Stupid Things People Say #19029379003081209371987

People say the most idiotic things to you while you're pregnant, but I may have the one that takes the cake.

A little background...my son was born via emergency c-section. So this new baby will be delivered via planned c-section. And yes, we do have a date. May 9.

I thought about trying a VBAC (vaginal birth after C, for those not in the know)for about two seconds. Then I remembered how harrowing my first experience was. And I spoke to my doctor, who made me feel good about my decision to deliver via C. I know that some women like to try, but for me, I just feel better about safety, for both me and the babe, going with the C. I'm not too keen on my uterus bursting during a contraction.

So, in short, yay for people who want to give natural a try after C, but it's not for me, and it's my decision.

And with that I'll hop off of my soapbox.

So, back to the asinine things people say...

Back in December during a holiday gathering (and I can't believe I didn't think to write about this until now), I was talking to a family member and they asked when I was due. I told them the estimated date, but also that we'd pick the date for the C. He didn't know I'd had an emergency C with G.

He made some comment about how that sucks (he's REALLY articulate) and I agreed, but jokingly said, 'At least I don't have to go through labor again.' And let me just say, if I could, I would have my children naturally. I've beat myself up over it, and struggled with many feelings of failure after my first attempt.

And he looks at me, dead serious, and says 'Well, that's cheating.'

Most of the time, I'd take that kind of comment as a joke. But if you knew this guy, and that he has no capacity for sarcasm and that he probably thinks facetious has something to do with the temperament of a dog, I knew he was not at all joking.

Yeah, I pretty much wanted to kick him in his ignorant nuts.

Because he is married to someone who has NO tolerance for pain, got an epidural at 2 centimeters dilated and basically sneezed her children out.

Because he's telling me I'M CHEATING BY HAVING MAJOR ABDOMINAL SURGERY.

Seriously.

SERIOUSLY.

You can't make this stuff up.

We're only related by marriage. We're only related by marriage. My children do not have any of his genes.

And that is a huge relief.

Pat, I'd like a F for $1000.

This is probably not what my mom intended when she sent these magnets to my son.


But it pretty much sums up my week. Hoping it gets better.

B to the ORED

I am bored. Bored. Bored. Bored.

Don't get me wrong. There's plenty to do. Plenty of stuff that's no fun. Like organizing and cleaning and laundry and such.

The last six months have been filled with so many highs and lows and things to look forward to (and things that I dreaded) that now I'm just all funned/sadded out. (Do you like how I make up words as I go? Yes, nice work, English major. But let's face it. I graduated almost 10 years ago and that good old degree has not been put to much use. )

So I guess I've turned into somewhat of an addict. An addict who needs something to look forward to - anticipation is my crack. For a long time, I had travel and a race to dream about. Now? Well, for a few months, nada. I do have a wedding to attend in September, very excited about that...but it's in September. I need something NOW. (Megan, can you move the wedding up a few months? KTHANKS!)

Then, after the wedding...uh, Christmas? And if you know how I feel about the holiday season, well, not so much.

I know, a lot of people are telling me HAVE A BABY!

Which is a really good idea, you know, having a kid cause you're bored? Yeah. I like it.

Having a baby is not off the table, but you know, even if I got pregnant today (AND I'M NOT, even if the guy at Costco thinks I look it) , I'd have to wait nine months. Actually, ten. 40 weeks = 10 months.

And then some other people are like, hey, run a marathon. Well. Hmmm. No thanks. The training that goes into a marathon is just not something that would fly around this house. Bye honey, I need to go on five hour training run, catch ya later! Um, no. I do like to see my husband, you know, every once and a while.

Plus? After seeing all the poop carnage during my half? Holy crap. For reals. Those porta-johns would have made a sewage worker cringe.

So yeah, bored. Inspired? Yes. Motivated. No. Not such a great combination.

What to do? Any suggestions are welcome. Except those ideas from the effing spammers, who still think I'm into some kinky stuff.

And Blogger, why in the hell does word verification not work? I'm going to cheat on you with Wordpress, I swear.

Spam Belongs in a Can, Not in My Comments.

I need some help, users of Blogger!

I get the WORST spam in my comments. I won't even tell you what it is because I swear when I talk about it, more of them come and spam me - I will just say that it has to do with young women of Asian descent scantily (or not) clad. It is driving me absolutely insane.

For a long time, I blogged here and didn't turn on the word verification in the comments because, let's face it, I don't get a ton of comments and word verification is a further deterrent.

But, after dealing with all the garbage I've been finding in my comments, I figured anyone who is truly interested in commenting would put up with the hassle.

And that the spammers would not. WRONG.

No, for some reason, the damn spammers are not only patient with word verification, they are verified blogger users.

So, if anyone out there who reads this has any advice for getting rid of the creepy commenters, please say so in the comments.

I'm begging you!

A Few Notes on Facebook

My name is Heather and I'm a Facebook addict.

But over the last few years of using it, certain things have gotten under my skin. Here are a few:

* Do not post creepy, suggestive things as your status to your spouse and then go back and forth with naughty banter. That's what text messaging is for. I don't need to know how you 'can't wait for the hot tub this weekend, wink wink' or anything of the sort. I'm not kidding. You just made me throw up in my mouth.

* While I'm impressed that you pressed a button and joined a group, or cut and pasted and reposted a status about how you hate/support [fill in the blank], that doesn't mean you've actually DONE anything. Once and a while, fine, and hooray for showing support for X cause. But once in a while, it's good to put your money (or time) where your status is and actually do something. And yes, I'm completely targeting this at one person. And I'm pretty sure she doesn't read this. Whoops if she does.

* Those applications who are supposed to tell you who is looking at your profile? Yeah, pretty sure they don't work. And if they do, it's probably not something you want to know. That hot guy from college? He's not looking. The guy who wrote you lame poems that were totally copied lyrics from The Cure? More likely.

*Doppleganger week? Wishful thinking for most. I did have a friend who was dead on (ANDREA. Good call on Fairuza Balk!). I'm guilty too. I look like Elisabeth Shue...in an alternate universe.

* Please post at least ONE photo of yourself somewhere in your profile. Your shots of your kids are precious, and I really love that one of your dog dressed up like Yoda, but I like to see a face - YOUR face especially because I'm not sure I know you.

* There is this one guy who friended me over a year ago. For the life of me, I can't remember him. I have chatted with other friends who have accepted his friend request too, and they can't place him either. No photos, no identifying information. Never updates status. Why do you have a Facebook account if all you do with it is join groups/take quizzes? I'm kind of creeped out by the fact that you joined the 'I Love Morning Sex' group. That's nice. Thanks for sharing. Plus, there is no photo of you. Are you real?

* For the love of God, before you repost things about Facebook being a pay site, or that someone by the name of 'X' is really a pedophile trying to get pictures of your kids - check Snopes.com. Great site, and can really save you from looking like a jackass. Has saved MY ass many a time.

* If someone you know is pregnant (or has other personal news) - LET THEM BE THE ONE TO LET THE CAT OUT OF THE BAG. Maybe they want to wait till they're out of the first trimester. Maybe they haven't told other people in their life that will be hurt they didn't hear it directly from the source.

* Status updates about poop, pee or any other bodily function are always hilarious.

What drives you bonkers about Facebook behavior?

Satan Shoes

We've been back from Vegas for almost two days now. I still don't know what day it is or where I am.

And no, it's not because I got super wasted (seriously, I didn't), or partied my ass off. No. No, everyone, it is because, officially, I am now old and boring.

There, I said it.

We were in Vegas for thirty six hours and just BEING there has completely thrown me off kilter.

I do have to cut myself a little slack - we flew out of Seattle at 6 am, which meant we had to leave our house at 3:30 am. And I couldn't get to sleep the night before till about midnight. So, we arrived in Vegas on about three hours sleep. Bad idea. Note to self - do not sleep deprive yourself BEFORE hitting the party capital of the world. Just saying.

When we arrived at our hotel (the Stratosphere, LAME, but more on that later) it was 9 am. And we were informed we could not check in till 3 pm. Six hours to kill. We left our bags with the bell desk and set off on foot to the Consumer Electronic Show. (by the way, we had to clarify WHICH convention we were in town for - there was also a huge porn awards show/convention in town - more on that later too).

The Consumer Electronics Show? SO FREAKING COOL.

LOOK:



The best part of the show, for me at least, were the 3-D televisions. Except the glasses you have to wear. They're very Buddy Holly. Which is okay, if you're Buddy Holly.

We hung at the show for a while, then walked and walked and walked. And walked. It was at this point that we decided we'd be taking taxis because walking in Vegas sucks. Outside, we had to navigate crazy traffic and a zillion pedestrian bridges - and the weather was pretty cool. Inside, we ended up walking in circles and getting hopelessly lost in the casinos.

Around 3:00 we returned to our hotel, which was at the VERY VERY END of the strip. With no free shuttle. We took a nap, had some snacks, and got ready for a night on the town.

I had picked up a great LBD before we left town and grabbed a strappy pair of silver heels out of the closet - I'd worn them in a wedding when I was pregnant, and I didn't recall them being uncomfortable...

[The shoes in question]


WRONG. Oh. My. Actual. Lord. About an hour in to walking around casinos looking for a fun place to have drinks and dinner, I was actually considering taking them off and walking around barefoot IN VEGAS where godknowswhat is on the ground. My feet hurt THAT BAD. We went to Walgreens looking for moleskin/cushions/painkillers. We dropped $30 on foot comfort paraphernalia (B's feet hurt too).

Did it work?

Heck no. Not even close. I was pretty much convinced my little toes were going to be severed by one of the straps of the Satan shoes.

Not to mention that the dress I wore must have looked like something the porn stars were wearing because we were invited to a party hosted by Ron Jeremy.

Here's the dress...I don't know. Maybe if I were wearing Lucite heels? (sorry for the photo quality - my old camera croaked and I don't have a handle on the new one yet - or maybe it's from that yard long daiquiri in the right of the shot).

Thinking back, we totally should have gone to the Ron Jeremy party. THAT would have been a story, for sure.

Anyhow, the night went on, and I was getting desperate about the imminent toe severing and or rage I was about to enter over the excruciating pain. We were walking out of the Bellagio (where we'd JUST MISSED the fountain show) when I saw it...

AN OPEN STORE. Urban Outfitters. Once inside, it was a veritable shoe mecca. I wanted to make out with the cashier who gave me a knowing nod when I rushed up to the register with a pair of flip flops and volunteered to take the tags off for me.

[The shoes sent from Heaven]


I felt like a new woman! I could have partied all night!

But instead, we played a little video poker, had some drinks, went back to the hotel and watched Zombieland (cool film, by the way).

WE ARE SO OLD AND BORING.

The next day, more CES, more video poker, and we flew home at 8 pm. We both missed our kiddo so much. He, of course, was just fine with us gone. Typical.

I wish I had some fabulous, exciting Vegas story, but hey - I'm a pretty low key gal. I can live with that.

I cannot, however, live with the lady who spread out potty pads all over the public bathroom in the airport and was trying to coax her little dog into pooping. True story. In the human bathroom. I guess it's probably necessary before a flight - but really? REALLY?

I wish I'd snapped a picture of THAT.

Feats of Strength and Endurance

If you have a toddler or have ever cared for a toddler - or even just observed a toddler - you know they are crazy unending founts of energy. As a mother of a 'busy' child, I more than fully understand the phrase 'run ragged'.

A while back I was chasing my monkey around and was thinking there should be some kind of official competition for moms. Especially since it seems that every playgroup/family gathering/et cetera has some mom who seems to completely have her poop together.

I want to see HER under pressure.

I want to put a bunch of moms in a competition and make them actually PROVE their parenting prowess.

This matching of wits and wrangling shall be called - wait for it - the Mamalympics.

Some potential events?

- Getting toys out of packaging. There is a special place in hell for whoever is responsible for twisting for all five hundred of those little ties in those Little People sets. Necessary? Really? As my cousin's wife called said, it must be a prison job.

- Carrying a diaper bag, all the groceries and a child all at once. Whoever can get everything from the car to the house in one trip wins.

- Eating dinner while simultaneously doing ninja hands to protect your food. No distracting child with a sticker book or a favorite tv show. The evening news must be on the television.

- Diaper change for speed and accuracy. Children will be fed a fiber heavy diet prior to this event. A pee pee only diaper is an instant disqualification.

- Cleaning the entire house during nap time. Two hours to clean as much as you can, laundry, prep dinner, crochet. Or, you can sit on your computer like I do.

What would your event be in the Mamalympics?

The Post Office Made Me Cry

Did you know that you can't ship a teensy little bottle of cologne via USPS Priority?

Well, I didn't.

So, after waiting in line for half an hour at the Post Office, with G-Rex in full destructo mode (by this I mean I picked up a million return receipt and customs slips, which were SO CONVENIENTLY placed right in toddler reach) , I made it to the front of the line. I was completely prepared - package taped up tight and addressed, everything in order. The postal worker lady asked me if I had anything fragile.

'Yes, just a bottle of cologne, but it should be okay, it's in bubble wrap.'

'Oh, you're going to have to take that out.'

'What?'

Come to find out perfume/cologne can't go on airplanes. I called UPS and they wouldn't do it either. I wonder how Sephora and Macy's ship fragrance? They must have a special license or something.

So, here I was, a sweaty mess, but SO VERY CLOSE to having most of my Christmas tasks done - I just needed to ship gifts up to my brother and his girlfriend in Alaska.

Now I need a Plan B. And a tranquilizer. I totally cried when I got into the car. So frustrating.

So, two lessons learned today:

1) Do not take a toddler to the post office unless you want a full upper body workout and a nervous breakdown.

2) Honesty is not always the best policy. If I hadn't said anything, my package would be on it's merry little way to Alaska. Take note, kids.

Adventures with Gas (Not the Methane Kind)

This morning started out beautifully. We were all in a good mood. G-Rex had a huge breakfast and was happily drinking milk out of a sippy.

B called and needed me to bring his laptop to work, which is about 35 minutes south of our home. Lucky for him (and me), I was planning on heading down that direction already. I had to pick up my Christmas cards from Costco, plus see if they have any flea medication because darn it all if Carl didn't pick up fleas at the kennel (so of course Sadie and all the cats will get them now too).

I loaded G into the car and immediately noticed the fuel light was on. No worries, quick stop and we'd be off.

The gas station was super crowded, but I got the last pump. Score!

I put about ten bucks in, thinking I'd fill the rest of the way up at Costco. I made faces at G-Rex through the window as I was pumping the gas. He was yelling 'Mommy funny!'

Then it happened.

I went to pull the pump out of my tank and the handle stuck. GAS STARTED SPRAYING EVERYWHERE. All over the side of the car, all over the ground, ALL OVER ME.

Oh yeah. Jeans? Soaked. Sweate? Gassy as hell.

I managed to stop the spraying, and surveyed the damage. I was COVERED. I put the pump back in the holster, fastened my gas cap and said a bunch of bad words before I got back into the car with my little mimic.

I was about halfway to B's work. I didn't want to go home. It would interfere with any possible midday nap. So, I decided to hit the next clothing store I saw and buy some pants. I had a t-shirt on under my sweater, so even though I'd freeze my boobies off, at least I'd be covered.

TJ Maxx was the first place I saw. I got G-Rex out of the car and hoisted him to my hip, where he proceeded to lean backwards and arch.

I ran to the rack with the sweats, knowing full well I wouldn't be able to try anything on. I figured I could deal with small, medium, large and elastic or drawstring waists without too much worry about fit.

I snatched a pair of brown fleece sweatpants. Which actually were not too hideous. Up to the checkout we went, G-Rex hanging precariously from the crook of my arm by his armpits.

And damn it all if they didn't have a bunch of toys right at child level at the checkout. There is a special place in hell for whomever designs these retail displays. For real. Within one millisecond, the trucks were spotted.

'Twuckeeee! Twuckeeeeeee!'

G-Rex turned into a full on eel child, somehow managing to dislodge all his bones and slide out of my grip.

I grabbed his hand and pulled him next to me.

And all hell broke loose. I'm pretty sure the rest of the people in the store thought I was beating my child.

Did I mention I smelled like I bathed in gasoline? Seriously, if anybody had lit a cigarette within 10 feet of me, it would have been all over.

Three people in front of me and one inept cashier later, we were back in the car. G-Rex with huge crocodile tears pouring forth, screaming so shrilly that he's literally going hoarse. Me, with my jeans off, wiggling into my new sweats. Wadding up the petro-jeans and sweater and stuffing them into the TJ Maxx bag which absolutely reeks like some god awful potpourri.

Potpourri, gasoline and a screaming toddler.

Yes, I do have a headache. Why do you ask?

Lunch, coffee and a laptop were delivered to B.

And we did make it through Costco fairly unscathed. No flea medication, but they do sell stamps. No post office for me, whoopee!

But I did have to walk through Costco wearing fleece sweats that were a bit too short, Uggs, and a white, sweaty t-shirt.

My kid, however, looked pristine.

Funny how that happens.

D.O.N.E.

I may have sort of had an epiphany last night. Truthfully, it went more like this: my husband kind of forced me into one. In a good way, I suppose. There were a lot of things said that were difficult to hear, but I NEEDED TO LISTEN.

I've been struggling these last few months with people in my life doing things that I perceive as wrong. Or stupid. Or downright reprehensible. All these feelings have burrowed deep and started rotting my insides. I am turning into something I never wanted to be - a truly angry, bitter person. Someone who is skeptical and mistrusts even good intentions.

I am turning into the people I have been trying desperately to help, who in turn have continued with their utterly selfish lives. I have literally spoonfed them solutions. Made contacts with social workers who can help them. Tried to offer sensible advice to some of the most irrational humans with whom I've ever had contact.

Truthfully? The way I feel? It terrifies me. I have never been an upbeat person, per se, but what I feel myself becoming? Not good. This feeling of ugliness has been tugging at me for at least a month. What I've been exposed to? Some of the stories I've heard? All of the hatefulness? Like a cobweb, it sticks to you and is disgusting. You flail around and can't shake it off.

Then you get sucked in. Even if you don't want to get in the middle, there you are. Two months ago, I made a decision with the very best intentions. Last night I was told that I had bit off more than I could chew. That some people, no matter how hard you try, will never change. That I never had a chance. Boy, truer words were never spoken.

Today, I know that all of my care and sacrifice was for naught. I was used. I feel gross. I FEEL ANGRY.

I know the problem. Now to remove it. After this week ends, I have a decision to make. I have to protect myself and my family. I have to mentally purge and try to see good again.

Whatever it takes, I will do it. I know how I do NOT want to be. I can control how I go through life. I choose to put these people and this ugliness behind me.

The band-aid, it's coming off.

Halloweenie

I love Halloween. But every. single. year. I put off creating a costume till the last minute.

This year is no different.

Now, I need to come up with something by Friday night, for my husband's work party. I am at a total loss.

I've never been big on the 'sexy' costumes. As in, naughty nurse, slutty police officer - you know, the unfortunate standards. I prefer something silly or witty.

The last time I officially dressed up, I was 'THAT' bridesmaid at the reception: you know, dress ripped and on backwards, messed up hair, missing a shoe, cried off makeup, carrying a wine bottle with a straw and the crushed bridal bouquet I hip checked the other women to catch.

I've been Sporty Spice (yes, my friends were the other Spice Girls). I've been a Fairy Princess, complete with a wand, huge poufy skirt, wings and glitter to throw at people (cause THAT isn't annoying).

My best costume ever? Probably in the fourth grade when I dressed up as an old lady - saggy boobs, one of my Grandma's old shift dresses, a gray bun, glasses on the tip of my nose. It was exquisite.

So. What should I be? I NEED HELP. AND QUICK.

And, what was your best costume ever?

Line Curse

I think there should be an award for ALWAYS choosing the wrong line at the store. And if such an award already exists, I would like to officially nominate myself.

Scenario 1: At Babies r' Us and feeling pretty chipper because my child has not yet thrown a tantrum or hit/pinched/bit me. I spy a line that is only one person deep, which is pretty amazing for a Saturday afternoon. I hop in line. And wait. And wait. Turns out the women in front of me are trying to use expired coupons. And they do not speak English very well. And they are being very rude to the cashier. Ten minutes and two manager calls later, they're finally done and it's my turn. About halfway through MY checkout, they PUSH IN FRONT OF ME and accuse the checker of charging them twice for a pack of diapers. The poor checker is almost in tears and my kid is starting to shriek.
After the they were finally convinced to go to customer service, I rolled my eyes at them for the checker's benefit. I hope it helped.

Scenario 2: At the grocery store. Holding my child with one arm underneath his armpits as he has turned into a human noodle and is trying to escape. Again, the line is only one person deep - but don't you know I get behind the woman who is pissed because the butcher did not open up her jumbo package of chicken breast cutlets, AND REWRAP EACH CUTLET INDIVIDUALLY.
What what what WHAAAAT? Okay, I completely understand not wanting to touch raw chicken, it can be kind of gross. But come on. Sometimes I wish I could get my kid to pinch/hit/bite adults who are behaving badly. Wouldn't THAT be the party trick?

I want to also point out that this was my only time out of the house with just the kid this week. Note to self: Babies r' US and the grocery mid-day on a Saturday do not equal relaxation. Good to know.

So Much To Say

One of the craziest things about blogging (for me, at least) is that I find that I have to censor myself. A lot. You probably don't believe me...

No, I really do. Because YOU NEVER KNOW WHO READS.

So, I'm in a situation right now that I'm just dying to spout off about. Like, seriously. I am so pissed off I could just punch someone in the neck. Not randomly, I do have someone in particular in mind.

But I can't. And it sucks. Not just because venting would make me feel so much better, but it would probably be the best damn post I've ever written because I'M SO AMPED UP right now. Like I've had 20 cups of coffee in 20 minutes.

Realistically, I'm probably having a panic attack. Fluttery heart, sweaty palms...uh yeah.

I'll leave it at this...just when I think that people can't possibly be any more selfish and horrid, well, they just have to go and do something that blows the lid off.

(Just so's not to be ominous, if you're really dying to know, email me and I'll fill you in.)

That is all for now. I wish I had a heavy bag right about now, to punch the hell out of. But I will try to be very zen about this and go make myself some tea.

Assault with a Deadly Grocery Cart

I don't know what it is with me and Costco, but the lamest things happen to me there. Like getting stalked for a parking space.

This latest episode took place on Friday afternoon, and it's been weighing heavily on my mind ever since. I just had a few things to pick up, but for once, I wasn't in a huge hurry. And by hurry I mean my child wasn't screaming 'CAAAADDOOOOOO' (avocado) or 'BOOOKKKEEEEEE' (book, cd, dvd) or 'COOOOOKEEEEEEE' (this one should be obvious) or throwing his sippy cup at the heads of random strangers.

It was about noon, which if you go to Costco enough, you know that's when they start offering the samples - i.e. when people arrive in droves for a free lunch.

I can't tell you how much I want to hit the people who stop across the aisles, four deep, to wait for a piece of cut up pizza pocket skewered by a toothpick. Or a dixie cup half full of warm juice.

Let me be clear - I don't begrudge those wanting samples. It's the complete lack of awareness of oneself while blocking the path for a full minute while waiting for the food to warm up.

Still, I was actually surprisingly patient for once. Feeling pretty good about how mellow I was considering this type of behavior usually sends me over the edge.

Then IT happened.

After waiting for about six people to exit an aisle, I was about to make my turn. I saw an older woman trying to go ahead of me. Deep breath. I let her go. Then she STOPPED to wait for a sample. Another deep breath.

She started moving, and I thought she'd cleared out. I was wrong.

And I hit her in the ass with my cart.

Not hard, literally a brush, a tap.

She whipped around and gave me the most horrid look. Seriously, I wanted to shrivel up and die, right there next to the 5 gallon jugs of soy sauce.

Me: I am so sorry! (eyebrows raised for effect) I thought you'd already gone through! (In retrospect, this may not have been the best thing to say, as it may infer I thought she had a large ass - she didn't).

Woman: (continues glare, grunts)

Me: Are you okay?

Woman: (sniffs, whips back around, eats her sample)

I felt bad at this juncture. I mean, I definitely could have been watching where I was going a bit better. But I was truly sorry. I apologized. And I meant it.

And come on, there is no way she was even a little bit injured.

She was out of sight and I continued on with my shopping. I still had to grab a few things before I hit the checkout stand.

And wouldn't you know. We were on the same item trajectory. Every single aisle. There she was. Giving me the evilest stink eye imaginable.

I wanted to cry. Don't ask me why, I'm not usually uber-sensitive, but I guess when I've issued a sincere apology for something that wasn't entirely my fault, it makes me feel a bit crappy.

After at least five times crossing paths, I decided I'd had enough. I was guessing at our next passing she'd show up with a neck brace and a personal injury attorney.

It was time to get out. So we got.

All the way home, I thought about this bitter beyotch. Eventually my embarrassment and atonement morphed into flat out anger.

And I'm probably going straight to hell for saying this, but now I wish I'd actually hit her harder and on purpose, if I was going to catch that sort of grief for an accidental tap.

But then, I probably would be out on bail for assault with a deadly cart.

Doggy Family Tree

If you read much, you probably have figured out I have a love/hate relationship with our dogs. Mostly hate. Except I have to admit that when B was out of town, I very much appreciated the extra security.

We know Carl is a purebred Golden Retriever. We have a genealogy chart and everything. Plus, I think he is horribly inbred, if not simply from the fact that he is dumb as a box of rocks, but also all his many hereditary 'issues'.

Sadie, on the other hand, is some kind of mixed breed monstrosity. When we rescued her (I say rescued because ohmylord the place she came from was heinous), we were told Husky and Golden Retriever. Now, having actually owned a Golden, we know there is no way she has one trace of that breed running through her veins. The Husky is obvious, but the rest is a mystery.

We've hypothecated Border Collie, as they are known for their incessant obnoxiousness and need to be busy at all times. Our vet thought maybe German Shepard for her coloring. My guess was a descendant of Cujo.

So I have to admit I was very intrigued when watching the local news the other night and a story came on about doggy DNA testing.

You heard me.

The prices range greatly, but most land around $100. A completely frivolous spend, but I am SO tempted.

Maybe I'm hoping that some breed will pop up on the test that will explain everything. The big AHA! But I'm guessing the test doesn't detect Hellhound.

Who's The Idiot?

Check this out.


Do you see it? Look at the driver's window. Click on the photo to enlarge if you need to...

Yes. That, my friends, is an Ugg. And more importantly, the moron is driving down the freeway with his foot hanging out the window.

Whuuuuut?

But I am also having the self realization that I was busy snapping this photo while driving 75 mph.

Damn.

P.S. The car had California plates. Go figure. Heh.

Twit

I joined Twitter.

I have been avoiding it for ages. But the power of Twitter compelled me and now I've done gone and drunk the Kool Aid.

Thoughts so far? Well, first of all, I think I am WAY to boring to do that many updates. I have a hard enough time coming up with something to blog about most days. I mean, what do I say? I just washed my hair? My kid just fell off of the coffee table for the fifth time today? I think my cat is bulimic? (I'm serious about that. I think she is. She eats and eats then pukes it all up. I swear I saw her sticking her fluffy paw down her throat.)

Secondly, I'm guessing Twitter is becoming uncool now that someone like me has joined. Like Facebook isn't as cool now that everyone's grandma has joined. Or when that underground band sells out and goes mainstream and just isn't as cool anymore. I'm usually late to the party. So I'd say rating things by when I catch on is a pretty good gauge.

So we'll see how this pans out. Since I don't have a mobile device with Internet, I'm guessing my tweets will be fairly infrequent.

Which is most likely good, cause I don't want to bore anyone to death.

Now Where Did I Put the Aloe?

Up here in the Pacific Northwest, we get a little crazy when the sun comes out.

We don't see it a lot. One of my girlfriend's doctors told her that there is only one month out of the year where we stand a chance of getting enough Vitamin D through the sun (July). SAD is prevalent around here. And I think many of our brains kind of malfunction when that bright ball in the sky decides to make an appearance.

Which leads me to the same stupid mistake I make every year.

I once again DID NOT apply sunscreen.

Thankfully, I was wise enough to completely coat my child in SPF 50. And I made him wear a hat.

Way to lead by example, mama.

Ouch.

As the Stroller Rolls

So guess what?

I got a new stroller. Well, technically, it's being shipped right now.

This is it.

I was a little disappointed I didn't get the BOB I asked for on my birthday, but good things come to those who wait. I got a SMOKIN' HOT DEAL on this bad boy at Costco.com. I couldn't' believe they were carrying Phil & Teds. And I think I will like it better than the BOB. It comes with the double attachment too. Anyhow, it's totally AWESOME, I'm totally excited, and every time UPS rolls by by heart leaps a little.

Funny how I used to feel this way about shoes and handbags, now it's all about the baby gear.

So now my mission is to sell two of our other strollers. I already had a jogger, which was aiiight, but not great; an umbrella, which I never use and is a little too girly for my taste; and the one that came with our infant seat - which I'm keeping to have the complete set.

I posted the first two strollers on Craigslist yesterday. And the jogger has sold. Yay!

But for some reason, this nut keeps emailing me about the umbrella, asking me to come down in price. I agreed to come down $10. But this person (I can't tell if they are male or female) is relentless.

Plus, THEY ALWAYS TYPE IN ALL CAPS.

They are yelling at me. I don't like it.

I am just about to email them back and tell them if I wanted to give the stroller away, it would be in the free section. I'm done haggling. DONE.

This is my first experience selling on Craigslist. Honestly? It's kind of freaking me out. What about no, I will not come down on price, is difficult to understand? And the anger? Why get mad at me when I say no? It is not a personal affront. It's my stroller, my decision!

Hmmmph.

Blah Blah and Blah.

I am so scattered. I want to write something today - obviously this would just be me humoring myself as I don't know if I have anything interesting to ramble about (Or do I ever? Sorry, little insecurities rearing their ugly heads).

This is what's emerging from the mess inside my head. Enjoy or ignore.

* I am in lurve with Mr. Clean, and in particular his Magic Eraser. Good Lord, people, it's a cleaning tool. Remove head from gutter please! My girlfriend Rachel called me up a few weeks ago just to tell me about them. And they are so worth the hype. I wiped out my disgusting cheese and other nasty stuff crusted microwave in about 30 seconds flat. It looks new. I know. I KNOW!

* My girlfriend Jenny (who pronounces her name Jinny - she's an Okie, ya'll) whipped up some crazy good grilled cheese recipe and it will be in Sunset Magazine in July. This is the second recipe contest she's won. If I lived with Jenny I'd weigh a gazillion pounds. She's such a kick ass cook. Just had to give the shout out! Woot woot!

* Our car has been acting weird lately. The transmission is what B has been telling me. And also that I'm extra hard on the car, because I don't wait till I come to a full stop to put it into park, yada yada. I'm a woman, right? I can't help it, apparently. PFFTTTTT!
So I called the Ford dealership today and apparently our make and model has been having issues with leaking transmission fluid. It is covered under warranty and NOT MY FAULT. HA. Okay, enough gloating. And I am making a conscious effort to be nicer to the car.

* I seriously hate my dogs today. As I type, the 100 pound golden retriever is hurling his body against the sliding glass door. The sun is shining for once and they want in. And when they get in, they will click clack click clack up and down the hall while G is napping. Oh, I almost forgot. They escaped again today. Satan...erm, I mean Sadie...can unhook the gate. If they go to dog jail I'm leaving them there. End of story. Except dog jail would probably give me money to take them back after having my evil dogs in custody for a few hours.

* My only vacation for the summer is canceled. My grandfather has rented a house in Eastern Washington on a lovely lake (actually a dammed up river) for 15 years and I guess nobody is interested in going this year...except for me. I'm so bummed. I'm trying to think of something inexpensive for a getaway. No, 'staycations' don't count, because if I'm in my house, I'm thinking about cleaning, cooking, cleaning up after the cooking, et cetera. Staying at home is NEVER EVER a vacation for the mama. NEVER.

*How about Jon Gosselin? I wonder if he really was cheating? Dude, I hope it was worth it, because the wrath of Kate is something to be reckoned with, for sure. I would not cross that woman.

* Speaking of massive families, I would be negligent not to mention the Duggars. Totally old news, but Josh and Anna are expecting. The very first of their child army. I wonder if they will do the same letter for all the names? And just for the record, I bet this post will get hits just because I typed the name Duggar. Duggar, Duggar, Duggar. Tater tot casserole. Modest swimwear. I am totally looking into getting one of the slimming ones.

*How about American Idol? I love Adam. He is so pretty. I love a guy who can wear eyeliner. He takes me back to my days of swooning over Duran Duran. And I love his voice. Yes, some may say he's a screamer (and you're not the only one) (sorry, John Lennon), but I love that type of voice. He better win. Gokey and Allen are fine and all, but they're a little Chip and Chad for me.

See, I told you I'm scattered. But I feel a little better getting some of this crap out of my poor little brain. Ahhhh.