Wednesday, September 29, 2010

You know there's a hilarious story there somewhere.

So, today I was eating my beef jerky (because you know I love me some beef jerky) and I pulled out the little freshness packet.


After I spit it out, I started wondering about the story behind the warning. Because you know there was one.

Dear Jack Link's Beef Jerky Company,

I sprinkled that there seasoning packet on my jerky last night, and it was mighty delicious! Unfortunately, I think it had gone bad because I spent all night peeing blue and having conversations with Abraham Lincoln.

Bobby Earl Johnson

Hicksville, West Virginia

And then I started thinking about other warnings and how they came to be necessary.

My blow dryer says, "Do not use while sleeping." I'm kind of at a loss with this one. I mean, really? Is anyone that lazy?

Liam's Superman costume says, "Wearing this cape will not enable the user to fly." I kind of don't want to think about the incidents that likely led to that particular warning label.

My curling iron says, "Do not use internally." I'll let you ponder that one on your own.

And once when I was around 13, I walked into an ice cream shop in Freeport, Maine where there was a huge sign on the door that read, "Low ceiling fans! DO NOT CARRY CHILDREN ON SHOULDERS!"


Tuesday, September 28, 2010

I didn't realize Hilary went to my gym.

(If this makes no sense to you, scroll down to the previous post.)

(Oh, and Natalie? Don't you know you can get that ugly mole removed? Geez...)

(Thanks, April)

Monday, September 27, 2010

Self esteem workshop

These are some actual e-mails I received this week (and my actual responses).

Do you know what yittums are? Yittums are when your nipples are pointy and visible through your shirt. And I've seen you at the gym. You have them ALL THE TIME. So you can shut your queer-loving, God-hating mouth about men getting erections when they exercise.

I prefer to call them party hats. Tomato, tomahto...

You should have your kids taken away.

Can you be here to get them by 5? I'll have their bags packed and waiting.

It's really too bad you ruined a perfectly good tummy tuck by getting fat again. That's what you get for taking the easy route and having gastric bypass to lose weight. Once a fatty, always a fatty.

It's really too bad you ruined a perfectly good personality by opening your mouth. That's what you get for taking the easy route and sleeping with your teachers to pass school. Once a brainless whore, always a brainless whore.

Did you know that you can have those ugly moles removed? Why would you keep them around? I don't understand it. If I had that face, that would have been my top priority years ago.

I keep them as a public service. They make people like you feel better about yourselves.

Friday, September 24, 2010

Friday Afternoon Confessions

1. "Hangin' Tough" by New Kids on the Block came on when I was driving today, and I didn't change the station.

2. Not only did I not change it, I turned it up. And sang along.

3. I officially have gotten my Quads Of Steel back.

4. I officially still have abs of dough.

5. Number four depresses me. I had a tummy tuck, for crying out loud! I shouldn't have Michelle Duggar's abdomen. I'm sure the 15 pounds I've packed on since May aren't helping.

6. Crap. What if Michelle Duggar, after birthing 19 children, has a better abdomen than me?

7. I'm in dire need of a girl's weekend. Who wants to spend a weekend in Nashville with me?

8. I'm currently addicted to grilling, 30 Rock, and Jack Link's Jalapeno beef jerky.

9. Last night at parent/teacher conferences, Amelia's teacher told me in not so many words that she was too young and too small to be in Kindergarten, and barring some miracle, would need to repeat it. And then I cried all the way home because I really, really just want one freakin' kid who is not having issues at school, and I thought Amelia was it.

10. If Gretchen and her mullet wins Project Runway, I...I...I'll probably just keep on watching every season, but I'll be really pissed for awhile!

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

I thought they'd be fun. I thought wrong.

So, when my doctor first told me that I'd probably never get pregnant, I was devastated.

One, I was under the impression that kids were fun! Worth it! A blessing! Would do the housework when they got older!

And two, having a child would give me a socially acceptable reason to stop working.

The idea of missing out on all that was just heart wrenching. Also? Usually when someone tells me I can't do something, it motivates me to find a way to do it anyway.

So, we started fertility drugs. They only made me fat(ter) and evil(er).

And then Ben sort of fell into our laps. I mean one day we weren't even considering adoption and then three months later we had a newborn to care for.

And I learned that kids were not fun, and they created more housework, and frankly, going back to work and letting a day care center do all the dirty work was looking mighty appealing.

Ben was (and is) a very difficult child. It started when he was about one. I know--you're thinking how can an innocent one year old be difficult? Trust me, he was. Everyone told me that it was because he was a boy and that's just how boys are.

After a few years, I resigned myself (with some relief) to the fact that we were only going to have one child. He was about to start school full time, and he could be someone else's problem for a few hours. I could (somewhat) get my life back.

And, of course, that's when I discovered that out of the blue, after 7 years, I was pregnant. And when I found out it was a boy, I cried for weeks. If Ben acted the way he acted because he was a boy I didn't want another one.

Turns out those people who blamed his behavior on his Y chromosome were big fat liars, because Liam turned out to be sweet and not too difficult. For awhile, anyway. I almost started to think that having kids was indeed fun! And worth it! And a blessing! But, over the past three years he has gotten progressively more and more difficult, and now he gets kicked out of school once a week, on average.

And then there's Amelia. I was so excited to have a girl. I strongly believe that girls are easier than boys. Will disagrees. Maybe it's not so much that she's easier, but that I understand her brand of crazy better than I understand the boys'. In any case, she has brought her own challenges to the family. She is the laziest child I've ever met. And oh, the drama with this one. Everything is cause for tears. I swear she's had PMS since she was two. And she's the master of the eye roll. Honestly, I can't imagine how her 13 year old self will ever be able to top the 5 year old version. Well, I can, I just don't don't want to because it scares the bejeebers out of me.

In the past four days we've found out that Liam likely has severe ADHD (predominantly hyperactive/impulsive), and Ben likely has Oppositional Defiant Disorder. Neither are firm diagnoses yet, but both the school psychologists and the pediatrician agree that these are very probable.

I've read an essay numerous times over the years that likens having a child with special needs to landing in Holland when you'd planned a fabulous trip to Italy. Holland's not a bad place--it's just different than the place you were prepared to go.

The problem is, I feel like I should never have even been on the plane to begin with, and the flight was nonstop turbulence, and the movie sucked, and now I have to deal with a bunch of Europeans who don't believe in deodorant or toilet seats*. It was bound to be a crappy vacation regardless of where the plane landed. And now the bastards have confiscated my passport and I can't go home.

That's what it really feels like.

*I lived in Europe for several years. I loved it. But they really do have BO issues, and a disturbing lack of toilet seats.

Thursday, September 16, 2010


We've already got him p
laying Settlers and watching Star Wars,
so this was bound to happen even

(For the record, he chose the glasses himself.)

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

Greatest Hits Volume III: Kai Lan gives a lesson in swearing

Sorry for diving back into the archives yet again, but I think I may be going blind. Again. (Long story for a day when I can see).

Anyway, this episode was on again today, so I thought I'd re-post it.

What Did She Say?

(Originally posted December 6, 2008)

So, Amelia was watching Ni Hao yesterday. Ni Hao is like Dora the Explorer, except it teaches Chinese. Instead of being named Dora, she's named Kai-Lan, but pretty much everything else is the same. I'm surprised there hasn't been a lawsuit.

Anyway, I hear Amelia saying what sounds like the S word. You know, the naughty word for poop. I would just write it, but I know it would completely offend some of my readers.

So, I go in to see why she's saying a word we don't ever use. Here's what I saw:

(Go over to my playlist on the right and click the pause button, then turn up your speakers a little.)

Maybe we need to start watching Sesame Street instead.

Monday, September 13, 2010

Pumped Up

There are a million reasons why I'm glad I'm not a man--ear hair, the draft, the need to occasionally adjust one's testicles, the unspoken obligation to kill bugs--just to name a few.

But last week I was reminded of another reason: Spontaneous erections at the gym while working out with your guy friend.

That has got to suck. You're lifting weights, sweating with your homeboy, being generally macho and BOOM. Erection.

I read about it while studying for the personal trainer course--that it's totally normal and not sexual in nature. It's just the combination of blood pumping and endorphins flowing and testosterone raging, and then...hello penis!

And you know the internal dialogue that has got to be going on when that happens to a guy.

Is it noticeable? Does he see it? Oh man, I think he saw it. Does he think it's because of him? Please don't let him think it's because of him. Does he think I'm gay? Not gay. NOT GAY. Baseball...grandma...fat chicks...fat dudes... WHY WON'T IT GO AWAY?

And then for the ultimate in awkward situations, he might get to go stand naked with his erection and his friend in the gang showers (gang showers: yet another reason I'm glad to be a girl).

It's stuff like this (and farting) that lets me know God has a sense of humor. He could have made it so things only power up when necessary, or at least designed it in such a way that the whole world wouldn't notice, but no. He decided it would be pretty awesome if they occasionally just spring up in public without warning, and are impossible to hide.

It's almost a fair trade off for periods and child birth.

Saturday, September 11, 2010

Maybe I'm heartless, but you knew that already.

So, is it O.K. to talk about something else on 9/11 yet?

I have things I wanted to write about, but I feel kind of guilty and weird about not somehow honoring those who died that day 9 years ago.

Don't misunderstand me--I don't think we should stop honoring them, or forget what happened. We should never, ever forget.

But is it acceptable to not feel obligated to talk about it on the anniversary yet? And if it's not acceptable yet, when will it be? Because I have a pretty funny story about men who get erections while working out at the gym that I was going to tell you, but I was afraid it would just seem too frivolous, today being today.

Thursday, September 9, 2010

Greatest Hits Volume II: What Happens in Amish Country Stays in Amish Country

So, for the next few days I'm going to pull a few posts out of the archives.

For no other reason than because I'm lazy.

The posts for the rest of the week were chosen based on the following criteria: They're the ones you guys told me sucked the least.


What Happens in Amish Country stays in Amish Country

(Originally posted April 5th, 2009)

Amish Buggy black! No punch backs!

A little over a year ago I went with four friends on a girl's weekend to Lancaster, Pennsylvania-- also known as Amish country.

We stayed in a beautiful private house, which had been converted from an old barn on the property of an equally beautiful bed and breakfast.

We knew it was going to be a memorable weekend when we realized that we'd be taking the breathalyzer-mobile on our getaway.

You see, the best vehicle available for us to take on a long road trip was the SUV belonging to the husband of one of the women. Without going into too much detail, this vehicle had been court ordered to be equipped with a breathalyzer. Before it would start (and also at random intervals while driving!) it required the driver to blow into the contraption to make sure said driver wasn't drunk.

And this was a very finicky breathalyzer. You couldn't just blow and be done with it. Oh, no. You had to blow in a very particular way, sometimes even having to hum and talk dirty to get the thing to register and allow you to drive. And if you didn't get it to register within a certain amount of time, apparently alarms and whatnot would start going off and the vehicle would be disabled.

So picture, if you will, five Mormon women (including all four members of the Relief Society Presidency) cruising around Amish country, constantly playing a game of beat the clock with a breathalyzer. And making the inevitable dirty jokes.

One night we had the opportunity to have dinner with an Amish family in their home. (The food, though simple, was incredible. And although she may have been speaking Pennsylvania Dutch, we all knew exactly what Amish-mom was saying to her son as he swung back and forth on the gas-powered refrigerator door. The Amish? Just like us, but without electricity bills.)

So after the Amish dinner we get in the breathalyzer-mobile to leave. The breathalyzer decided to be extra picky. It would not register. The countdown to blaring alarms and a big flashing neon sign that says "this vehicle is owned by a former drunk driver" was winding down. Plus, we were in the front yard of a very nice Amish family who were likely wondering why the crazy Mormon women hadn't left yet. Oh, and we were also blocking several other people trying to leave. Some of who came to the window to see if we were broken down.

Everyone took turns trying to blow into the thing (except me, because I'm not into sharing bodily fluids, even with my close friends). Finally one of them got it to register just in the nick of time. I think she may have promised it sexual favors, because nothing else had worked.

Also, for some reason that was never quite explained, there was a brass frog prince statue stashed in the breathalyzer-mobile. He came with us everywhere. He even took a turn with the breathalyzer.

When I moved away shortly after, he got to come and live with me. He now resides in my bathroom.

Wednesday, September 8, 2010

Greatest Hits Volume I: The YMCA Pool Saga

So, for the next few days I'm going to pull a few posts out of the archives.

For no other reason than because I'm lazy.

The posts for the rest of the week were chosen based on the following criteria: They're the ones you guys told me sucked the least.


Get out of the pool, you filthy, filthy whore.

(Originally posted February 3rd, 2009)

So, today being Tuesday, I went to do laps in the pool at the Y.

They only had 4 lap lanes open, all being used, but you're supposed to double up. So, I hop in the widest lane and start my laps.

The next thing I know, the man who was also in the lane grabbed my arm and started yelling at me.

He was an older man--60-ish, probably, and Middle Eastern. My guess would be Saudi. Now, please please please don't send me hate mail about this. I am simply stating the facts as they happened.

He tells me that I can't be in this lane. Silly me thinks that he means he doesn't want to share the lane period. So, I point to the sign stating that lanes must be shared. He says no, I as a filthy dirty whore, cannot share the lane with a man.

Excuse me?

Then he starts a whole tirade about the travesty of having to share a whole pool with filthy whores (I swear, those were his words), but to have one in the same lane was beyond what he could tolerate. Because, you know, those floaty dividers are going to keep my filthy whore cooties off of him.

I told him to suck it and continued my laps.

By this point the life guard had come over and was dealing with him. He left shortly after.

He has every right to believe that women are filthy whores if they don a swimsuit and swim in public with (gasp!) men, but don't come to a public pool in the United States of America--a public pool in a building with the word Christian in its name no less--and expect all the women to clear out.

If I see him there again I think I might flash my boobs at him or something.

He picked the wrong filthy whore to mess with.

[But wait! There's more! The saga continues below!]

Revenge is a dish best served cold. By a one armed retarded girl.

(Originally posted February 28th, 2009)

So Lawrence of Arabia was at the pool again this morning. He was in his lane, I was in mine three lanes away.

Also in the pool, in the lane next to Omar, was a mentally challenged girl who only has one arm. She's there every Saturday. She totally kicks my butt. She can swim three laps to my one. She's queen of the Special Olympics swim team. And did I mention she only has one arm? Anyway, she's prone to, umm... outbursts...while she swims. Big, huge, profanity laced outbursts.

So, Osama was swimming his laps, not causing any trouble, and all of a sudden I hear the girl start yelling, "Hey fatty! Swim faster!" I look up because I just assume she's talking to me.

She wasn't. She was totally yelling at Saddam. For 20 minutes this went on. "Hey tub o lard, why's your back so hairy?" "Did you eat my arm for breakfast?" "Fatty boombalatty, faaaaaaatty boombalatty!" "You need a bra, you have big knockers like my mom." "Did you lose your d**k in an accident, or is it just really small?"

On and on.

He finally got out, yelling what were probably profanities in his native tongue, and left.

I LOVE that one armed girl.

Monday, September 6, 2010

You know there was a mullet involved somehow.

So, I didn't see any Mullet Monday worthy mullets this week, but I did come across this on my walk this morning.

Yes, that would be a large can of beer in a paper bag, pants (turned inside out as though they were removed hastily), and a Chik-Fil-A bag.

I can deduce two things from this scene.

1. Someone had a more interesting weekend than I did.

2. There was a mullet involved.

Sunday, September 5, 2010

Quick, tell me I'm skinny.

I'm having a fat day. I feel like I'm a size 28 again. I put on five different outfits this morning and decided I looked like a cow in all of them. I even put on Spanx, which I thought were a thing of the past, but they somehow made me look fatter.

I keep looking at this picture of myself from about 2 years ago and reminding myself that even with the extra 15 pounds I've put on since May, I'm still 140 pounds lighter than I was then. That even though my pants have gone up a size (or two, depending on the brand), I'm still in the single digits.

It helps. But feel free to tell me that I'm skinny and pretty and smart and awesome, O.K.?

(O.K., as requested, a current picture of myself).

Friday, September 3, 2010

A dearth of freaks.

So, apparently gyms are for exercising. Who knew?

I was under the impression that they were for my entertainment (and blog fodder), and the exercise was just gravy.

But the gym here? Boring! Everyone is normal.

In fact, I'm beginning to wonder if maybe I'm the freak at this gym--if maybe the normal people are going home and making up nicknames for me and describing my freakishness in great detail on their blogs.

Also? Today I pinched my back fat in the ab machine.


I never thought I'd say this, but I miss the Y.