies capitalizing on guilt. And of course, it's the fact that I'm expected to spend the day at the one place I least want to be on a day where I'm supposed to get to do whatever I want. Sunday we're going out to Chez Inlaw. I'm planning to stress out about it all day Saturday. Those are my weekend plans. Jealous?
Today was the Mother's Day Tea at Tito's school. One of the things the kids do for the moms is that they draw a picture of their mom, and then they come up with three things about their mom which are clues so each mom can try to figure out which picture is of them (since it's not always easy to tell which stick figure is supposed to be you). If you remember, last year Pie drew me with the biggest smile of all the moms. I loved it. Here's what Tito said about me:
My mom buys me bagels.
My mom makes cakes, and sometimes she makes them wrong.
My mom loves to get lipstick.
The part about making cakes wrong is how I knew instantly it was me. My cakes are always lopsided and overcooked on top. But it's still cake, isn't it?
I know I suck at cakes, yet for some reason I can handle amorphous cupcakes rather well. My new favorite recipe is to combine a devil's food cake mix and a can of pumpkin (nothing else), spoon into cupcake tins, and bake at 400 for 20 minutes. Try it.
And yes, I love to get lipstick.
Here's my favorite thing about Mother's Day:
You did it! You aced the quiz! You scored the best possible score (unless I made an error in my calculations). You know the film, and probably the play too! Vengence is yours
| Link: The How well do you know Sweeney Todd, the movie? Test written by Galadriel_3_200 on OkCupid, home of the The Dating Persona Test View My Profile(Galadriel_3_200) |
Get this.
On Saturday, my phone rang and R answered it. You know how you try to read someone's face when they're on the phone? R was kinda making the Holy Shit face.
It seems that Beebie was part of a group that was picking on a Second Grade boy on the bus. His mother was calling to let us know. She said that Beeb wasn't the worst of them, but that she was one of the three girls that were calling him gay and retarded.
OH, HELL NO.
R was LIVID. So was I, really. After all she'd been through?
Come on, Beeb.
Beeb was at a birthday party at the time, and R wanted to go make a scene and embarrass the hell out of her so she'd know better than to pull that shit again, EVER.
Cooler heads prevailed. I told him to give her a chance to 'splain. Because it's entirely possible that that little boy might have left out some big part of the story that would have exposed his own culpability. So we waited for Beeb to come home and confronted her.
Turns out I was right. Homeboy and another of his friends were calling the girls shitbags first. Doesn't make it right, sure, but seriously not cool. So R expressed his extreeeeeeeme disappointment, not because she had done the wrong thing but because she had not done the RIGHT thing and stopped it. She wrote a letter to the little boy apologizing. I better not EVER hear of her picking on ANYBODY again.
Today, my home phone rang. Out of area, I'm not gonna answer it. Then my cell phone rang. Ok, anyone who has both numbers is probably someone I should talk to.
Guess who it was?
The Church Nazi.
OH, HELL NO.
Telling me in her chipper yet strangely cold voice that there's a note on my paperwork that I hadn't paid for Summer PSR yet. And if I need ... an extension ... "then the procedure is to speak to the priest and explain your situation and then the priest will let us know how to proceed."
Um, ok...
It's really not a big deal, you know, as long as Father knows you from seeing you at Mass...
YOU BITCH.
So I told R about this conversation and the twatty barb she shot at me, and here's what I said next:
YOU are going to have to handle this, Honey, because I swear to you, if I have to go in there and beg the priest to please, please let us go to PSR so my kids can go to Heaven, I WILL NOT BE PLEASANT. I WILL GO OFF. IT WILL BE UGLY. THERE WILL BE BLOOD. WE WILL BE EXCOMMUNICATED. I PROMISE YOU.
And he said he's going to handle it.
Damn right. I ain't touchin' that.
And today I met Anti-Stella for lunch at McDonald's so we could snark while the boys ran crazy. And check out the burger they gave me after I specifically asked for PLAIN and specifically specified that by PLAIN I meant Burger, Cheese, Bun, lest they think by Plain Quarter Pounder with Cheese I mean leave off the cheese (in which case I would have said Plain Quarter Pounder WITHOUT Cheese, geniuses):
OH, HELL NO.
Gih!!!! Pickles. I have an aversion to pickles.
Have I mentioned this?
Normally, when I'm in the drive thru in my Odyssexy, I can smell the pickles instantly and hand the shit right back, but this time my sniffer was kinda thrown off by the fact that I was actually inside the restaurant. Still, as I carried it on the tray back to the table, I could sense that something was amiss.
The situation was quickly rectified, and Anti-Stella and I were able to converse in the (relative to our daily lives) tranquility of the Play Place. I told her about the time R got wedged between the waterbed and the wall and I laughed so hard I threw up. She told me about the time her toddler bit her husband in the junk (through the pants and the boxers, he wasn't naked, as I'd originally assumed, for some reason) and two hours later there was still a visible bite mark on it. No, I didn't see the bite mark, I mean, I did in my mind's eye and I'm gonna have to live with that visual for a while.
Anti-Stella had an idea that I'm kicking around.
First of all, she wants to meet Kev. And who wouldn't? I so want those two to meet each other. So I thought it would be fun to invite Anti-Stella and her crew and Kev and his little girls over for barbecue or dessert or something sometime.
Anti-Stella thinks we should invite Swamp Thing and Spawn of Swamp Thing too.
She thinks it would be funny to watch me trying to maintain my polite, nonconfrontational demeanor while seething inside. If I were viewing it from the outside, yeah, it probably would be funny as hell.
And I'm tempted, just for the sheer bloggability of it. I am THAT devoted to you, my vast readership. But it could get nasty. If she goes near my closets, for example.
OH, HELL NO.
Happy Cinquo De Mayo (and a belated Happy B'day to KOFA Kev)!
While the rest of you are drinking Corona and Margaritas, I'll be mourning the loss of one of my favorite forms of entertainment:
Dear LoveHappens member,
After much consideration we have decided to end the LoveHappens service. You may continue to use LoveHappens until May 31, 2008.
After May 31, 2008 you will no longer have access to LoveHappens.
We hope you enjoyed using LoveHappens as much as we enjoyed making it for you and we wish you love and success in the future.
The LoveHappens Team
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
LoveHappens was my primary source of Wookin Pa Nub Wednesday fodder. What's Wookin Pa Nub Wednesday, you ask? (insert nostalgic sigh) Well, it's something silly I used to do on my blog just to give myself and my readers a little giggle.
I'd search the personals for people with strange or unusual pictures or descriptions of themselves on their profiles, and then I'd thank the good lord that I was officially out of any dating pool that these folks are swimming in. Yes, it's totally bitchy; I've been told that more than once. But somehow, it always made me feel like a goddess.
I haven't done it for a really long time, though. No real reason why. I mean, it's a labor of love and I thoroughly enjoyed putting it together whenever I did it. I started doing it when I was still kinda trying to find the voice of my blog and back then I had a different topic for each day of the week, just to see which one felt the most natural for me to talk about. I'd talk about TV, Blogstalking assignments (another wagon I've fallen off of), and I forget what my other regular topics were, but WPN Wednesday was by far the most popular and the most fun.
I think what happened was that I didn't want to wait until the designated day to talk about something, and then I'd forget by the time the day came around. I was trying to help myself focus and give myself ideas for what to blog about on days that weren't particularly blogworthy, and instead I limited myself. I like my blog the way it is now, when I can just vent about pretty much whatever I'm dealing with. And I'm glad you guys read it.
Right now what I'm dealing with is a gnawing sense of guilt. I feel partly responsible for the untimely demise of LoveHappens through my neglect. I should have kept doing WPN Wednesdays. Perhaps I could have singlehandedly saved it.
So, kids, to clear my conscience, here is a big fat dose of WPN. I didn't want to wait until Wednesday. Ready? I might be a little rusty, but here we go.
Ok, the first two go out to the knitters. The knitters I know would know better than this, but if you're a new knitter and you're really excited to make something, please, please, please, don't make a Fun Fur Scarf. For anyone. Especially not a guy. 
I choose to assume that the knitter that created this intended it for someone other than him and that HE is the dork who decided to put it on, but then again if you're making Fun Fur scarves in the first place, there's no telling.
Now, if you wanna knit THIS guy a scarf to keep his neck warm, bear in mind that it's gonna take you a long, long time. 
This guy's got almost as much cleavage goin' on as I do. ALMOST.
Oh, if this isn't a Sexual Harrassment lawsuit just waiting to happen...
The thought that some creepy perv's nekkid ass has been sitting on it is EXACTLY why I'll never buy a sofa off of Craigslist. Gih!!
And for the guys:
Now, why can't Glamour Shots find THIS nice girl...
Instead of this one.
Or this one.
The cousins got together and came up with a perfect plan to take Grandma off their hands... a personal ad. She'll either fall madly in love or she'll meet a psycho killer; either way, they won't have to take her ass to Bingo anymore.
Check out her rack... on the wall. Yes, guys, she's got a camoflage bikini and I'm pretty sure she's licking that gun. 
She kinda looks like somebody with a mouth full of chocolate pudding sneezed on her. And don't miss the Andy Rooney eyebrows. Honey, one word. TURTLENECK.
Yeah, I'm gonna miss LoveHappens. (sniffle)
In which I establish myself as THE person to call upon for entertainment when you're stuck in an airport for a long layover.
Kevin (King Of Fuckin Awesome, in case you'd forgotten) was recently stuck at LAX with three hours to kill before he got to hop a prop place to Reno for some work-related training thing.
Dude, you're in LA, I said. There's no better people watching anywhere, except maybe at the Pevely Flea Market.
Then Kev sent me this picture of this unfortunate chick in denim shorts and inexplicable red high heels. 
And it was on. I challenged Kevin to snap a pic of someone in camo. I don't know why camo immediately leapt to mind, but it did. And it took a little while, but he found some camo shorts.
Next I told him to take a picture of a bald guy. I gave him bonus points for the Hawaiian shirt.
Finding someone on a laptop to take a pic of was too easy.
I didn't think to ask for a ukelele, but Kev found one. 
The same dude returned later as Kev's "Find a kid with a stuffed animal" submission.
Up next - a woman wearing a hat. Kev said she was TOTALLY checkin him out. Whatever.
I asked for a Double Stroller, but this was the best Kev could do. Slacker!
We had to quit before he found someone in a Lakers shirt. But he did meet my challenge to take a pic of someone walking barefoot, which impressed me. R had the idea to get Kev take a pic of a pilot in uniform at a bar, but KOFA was unwilling to go back through Security. Pussy!!!!
There were pictures of other things, too. Like a girl in a Spartan helmet. A dude in a beret (I think it was a dude). Goofy ears from Disneyland. Other stuff I can't remember. It was a pretty fun game.
Penultimately, Kevin sent a pic of the actual prop plane he was about to board, and I just couldn't bear to post it because I didn't want to look at it again. It made me all sweaty and nauseous, just the thought of it. Ugh. I don't particularly like to fly anyway, but those little bitty planes freak me out SOOO bad. Seriously, if I won some fantastic trip to some place I'd always wanted to go and they told me I had to ride in one of those things - or worse, a helicopter - I'd say, no thanks. Really.
But he made it! Machines at the Reno airport. Hot. 
You probably already know better than to read my blog at work or when your kids are around, but for the benefit of my newer readers -
Don't play this if you're at work. Or if your kids are listening.
