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I’m heading out for Chuck country. Hair of awesomeness and freakish eyebrows and all! I’ll be back here at By the lbs around July 8th, so until then, gentle readers, I bid you adieu! Adieu! To you and you and you!
Happy Birthday America! You rock!!!
Oh, and one more thing…
Dude, it’s the pre-trip laundry. So. much. laundry.
I love this, and not just because it so aptly describes the many subtle nuances of the word “dude” (which happens to be a personal favorite of mine), but also because it brings up the point of how different a word’s meaning can be based solely on the way it is said.
One of the biggest problems with blogging is that it is often hard to know what a person is really saying just from her words. We’re missing the intonations, the facial expressions, the body language. Sure we try to make ourselves understood with visual cues like italics or bold type or “quotes” or even the occasional (and sometimes obnoxious) em 
ticon, but even then we can still be misunderstood at times.
All of which leads me to wonder how many wars might have been prevented by a properly interpreted “dude”?
Dude.
Out of nowhere.
DynaGirl: Mom, why do grownups wink at kids? What’s up with the winking?
Me: I don’t know.
DynaGirl: Do you wink at kids?
Me: No, but sometimes I smile. Does the winking bother you?
DynaGirl: No, it’s just I think it’s weird.
I’ve never really thought about it before. What is up with the winking? Are you a winker?
At the risk of sounding like a complete vainiac (you know with the whole hair of awesomeness thing), I had a horrifying revelation tonight. I think my eyebrows are too far apart. And I don’t mean like naturally. I think I’ve gone a little pluck-happy and now I have these freakishly small/short/stubby eyebrows. I saw a picture of myself and something seemed kind of off, and then it hit me: what in the name of all that is good and properly tweezed is up with my eyebrows?!
And I think I remember where it all went wrong. I was doing my usual maintenance when I accidentally plucked in a no pluck zone, but then there was this hole, see, so I had to kind of even things out. And then of course there was the whole issue with the lopsidedness, and so I had to breach the no pluck zone on the other side, too. I figured they would grow back quickly, I mean for crying out loud, every time I turn around I’m facing the eminent threat of unibrow. OK, maybe unibrow is a little dramatic, but I have strong hair regrowth genes or something and there is almost a daily need of plucking at least something at least one time like at least once a day. (I know what you’re thinking, therein lies the problem—she can’t stop with the plucking. But that’s not it, really.)
So I’m thinking that some time between the woopsie-daisy-that’ll-grow-back and the actual growing back I kind of forgot about the whole letting that grow back thing, and I’ve been plucking my poor little eyebrow hairs thinking I was holding the line when really I needed to advance on the line because the line had retreated into the no pluck zone. Are you following me? And now I have freakishly widely spaced eyebrows! And I just noticed, which means I’ve been walking around like this for heaven knows how long and I leave for the big Chuckster family reunion this weekend which is not nearly enough time to accomplish a complete and full regrowth, so I can either pretend like I fully intended to look this way and look like a total freak or I can start the regrowth process anyway and just look like a total freak with these eyebrows that have some serious density issues.
I honestly don’t spend a lot of time obsessing over my appearance. But this eyebrow thing is really starting to freak me out. Everywhere I look, every tv personality or movie character, every random model in a newspaper or magazine are just a pair of eyebrows! Eyebrows that are mocking me with their perfect normality of length and fullness! I’m afraid to go to bed tonight—can you imagine the eyebrow related nightmares?
Don’t even bother bringing up the eyebrow pencil. I know they exist, but I’m just not ready to go there. And you can forget about pictures, too. Don’t even ask.
I think I’ve been converted to the dark side. The dark side of personal grooming in which one actually cares enough about one’s appearance to actually put forth some kind of effort. Particularly in the hair department. I’m a wash and wear girl. Well, a wash and blowdry and wear because if I don’t blowdry it’s just…There are no words. I will admit to spending about 3 minutes with a curling iron also, but only if I’m leaving the house and then only if I’m going somewhere where I think there’s the slightest chance I might run into someone I know and only if the someone I know would be someone I would care about not looking scary in front of. I’m not sure who that someone would be, but I ready myself to the appropriate degree just in case.
Anywho, I had my hair done today—nothing major, my usual weave and a good trim with some extra little fringing action around the face. But today instead of the usual blowdry, my sister (my oldest sister who does my hair and is the awesomest of all hair doesers) used a flat iron. I had heard tale of these flat irons, but immediately dismissed it as something that other people do. It seemed like an extra step of hair grooming that I was just not up for because it would be like an extra step and therefore take additional effort. Effort. Effort is not my middle name. Neither is extra step. Or hair grooming really. But she did the extra step and holy hot dog on a stick! My hair is like a whole other entity. Or rather it’s no longer a whole other entity. (Choose which ever one sounds more impressive to you.)
I don’t know how it does what it does. But the funky wave that’s not really wavy enough to be considered a purposeful hair style choice, but too wavy to be considered attractive without some serious taming, is gone. All the little fly away frizzies and poky wirey stray hairsies—gone. My sister said something about a ceramic something something and an ionic something or other and a lot of other hair mumbo jumbo that I can’t even repeat because I didn’t understand. All I can say is that I love my hair and I have commissioned my sister to procure for me one of these mysterious and magical wonders of the world that are the flat irons. And then I will be one of the others. But an other with fabulous hair!
A conversation I had with Goose while I was getting ready for the day.
Goose: Did you used to believe in the TV makeup stuff?
Me: What do you mean?
Goose: You know, when they tell you it’s really good and you believe them and then buy it?
So I’ve thought of at least three things I could take from this conversation:
1. I’m teaching my child to be skeptical of wild advertising claims. Good.
2. I’m raising my child to be a total cynic who mistrusts everything she hears. Not so good.
3. I shouldn’t bother putting on makeup anymore since even my 6 year old daughter can see that it’s not helping and is worried about her mother living in some kind of delusional state. Hrrrmmmm.
I should tell you, dear reader, that before I started this whole blogging business, I had no particular affinity for the sock monkey. Naturally I recognized that they were their own special kind of awesome, but I never really gave them a second thought. Until that fateful day when I announced the results of my first blog contest. I had to admit that I hadn’t the foggiest idea what the prize would be, so I searched the internets for ideas of what might be an appropriate prize and stumbled upon the sock monkey. Then I showed you all this and this and this and this and since then my life has never been the same.
My sock monkey post visits account for nearly 10% of my total page views, and “sock monkey” and all manner of variations thereof is by far my most popular search hit. Obviously, with larger forces of the universe at work here, I’ve felt I’ve had no other choice than to embrace the sock monkey. And embrace it I have.
Last week Julie sent me this link and I knew I had met my sock monkey destiny. I made this little guy all mine:
Isn’t he the most precious thing you have ever seen? (And very reasonably priced, too—bonus!) And I have to tell you that Lisa from Mostly Monkeys is her own special kind of awesome. She almost immediately contacted me after placing my order, thanked me and kept me updated on when my monkey should arrive, etc. I received my monkey within 2 or 3 days, and he arrived with this enclosure:
Now if that’s not quality customer service, I don’t know what is.
So now, of course, I’m all in raptures over my new found sock monkey soul mate. There’s just one thing preventing my complete joy—my sock monkey has no name. And a sock monkey with no name is like a (something something) without a (something else that’s really important). Can you help me? Will you help me? Will you help us? There may or may not be something in it for you, if that helps.
So next weekend we’ll be making the trek to Chuck family territory for the annual 4th of July bash. Every year I tell myself I’m going to lose that last 10-15 pounds I’ve been hanging onto for-like-ever before the next Chuck family reunion. It. Never. Happens. And I know exactly why.
I am all over this realistic goals thing. All over it.
I heard the tell-tale thud on our front porch and knew that Christmas had come early for BigHugs. A brand new phone book! I set the package on the table and began unveiling it from its plastic wrapper.
BigHugs: A new phone book? Where’d you get that?
Me, pulling out the mini yellow pages: And look, it comes with a baby phone book. Do you like the baby phone book?
BigHugs: No.
Me: Why not?
BigHugs, flipping through the pages of the big one: I don’t know. I don’t want it. ‘Cause I like this one the best.
Me: O-K.
BigHugs, with awe: Ooooh…This is a cool phone book. Turning more pages. Yessss! I love it!
Later, I’m fixing dinner for Mr. T who pushes the phone book aside as he plops down in his usual spot at the table.
BigHugs: Mom, Mr. T moved the phone book!
Me: It’s OK.
BigHugs starts leafing through the pages again while Mr. T eats his dinner.
BigHugs: Mom! Mr. T’s looking at the phone book! Then, laying across it protectively, MY phone book!
Mr. T: It’s like Lord of the Phone Book. Then in his best Gollum, My precious! And then they have to like throw the phone book into the paper shredder at the end.
I’m going to be so bummed when she’s over this phase.
Well, it’s been a whole whoppin’ two weeks since I last resorted to using this “series”, and what with trying to spend some “quality” time with the children now that they’re out of school and all, and… Wait, what am I trying to make excuses for? This is my blog, darnit! And I’ll post whatever the heck crap I want!
So here are a few of my latest and greatest hits:
1. sock monkey convention—I knew it! There’s like this whole underground sock monkey world that most of us don’t even know about. Except I’m starting to know about it because they’re all coming here. So where’s the party? I wanna come!
2. monkey hitler—Are you trying to defile the innocence and purity of our beloved sock monkey? Don’t go there, googler. Don’t even go there.
3. Cheryl spanked bad grades—Um, Cheryl, do you have something you’d like to share with the rest of the class?
4. accomplishments quotes for teachers—How about this? “Do a slightly better than average job and I’ll stick you on the honor roll.”
5. what are the styles of unrequited love—I suppose there could be different “styles”. Let’s see, how about 1) the clueless—the object of your affection is completely oblivious to your feelings, 2) the snub—the object of your affection just ignores your feelings, 3) the apathetic—the object of your affection couldn’t care less about your feelings or 4) the Corinne—the object of your affection stomps on your heart and crushes it. I’m sure there are more. A little help here?
6. Jim gives Dwight a tic tac—How could I have missed and/or forgotten this episode?! You’d think the combination of two of my favorite things, The Office and 1 1/2 calorie breath fresheners, would be forever enblazed in my memory! But alas, it wasn’t tic tacs, it was altoids. Altoids, googler, altoids. Jim trains Dwight to crave an altoid every time he hears a computer reboot a la Pavlov. Ah, that Jim.
7. bacon are they a type of food?—Um, I’m a little confused by the “they”. If you mean “they” as in Sir Francis Bacon or perhaps even Sir Kevin Bacon, then I would have to say no (although there was a time when I might have described Sir Kevin as yummy). If you mean “they” as in Wilbur or Babe, then yeah. Totally.
8. villl;.—I find this one most disturbing. What could possibly have possessed a person to search in such cryptic terms? One can only imagine. I imagine that there is some poor soul out there being held captive by some nefarious criminal. He is most likely bound and gagged, but he manages to shimmy himself over to the ne’er-do-well’s laptop (perhaps while the kidnapper was taking care of some other business, if you know what I’m saying) in an attempt to contact someone in the outside world for help. But having only his nose free to peck out his message he just gets halfway through “villain” before the scoundrel returns, and upon realizing he’s been discovered our helpless victim sets his head down on the keyboard in hopeless resignation, hitting the l;. and enter keys in the process. If only I had a better math background, I’m sure I could design an algorithm to trace this search hit back to its place of origin and rescue that poor guy in the nick of time. If only.
9. bythelbs perv—OK, who did this? No one is leaving until the responsible party identifies herself.
What kind of freaks have been stopping by your place lately?
Yesterday while I was playing taxi driver, shuttling my kids to and fro with their various “enrichment” activities, a few songs came on the radio that brought back some fun memories and took me places I haven’t been in a long time.
First was Peter Murphy’s Cuts You Up. I actually don’t have a specific memory of this particular song, though I’ve always enjoyed it—how can you not enjoy Peter Murphy with that voice? But hearing Peter sing “You know the way it twists and turns changing colors spinning yarns—You know the way it leaves you dry it cuts you up it takes you high” reminded me of that other awesome Peter ditty Indigo Eyes and Indigo Eyes reminded me of one of my best friends from high school, Jason, who really liked Indigo Eyes even if it was my “white people music” and thinking of Jason reminded me of how I used to pick up his little catch phrases like “what’ve you been smokin’?” and “get off the crack pipe” and how my mom used to pick up these little catch phrases from me and then use them in front of my friends and Jason just thought that was the most hilarious thing in the world and that my mom was pretty cool and he was right because she was.
And then thinking of Jason reminded me of the time I memorized Rob Base’s It Takes Two in its entirety just to show him that I could. It took me a little while. It’s kind of a long rap and I had to keep rewinding my tape for the phrases I kept missing. I would write them down then scratch them out when I thought they were wrong. When I finally had it “memorized” I performed it for him then he proceeded to laugh at all my misheard lyrics but in a nice way because we were homeys. I think his exact words were, as he was laughing his buttock off, “You’re just so cute.” I tried to see if I still remembered the words. Here is what I could do:
Intro: Right about now you’re about to be possessed by the sounds of MC Rob Base and DJ E-Z Rock
Oh, and there’s a bunch of Woo-yeahs repeating over and over.
I wanna rock right now
I’m Rob Base and I came to get down
I’m not internationally known
But I’m known to rock a microphone
‘cause I get stupid I mean outrageous
Stay away from me if you’re contagious
‘cause I’m a winner, no not a loser
To be an mc is what I choose a
Ladies love me, girls adore me
I mean even the ones who never saw me
Like the way that I rhyme at a show
The reason why man I don’t know
So let’s go ‘cause
It takes to make a thing go right
It takes two to make it out of sight
(forgot most of the next verse until here)
So let’s start, it shouldn’t be too hard
I’m not a sucka so I don’t need a bodyguard
Won’t fess wear a bullet proof vest
Don’t smoke
Buddha I can’t stand
Sex yes
And then here are the actual lyrics, from what I could find off the internets anyway:
It takes two to make a thing go right
It takes two to make it outta sight
Hit it!
I wanna rock right now
I’m Rob Base and I came to get down
I’m not internationally known
But I’m known to rock the microphone
Because I get stoopid, I mean outrageous
Stay away from me if you’re contagious
‘Cause I’m the winner, no, I’m not the loser
To be an M.C. is what I choose ‘a
Ladies love me, girls adore me
I mean even the ones who never saw me
Like the way that I rhyme at a show
The reason why, man, I don’t know
So let’s go, ’cause
It takes two to make a thing go right
It takes two to make it outta sight
Hit it!
My name is Rob, I gotta real funky concept
Listen up, ’cause I’m gonna keep you in step
I got an idea
That I wanna share
You don’t like it? So what, I don’t care
I’m number one, the uno, I like comp
Bring all the suckers ’cause all them I’ll stomp
Bold and black but I won’t protect
All of my followers ’cause all I want is respect
I’m not a doctor, put them in rapture
A slick brother that can easy outfox ya
Cause I’m Rob, the last name Base, yeah
And on the mike, I’m known to be the freshest
So let’s start, it shouldn’t be too hard
I’m not a sucker so I don’t need a bodyguard
I won’t fess, wear a bulletproof vest
Don’t smoke buddha, can’t stand sess, yes
It takes two to make a thing go right
It takes two to make it outta sight
Hit it!
The situation that the Base is in
I’m kinda stingy that’s why I don’t wanna lend
A funky rhyme to a foe or a good friend
But listen up ’cause I want you to comprehend
‘Cause I’m the leader, the man superior
I take care of ya and then ya get wearier
So just sit, my rhymes arenot counterfeit
The record sells which makes this one a hit
It won’t hurt to listen to Red Alert
Take off your shirt
Make sure it don’t hit the dirt
I like the kids–the guys, the girls
I want the ducats ’cause this is Rob Base’s world
I’m on a mission, ya better just listen
To my rhymes ’cause I’m all about dissin’
‘Cause
It takes two to make a thing go right
It takes two to make it outta sight
Hit it!
I stand alone, don’t need anyone
‘Cause I’m Rob, just came ot have fun
Don’t need friends that act like foes
‘Cause I’m Rob Base, the one who knows
About things that make ya get weary
Don’t cheer me, just hear me
Out ’cause I got the clout–shout (Ho!)
Before I turn the party out
I won’t stutter– Project my voice, speak clearly
So you can be my choice
On stage or on record
Go to the Wiz and select it
Take it off the rack, if it’s wack put it back
I like the Whopper, f*** the Big Mac
If you want static, so let’s go
So, throw upyour hands
Go for what you know
Bro’, I got an ego
Yo, talkin’ to me? No
Oh
‘Cause Rob is in the front, EZ Rock is on the Back up
We’re not soft, so you better just slack up
‘Cause I’m cool, calm just like a breeze
Rock the mike with the help of EZ
Rock on the set, the music plays
Only cuts the records that I say
It takes two to make a thing go right
It takes two to make it outta sight
Hit it!
All right, now, EZ Rock
now, when I count to three
I want you to get busy
You ready now?
One, two, three, get loose now!
It takes two to make a thing go right
It takes two to make it outta sight
Hit it!
See, now I remember originally thinking that it was “don’t smoke Buddha, can’t stand sex, yes”, but that just didn’t make any sense to me. Who smokes Buddha? How would it be possible that he couldn’t stand sex and then what was up with the stray yes? But apparently, buddha is a form of marijuana (marijuana mixed with opium or marijuana mixed with crack or just extra potent marijuana depending on what source you go to) and sess (not sex) is also marijuana. That makes so much more sense.
Then right after Cuts You Up, Midnight Oil’s Dead Heart came on which reminded me of the year I gave one of my friends Diesel and Dust for her birthday, which includes Dead Heart, and how I opened up the casette (this was before CDs were standard—yes, I’m that old) and made a copy of it before I gave it to her. I know, illegal and lame. And also lame. But for some reason I was always inclined to give this particular friend lame and/or joke gifts. One year I gave her a 10×13 framed picture of myself. It was good for a laugh and yes, I did ask for it back at the end of the night. Maybe that was the same year I gave her the “used” casette tape. And then another year I gave her a pack of underoos or actually, I think I had tried to find her underoos but to no avail so I just gave her a pack of lame character underwear like Strawberry Shortcake or something. Maybe it was just payback for the year she made a big deal about combining my birthday and Christmas present (which many people are wont to do—oh the woes of a December birthday) and then giving me a casette single of Erasure’s A Little Respect. A casette single? Those things cost like $2! I want my two dollars!
(By the way, did anyone else ever have underoos? I had Supergirl and Madhousewife had Batgirl—hers were much cooler. We used to wear them without clothing and then jump off the top of our bunkbed, pretending we could fly. Nevermind that Batgirl couldn’t actually fly. Actually, maybe we weren’t pretending that Batgirl could fly—maybe she was just leaping or using her Bat bat-shaped grappling hook or something. Sorry to out you, Mad.)
Where was I? Oh, and after Dead Heart was Peter Gabriel’s Solsbury Hill. Well, technically it wasn’t right after, but the song right after was lame and not at all memory-evoking and I can’t even remember what it was now. But Solsbury Hill is all kinds of awesome. For some reason I’ve always pictured it spelled “Salisbury Hill” like Salisbury steak, which totally reminds me of Better Off Dead when Lane’s mom wraps up a bunch of frozen tv dinners for his Christmas presents—awesome. But the thing about Solsbury Hill is that it’s so fun to sing along to—My heart going boom boom boom.
And really, that’s true of the first two songs too. Who doesn’t love singing “It takes you in and spits you out”? Or “Do do do do do do do do. Do do do do do do do do”? And Peter Murphy and Peter Garrett also both have the kind of voices that are really fun to imitate in an overly exaggerated fashion.
Where was I even going with this?
I guess that’s one of the things I love most about music—the ability it has to flood your mind with all kinds of memories and send you on a kind of stream of consciousness journey with all manner of twists and turns until you’re so far gone to far away distant places that you can’t even remember how you got there.
What song-sparked memory trips have you gone on lately?
Remember that episode of The Office where Michael splits everyone into teams to go drum up clients and close sales deals? The big issue with the potential clients was that Dunder Mifflin, being a small company, couldn’t offer them the same discounts and pricing like some of the major chains like Staples. The Office team’s answer to that was what they lacked in discounts and big volume pricing, they made up for in customer service—they could offer the kind of personal attention that larger chains with a googillion other clients could not.
I have a fairly limited list of blogs that I read on a regular basis and an even smaller list on which I’ll leave a comment. Occasionally someone recommends a blog to me so I’ll head over and check it out, and most of them are really, really good—the author is humorous and fun or witty and insightful. But if I notice that they regularly get 100+ comments on every post, I don’t usually stick around too long. I figure there’s no point in me leaving a comment because it will likely get lost in the sea of other comments, and I really don’t have time to read through 100+ comments anyways, and if you don’t read all the comments you can’t really be involved in the discussion and that’s really why I’ve come to love blogging—getting involved in a discussion or even just some playful banter with other people.
I love interacting with a community of bloggers. I really enjoy having people stop by Bythelbs and leave a comment (don’t be shy), and I love being able to read every comment and even respond to most of them if I have something worthwhile (or not) to say.
See? I’m Dunder Mifflin. I’m the little guy. I can’t offer you any big giveaways or promotions—well, there might be the occasional miniature sock-monkey gift basket—but I can offer you quality customer service and personal attention. Oh, and also those other endearing Dunder Mifflinesque qualities like mildly quirky to full on whacked out staff, offbeat humor and total workplace dysfunction. It’s all here, folks! How’s that for an offer you can’t refuse?
I took The Office personality quiz this weekend. I’m Pam, who are you?
I’ve really been diggin’ this Pearls Before Swine strip lately.
I’m with the rat. Sometimes you just gotta call ‘em like you see ‘em. Political correctness be darned. Darned to heck.
So last night I was basking in the love fest that was your comments on my 100 post and I invited Chuck to join me.
Me: Look at all these nice things people said.
Chuck: Yeah, they love you. What’s this little “edit” button over here? Can you edit people’s comments?
Me: Yeah.
Chuck: So you could like delete things? Or add things?
Me: I guess.
Hey, wait a minute!
In commemoration of my 100th post I’ve decided to compile a list of excerpted quotes—from my very first post to today. Sorry, I know it’s butt-long—like mom jean butt-long!—so please feel free to read at your leisure.
1. New Year’s Resolutions
I gave up making New Year’s Resolutions ages ago when it became apparent I wasn’t likely to ever actually successfully accomplish one. Why continue to set myself up for failure? I decided that instead of making the traditional New Year’s resolutions, I’d just wait until the end of the year and write down all of the things that I did accomplish. This is a strategy I employ with my to do lists. I’m always sure to write down the things I’ve already done, so I can check them off. Then, when I don’t get a bunch of the other things done, at least I have a few check-marks and can say, “See, I did do something! It’s right here on my list with a check-mark and everything!”
2. Encouraging children
I’m took my girls to a PTA Reflections Awards ceremony. Before entering, both girls expressed a fear that their work wouldn’t be good enough. I tried to reassure them that they had done a great job, and that even if they didn’t win the ribbons they hoped for, that wouldn’t change what they had accomplished and they would feel good about having tried. I’m not sure they were convinced, but it’s true. Or at least it should be.
3. Success
Two participation certificates (woo-hoo!) and a second place ribbon (yesssss!).
4. Dishes
I’m not sure if there are words to adequately describe the depth of my loathing for this basic household chore. I’m looking through my thesaurus–hate, abhor, despise. These just simply will not do. Eskimos have like 5972 words for snow, right? They must have some kind of special word for disgust they specifically use in reference to dirty dishes.
5. Dishophobia
After spending some time examining my own dish issues, I realized I may have judged Plasticware Man and Plasticware Man’s Wife too harshly. Perhaps she suffers from dishophobia as well. Perhaps the two of us can start a movement to bring awareness to our plight and give others the courage to come out of the cupboard, so to speak. Perhaps there will be enough of us that the powers that be will be forced to officially recognize and legitimize our illness, and then Fredd can finally add us to the list. Perhaps then the healing can begin.
6. Assertiveness and Self-esteem
I think you should leave now. Because you’re being very unpleasant.
Nothing builds up the old self-esteem like the attentions of an ugly drunk guy.
7. Mean Walmart Lady
Come near my kid again and I will end you.
8. Aliases (my son, Mr. T)
He does not have a particular affinity for heavy gold jewelry, but he does pity the fools.
9. The Men of Jane Austen
Pride & Prejudice is my favorite novel, and Mr. Darcy has always held a special place in my heart. After seeing A&E’s adaptation, he has held an even specialer place in my heart. I believe Colin Firth is indeed the definitive Darcy, at least thus far. Pond scene, anyone? (Yes, I know it’s not in the book, but this was dramatic license at its best!)
10. Possessions
I’m a fairly sentimental kind of person. Well, at least I form rather strong sentimental attachments to things. I don’t own anything of any considerable monetary value other than my car or house. I was brought up in a family who lived modestly (by necessity), and I’ve just kind of stayed that way.
11. Best Friends
Goose: Do I look good with my tooth missing?
Goose’s BFF: Yeah, you look cool. You look like a first grader.
12. Writing
I write for my own amusement, and perhaps even for the amusement of others, although nobody seems to be as amused by me as I am. And unfortunately, I’m more often laughing at me than with me.
13. Hygiene
DynaGirl: You’re not going to dry off my face with the same part of the towel you just used on my butt, are you?
Mom: You usually use your towel more than once before I wash it. Do you ever remember which part of the towel you used to dry off your behind the last time you used the towel before you use it again?
DynaGirl: Crap.
14. Kids and Telecommunication
It doesn’t matter what’s been going on in the preceding hour, 5 minutes or even 30 seconds, as soon as Mom gets on the phone, all heck breaks loose. It’s like Pavlov’s dogs or something–telephone rings, pick the nearest person and have at it.
15. No offense
Is it just me, or when someone begins a conversation with “No offense” it usually means they intend to offend you. Well, maybe they don’t actually intend to, but it seems to have the same effect. So, if you truly mean no offense, then just don’t say it. That’s all I’m saying.
16. Homemaking
Last night, as I surveyed the disaster that was my house (the living room strewn with toys, the sink full of dinner dishes, the pile of laundry on my couch waiting to be folded), it occurred to me that my life as a mother and housewife is a leaking powder keg. I’m walking along picking things up, scrubbing things down, putting things away, but behind me there is still this trail of stuff. And my kids are right there behind me, too, running around with these lit matches, so I don’t dare stop or the whole thing will explode! All I want to do is drop the keg and run away in the other direction, but if I do, it will still explode, and surely I’ll be the one cleaning up the aftermath.
17. All in a Day’s Work
While my husband was finishing up his schooling, I worked as a receptionist at a small scientific instruments firm. One of my duties was to glance over any job applications to make sure the prospective employee had filled them out completely. One in particular caught my eye.
It had been submitted by a young man who was about 17 at the time. Under previous work experience he had written that he was last employed as a “stalker” at Kmart. My first thought was, “No wonder that store creeps me out so bad!” I was relieved when, upon further examination of his application, I saw that his duties included “stalking shelves”, not patrons. But then I wondered what exactly “stalking shelves” entailed. Did he follow them around? Barrage them with phone calls at their homes and places of business? Send them threatening and/or suggestive letters? Take pictures of them while they were stripped of their goods and wares?
18. Neighbors
Is it just me, or is the whole parking on your front lawn thing a tad trailer park-ish? (Wait, do trailer parks have lawns?) Anyway, not that I would be considered the authoritative voice on decorum and propriety, but come on. The car? on the lawn? What in the name of all that is good and holy is up with that?
19. Cooking
Even my toddler knows not to expect too much. The other day when I asked what she wanted for lunch, she said, “I need a plate with some food on it.”
20. Grammar
DynaGirl: Ouch! I hurt my left buttocks!
Mr. T: Buttock. A buttock is one cheek. But-tocks is two cheeks or more.
21. Tic Tacs
I prefer the white fresh mints for the strongest freshness per one and a half calorie ratio. It used to be I liked the light green wintergreen. I’m not exactly sure when I made the switch, but it was years ago. My kids like the orange ones–they’re OK, but the lack of burn in my mouth leaves me less than confident in their effectiveness. A while back they came out with lime ones, which I thought sounded good in theory–I enjoy a good lime. They. were. nasty. I also can’t do the dark green spearmint. Spearmint–blech! *all over body shudder*
22. Spam
What’s that old line about if you put a bunch of monkeys in a room with typewriters eventually their random keystrokes will turn out something intelligible like a novel or something? When I get spam from names like “rorsuc ezycam”, “ewskele enirtomcc”, “vywvmypwr gqvanrmsa”, or ”eszole dockuefor”, that’s the image my mind conjures up—a bunch of monkeys in a room somewhere randomly pounding away on computer keyboards and flooding my inbox with their nonsense. No offense to the people who actually do this for a living.
23. Profanity
Substitute curse words are not the same as standard curse words. After all, I’m making a conscious decision to not say the actual curse word. If I had meant *?@!, I would have said *?@!. But I didn’t, I said crap. That’s totally different. Words that appear in the Bible are perfectly legitimate words to say, and should be excused from the swear word category when necessary. This list would include hell, damn and the occasional beast of burden. (One of my daughter’s Sunday school teachers once told her it was OK to say hell as long as you’re not telling someone to go there. I’m inclined to agree.)
24. Moment of Truth/Amoral Television
I’m assuming that the producers would automatically select the questions/answers with the greatest shock value—the ones with the most potential for humiliation—at least that’s what I would do if I were a soul-less, black-hearted television executive willing to prostitute my integrity and morals for a few ratings points and advertising dollars. No offense to the fine men and women of the television industry.
25. Spam Jockeys/Monkeys
The monkeys are waxing philosophical or poetic or maybe they just have brain tumors. I don’t care. (Well, brain tumors would be sad—I wouldn’t wish that on anyone or any monkey, for that matter.)
26. Madhousewife
Madhousewife was kind enough to mention me on her I am the giraffe site, which is on wordpress and xanga, and even admitted to being my blood relation. I don’t often like to do that because the inevitable comparison does not work to my advantage—she is much funnier, smarter and more witty than I.
27. Gender Ambiguity
To be honest, it had never occurred to me as I was getting ready to go out for the evening to ask my roommates, “Does this make me look Pat?” My mistake.
28. Losing the Mood
I was looking at the sink and stovetop overflowing with the ghosts of meals past, and I decided I couldn’t put it off any longer. I thought I’d just get in there, get to work (maybe I’d have to close my eyes through parts), and it would all be over in a few minutes. But now all has been thwarted–my ultra concentrated lemon Joy is gone—and I just know that by the time I get showered and dressed and go to the store to buy more and then come all the way back home again, the mood will have passed. (My husband hates it when this happens. I’m still talking about the dish-doing mood, of course. I’ve been talking about dishes this whole time–this isn’t a metaphor for anything—it’s just dishes. No, seriously.)
29. Hostess Snack Cakes
The last time I had a Ding Dong, I tingled with anticipation as I greedily peeled back that shiny silver wrapper enveloping the creme-filled chocolatey goodness. I sank my teeth in and took off a generous bite, chewing slowly so that I could savor every last morsel. It didn’t take long for me to realize it was all wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. The cake was not melting in my mouth and the creme felt like it was sticking to my teeth. I held the other half back from my face to examine what exactly I had just put in my mouth. The cake seemed a lighter, less appetizing shade of chocolate than I remember and the creme was not rich and thick, but had more of a marshmallowy fluff consistency. What the? I checked the box to make sure I had, in fact, purchased Hostess Ding Dongs and not generic Kroger’s Dink Donks or some other shameful imitation. But, no, there was the Ding and the Dong and the little red heart assuring me that this was made with that secret Hostess ingredient: love. Well, I didn’t feel loved. I felt betrayed. The Ding Dong of my youth is apparently no more.
30. Jean Shopping
I was ready to ditch the whole enterprise, but thought what the heck, I may as well go 0-4 with these Sweethearts. What do you know? They actually sort of kind of fit in a non-coin slotty, un-muffin toppery way. And if that weren’t enough, the twelves were too big. I had to leave the dressing room and come back with tens and they were practically perfect–no tummy-sucking, hopping up and down hip & thigh shimmying required–and no mile long mom butt or unsightly creasing in the crotchal area! (insert angelic chorus here)
31. Public Restrooms
Virtually all of my experiences have only reinforced my suspicion that public restrooms are indeed the tenth gate to hell. Only pain and misery await you there, my friends. Pain and misery.
32. Insta-insult
DynaGirl (checking the caller ID): Unavailable.
Mr. T: Your face is unavailable.
DynaGirl: You smell unavailable.
Just add random word. It’s all in the delivery.
33. Health Food
You know those 100 calorie Healthy Pop mini popcorn bags? I think they could reasonably be called 50 calorie bags since I can’t get through more than half a bag before I admit to myself it doesn’t taste good and throw the rest away.
34. How My Future Self Would Convince My Past Self of My True Identity
Yes, this is really you. I know all about that dent in your parents’ garage freezer. Don’t worry, they’ll alternately blame your sister and brother-in-law for years.
35. Motherhood and Trust
I love that she shares her little daydreams with me with a giggle and a smile. I hope that she will always want to share her hopes and dreams and the innermost wishes of her heart with her mother, although perhaps clandestinely publishing them on a blog won’t do much towards encouraging future confidence. Hmm—I hope no damage is done. I would hate to have to resort to reading her diary.
36. Tooth Fairy
Goose lost her second tooth yesterday, but the tooth fairy didn’t make it last night. Her older sister very helpfully pointed out that one time the tooth fairy had forgotten to visit her, but the next night she got a bonus with her present to make up for it. Why would the tooth fairy think it wise to set such precedences? Idiot.
37. The Dentist
When they ask if I’m a flosser, I always say yes, but then I try to buffer it a bit with something like “Well, I could do a lot better—I’m not like religious about it.” See, I’m more of an Easter/Christmas mass attender than the weekly Sabbath Day observer. And by that, I mean I floss when I think there’s something stuck in my teeth or when I have a dentist appointment. I wonder how many “Hail Marys” you have to say to be absolved of gingivitis. Or is it “Hell Mary”? I don’t know–I’m not Catholic.
38. Madhousewife’s Broccoli Rigatoni
Try it—you’ll like it!
39. Crafting Comebacks
DynaGirl: Eeew. There’s a hair on my plate.
Mr. T: Your face is a hair on my plate.
DynaGirl: You smell like a hair on my plate.
Mr. T: Touche.
Goose: You are a hair on my plate.
DynaGirl: Touche.
40. Personality Tests
I often don’t like the results of personality tests. The “who are your celebrity sisters?” one was especially painful—I mean, Jessica and Ashlee Simpson?! Ack!! I find myself taking them multiple times, hoping for a different outcome. But it seems that no matter how many different answers I try to give, I get the exact same results. It’s like they know what I’m trying to do.
41. Reassuring Children
Last year, just a couple of days before Easter, our kitchen table bench fell on DynaGirl’s foot and broke her big toe—a break that required a trip to the orthopedic specialist (because it had broken on the growth plate) and a walking boot. I’m not exactly sure what was the point of seeing the orthopedic specialist. He confirmed that it had broken on the growth plate, and then said there was a chance that toe would stop growing, but that there was nothing they could do about it. OK. DynaGirl was slightly alarmed at the possibility of having a stubby toe. Our conversation about it went something like this:
DG: Am I going to be a freak, Mom?
Mom: Maybe, sweetheart, but you’ll be a beautiful, kind and compassionate freak who is very smart and draws great pictures.
DG: Will I still be able to wear flip flops?
Mom: Sure.
It’s important to focus on the positive.
42. Middle School Discipline
I find this tasering business more than a little disturbing. But then I am a mother of an 11 year old sixth grader who is still very much on the small side. I suppose middle school students range from 11-14 and are at various stages of puberty and development, making some formidable opponents in confrontational situations. If my child were the one being beaten up by the bully, I’m sure I would be the first one screaming, “Shock him! Bring him down!” It’s just all very frightening to me.
43. Gossip Website and She Who Must Not Be Named
I love how she’s taken it upon herself to bring some accountability to all who might possibly be rightfully accused. I can see the testimonials pouring in now. “I’m so grateful to Ms. Bloch and her website that listed all of my sexual exploits for all the world to see. It made me realize that I am indeed a slut, and now I’m getting the help I need for my sexual addiction.” She’s really providing a service, you see.
44. She Who Must Not Be Named
“Gossip, when you do it right, is a really, really good thing.”
Well then, lady, here’s my contribution to the greater good: You’re an idiot. Feel free to spread the word.
45. Unrequited Kindergarten Love
Goose: Guess what? Jakob said he’d rather die than marry me.
Mom: Why’d he say that?
Goose: I asked him.
Mom: To marry you?
Goose: No, I said would you rather marry me or die, and he said die. I don’t think he likes me.
46. Sandy Duncan
I wonder whatever happened to Sandy. Did you know she doesn’t actually have a glass eye?
47. Kraft Foods
Badly done, Kraft Foods. Badly done.
48. Mental Health
I’m beginning to think I’ve left the little dinner cruise ride around quirky harbor and jumped on the transcontinental non-stop flight to Crazy Town.
49. Consumer Activism
I just might have to stage a full-on Kraft Foods salad dressing boycott. Do you have any idea who you’re messing with here Ms. McMiller?! We’re talking a potential of tens of dollars of lost revenue annually! Are you prepared to let that happen on your watch?
50. Flattery
OK, don’t get me wrong. I appreciate a compliment as much as the next gal, but when people go kind of overboard like that, don’t you start to question their sincerity? I think this is an instance where less is more. Just swoop in, drop off the kind word or two and then move along. Gushing just smacks of phoniness or even pity. But then maybe I’m just a cynical ingrate incapable of graciously accepting a compliment.
51. Religion
Mom: Goose, hold still! I can’t do your hair when you’re so wiggly. Sometimes you drive me so crazy…
Goose: So crazy you want to kill me?
Mom: No, I don’t want to kill people when I’m crazy. Do you want to kill people when you feel crazy?
Goose: I’d only want to kill people if Jesus told me to.
Mom: That is never going to happen.
Just how disturbed by this should I be exactly?
52. Parenting
A couple of months ago I had gotten out the phone book for some reason or other and BigHugs took to carrying it around and leafing through its pages. I could not understand what the appeal was, but she was happy so hey, whatever.
53. Setting the Bar
I’ve decided that my nonspecialness (in the flashy beauty queen sense) is really more of a blessing for her. She won’t be living in my shadow. She won’t feel the need to compare her accomplishments to mine and then feel lacking in any way. The only big shoes she’ll have to fill are my literal size 9’s. That’s a gift, right?
54. Neighborhood Parking
In this case, it’s not just about being an eyesore. There’s a real safety issue here. This is a public sidewalk intended for the use of pedestrians to safely convey themselves from one end of the neighborhood to the other without the fear of being struck by a parking vehicle. Are you feelin’ me?
55. Feet
I’m not certain I know what feet taste like (actually, I’m pretty certain I don’t know what feet taste like), but I can’t imagine it would be a very pleasant tastebud experience unless maybe they were smothered in peanut butter and hot fudge.
56. Special Skills
Helping DynaGirl dry off after a shower.
Mom: What are you doing?
DynaGirl: I’m flaring my butt cheeks.
Mom: Flaring?
DynaGirl: Yeah, you know, like when I flare my nostrils?
Mom: chuckling
DynaGirl: What? What else would you call it?
Mom: I don’t know, maybe clenching?
I think maybe I like “flaring” better. I imagine she’d make a pretty awesome fitness instructor.
57. Parenting a Difficult Child
I tell people she’s the child God sent to make me a better mom. My first two were easy—well, there were the health issues, but the emotional and behavioral stuff were nothing compared to #3. She’s the one teaching me patience and restraint, forgiveness and how to work through the guilt and move on. She is my refiner’s fire. Often my inclination is to douse the flames—she pushes and I push back. But I’m slowly realizing that when she screams “I hate you!” she really means “Please love me” and I try to reassure her this is so.
58. Spearmint
I wouldn’t care if spearmint tic tacs had a weight-loss inducing negative carb count, I still couldn’t choke them down. *shudder*
59. Enabling Children
I spend a good portion of my day rescuing my toddler from perilous hair-related situations. I do sweep and vacuum, but there are six people living in our home, four of whom are female, all with long hair that has a propensity for shedding. One hundred percent effective prophylacticism is just not possible. The other day she brought me a koosh ball. Fortheluvva…I told her to just forget about the koosh ball. I could spend the rest of my natural days dehairifying a koosh!
60. Blog Contests
Now, as for the promised fabulous prize, in the interest of full disclosure I did not actually know what the fabulous prize would be when I first offered the incentive. I did a search for “fabulous prize” to see if it sparked any ideas—all I found was a bunch of random blogs of people giving away random (often unspecified) prizes, one of which was a handsewn sock monkey. A genuine handsewn sock monkey? How can I possibly compete with that?! I cannot.
61. Unconditional Love
At tuck-in time.
DynaGirl: Thanks for giving me birth. You’re the best mom in the whole entire world and I’ll always love you no matter what.
Mom, making goofy face: Are you sure?
DynaGirl: Yes, even when you do embarrassing things, I’ll still love you deep down. Very, very, very, very, deep, deep down.
I love you too, sweetheart.
62. Genetic Defects
Mom: Goose, this room is getting out of control. You need to clean this up.
Goose, in her best pout: But I suck at cleaning.
Mom: No you don’t. Remember a couple weeks ago when you cleaned your whole entire room all by yourself? You did an awesome job.
Goose, almost genuinely sad now: But I’m just so lazy now.
There can never be any doubt she’s her mother’s daughter
63. Grocery Shopping
I have a particular grocery cart unloading procedure that must be strictly adhered to at all times.
64. Marital Relations
If you want to know my most private thoughts and intimate secrets, you’ll have to read my blog like everyone else.
65. Customer Service and Going the Extra Mile
This is a non-profiting blog, people, and I’m just not ready to put forth that kind of effort yet.
66. Those Burrito Types
They are completely wrapped up in themselves, and they’re full of beans.
67. Magical Powers of Momness
DynaGirl: My legs are so dry sometimes they hurt.
Mom: That’s why we have to put cream on them everyday.
DynaGirl: I hate cream.
Mom: Well, how else are we going to make your legs be not dry?
DynaGirl: You could use your magical powers of momness.
You have no idea how many times I’ve wished that were true.
68. Defense Strategies
I wasn’t making fun of you. I was just repeating what you said in a more humorous way.
69. Nutrition
Goose: I’m hungry. I need a snack.
Me: OK, go see what you can find.
Ten minutes later.
Me: Did you ever get that snack? Do you need some help?
Goose: No, I’m all done. I had six tic tacs.
Me: Tic tacs are not a snack.
Goose: Why not? You eat them.
70. Mother’s Wisdom
I was a freshman in high school watching the “Where the Streets Have No Name” video and I said to my mom, “I don’t know what it is about Bono. I mean, he’s not particularly gorgeous when you just look at him, but once he starts singing and moving around…I dunno.” To which she replied, “It’s called sex appeal, sweetheart.” And of course I was like, “Mom, ew.” But she was a mother who knew.
71. Toddlers
She wants things. And she wants them now. She can go from 0 to pissed off in 0.62 seconds. Folks, I feel a storm a comin’.
72. Toddler Jokes
BigHugs new parting greeting
BigHugs: Bye, bye alligator!
Close enough.
73. Today’s Music
Don’t, don’t, don’t let’s start. I’ve got an aardvark.
74. Taking Offense
What exactly do you mean by this? I’m trying to decide whether or not to be offended. It is a choice, you know.
75. Transportation in China
In. Sane.
76. Left-handed Compliments
77. The Booty Song
I’m shaking my boo-ty.
You can do anything with your booty.
You can sit with them
watch TV with them
You can lay an egg like a chicken
and all the other animals that lay eggs with them.
Boo-boo-boo-boo-boo-boo-boo-boo-booties!
You can walk with them
You can launch with them
You can fire in the hole with them
You can see with them
You can smell with them
You can talk with them (interrupts melody here, bends over and says “Hello, I am a buttocks.”)
You can even hug your mom with them! (rubs booty against mom’s leg)
You can do anything, anything, anything, anything!
With booties!!!
78. Can you snort spice?
Yes, freak, you probably can. But don’t. Just don’t.
79. Crafting Compliments
You’re a rainbow sprinkled freak.
80. Full Disclosure
You should already know I’m a little whacked by now, but just in case you weren’t completely convinced or have attempted to explain away my last trip to Crazy Town as a one time experience perhaps induced by the consumption of large quantities of frosted circus animals, let me assure you that is not the case. I feel I owe it to you, faithful reader, to be completely up front with my psychoses—how else are we to maintain our circle of trust if not through total honesty? Subterfuge has no place among virtual friends. I reserve that kind of deceit for those who know me in person, who might feel somewhat uneasy about my nutjobbiness. But you people can feel comfortable and safe on the other side of cyberspace—I don’t even know where most of you live yet.
81. Exclamations of Joy
Holy hot dog on a stick sweet mother moses!
82. Predicting Evil
But then, of course, the dark side clouds everything. Impossible to see the future is.
83. Sibling Love
Rock on, sis!
84. Child Profanity
Darn you to heck.
85. Customer Service
Nobody uses common sense these days and everyone is so inflexible—like the world will end if you deviate from your set protocal of pancake portioning. I just want a smaller pancake, is that so wrong? Or hard? Just make it smaller! I’ll even pay the same amount, if that’s what you’re worried about.
86. Childhood Fantasies
DynaGirl pointed out to me yesterday that all of her unicorn pictures have a path in them. I can’t wait to go down the path with her.
87. Houseguest Preparations
I still haven’t cleaned by bathrooms or mopped my floor, but really, how many times are houseguests likely to need to use the bathroom or walk on the floor in a 3-day period?
88. Family Reunions
All the cousins got along, and I think everyone left without doors a slamming or wheels a peeling out of the driveway or vows of never again returning or hearty shouts of “So long, suckahs!”, so all in all I would call it a success!
89. Family Secrets
I don’t even want to know what my kids are saying when I’m not around.
90. Honesty in Writing
I swear on a stack of phone books. I don’t make this stuff up.
91. Self-Awareness
I’m beginning to think that maybe I’m not a very nice person.
92. Grade School Talent Shows
It’s really exhausting holding in the inappropriate laughter because laughing at the unintentionally funny grade schooler is just wrong. Even when they do a “cartwheel” off the stage and then stand up perfectly fine and uninjured.
93. Celebrity Look-Alikes
I really don’t have anything to say. I’m still trying to stop laughing (or crying in the case of Tommy Lee—Tommy Fricking Lee?!).
94. Sock Monkey Phenomenon
I dare say nobody in their right mind would dispute the awesomeness that is the sock monkey, but I had no idea they were this popular.
95. Tolerance
What the h-e-double L-shaped object is wrong with you, woman?!
96. SNL Cowbell Skit
I’ve seen this a googillion times and it just never gets old for me. It’s like I’ve gotta fevuh and the only prescription is more cowbell.
97. Stimulating Dinner Conversation
Erotica?
98. Rewarding Mediocrity
How meaningful can this honor really be when you’re more likely to be recognized than not?
99. Mom Humor
Sometimes my humor is totally lost on my 2 year old.
100. Gratitude
I’ve been so pleasantly surprised at this little community of friends we’ve built here at Bythelbs and in the Blogosphere. Thank you, faithful readers—commenters and lurkers! In the immortal words of Mr. Adams, Everything I do, I do it for you.
Last night I dreamed that I was volunteering in my daughter’s kindergarten class and Lionel Richie was there doing a mentoring session American Idol style. There was a cute little boy totally rockin’ the Dancing on the Ceiling. Needless to say I was pretty bummed when I woke up before it was Goose’s turn. I wonder what she would have sung?
Speaking of Goose, last night I put her in the bath and then went downstairs to swap out some loads of laundry. When I came back up she was lying face down on the bottom of the tub. I called her name and she didn’t move. I called it louder and she didn’t move. Just as I was about to scoop her up out of the bathtub she sat up. Scared the holy living crap out of me. I totally gave her the what for about not scaring me like that ever again. Note to all—it’s never funny to pretend that you’re dead. Never. Ever. Ever. It ruined my whole night. I’m getting a little sick just telling you all about it now.
Speaking of sick, BigHugs has a bad cold and nasty cough. Yesterday she woke up all tired and coughy and said, “Mom, I’m sick. I have a fevah.” And can you guess what I said? What I had to say? “Is the only prescription more cowbell?” Sometimes my humor is totally lost on my 2 year old.
Speaking of humor, I enjoyed all y’all’s search term hits on last week’s Wacky Search Term Wednesday post. Jumbo Shrimp will be receiving her very own genuine miniature sock monkey. Could you e-mail me your address, Jumbo? I thought I had it, but I seem to have misplaced it. As soon as I get it, I’ll send off your monkey and maybe a few other very “special” bythelbs’s signature surprises post haste.
Speaking of post, this is my 99th! Which means tomorrow, barring any unforseen emergencies or natural disasters, will be my 100th post. Any ideas on what I should do? FYI, I’m not particularly interested in making a list of 100 random things about me. First of all, I’m not sure that I could come up with 100 things. And also that would be boring. And if there’s anything a 100th post shouldn’t be, it’s boring. So help me out with your brilliant ideas (you’ve only got today, though, so get on it!) and save us all from the boring.
Speaking of boring, I was bored to pieces yesterday. Reese’s Pieces. Literally. And by that I mean I was so bored that I kept going to the pantry for something to snack on and found my secret stash of Reese’s treats (Chuck you didn’t hear or er, read that) and inhaled a bag of Reese’s Pieces. Well, not the whole bag. About halfway through I lost interest. I started feeling sick actually. I’m sure it had nothing to do with the cheezits and salsa verde doritos and mint oreos and spoonfuls of peanut butter I had already eaten. Why do I do these things to myself? Why? Why?!
Speaking of why? why?! My girls normally ride the bus to school, but this week it’s been all rainy and cold and I haven’t wanted to drag BigHugs out in the rain and cold with her cough and cold, so I’ve just been driving to school. Can I tell you how much I hate driving to school? I’m not sure that I can. Are there adequate words to describe my frustration and pissed-off-ed-ness with all those parents who are incapable of grasping the idea of pull forward? Pull forward, people! It’s not that hard! See all those cars behind you just waiting, waiting, waiting when there is like 6 car lengths of free space ahead of you?! What’s the matter with you?!
Speaking of what’s the matter with you, what’s the matter with me? The other day I had a lovely couple come to my door spreading the good word about the good book, and all I could think of was how totally hot that guy was. No seriously, I had no idea there were JW’s that were that attractive. (Sorry, Chuck, but he was. Not as attractive as you, of course, but still.) Not that I’ve ever thought that unattractiveness was a shared quality among the lovely people that are Jehovah’s Witnesses, but seriously, this guy was really cute. And I was trying really hard not to look like I was checking him out because his wife was standing right there. Needless to say, I accepted his literature with a smile.
Speaking of smile, what’s making you smile today?
Last night was Mr. T’s honor roll awards recognition night at his middle school. He is just finishing up his sixth grade year. He doesn’t usually care about stuff like this, but it was his first one so I thought it would be nice to check it out. Originally we were going to take the whole family, but with BigHugs not feeling well and passed out on the couch we decided I would just take Mr. T and Chuck would stay home with the girls.
We live about 2 minutes away from the school by car, so with the event starting at 7 pm I thought leaving at 6:50 pm would be plenty of time. Plus I figured how many people would be at this thing anyway? When we arrived at the school, the parking lot was practically full. We wondered if there was something else going on at the school on the same night—surely all these people weren’t here for the honor roll thing. Oh, but they were!
The gym was packed and when I looked at the program we were handed at the door, I understood why. There were 6 pages full of students to get awards! They were giving out awards for the students who had made honor roll first semester and the students who made honor roll in the third quarter. The program was divided by grade and further divided by grade point average and then by semester/quarter. They had three grade point average categories: 4.0, 3.5-3.99, and 3.0-3.49. So everyone with a 3.0 average or above made honor roll and they were all getting certificates that night.
The program opened with the pledge of allegiance and the school choir singing the national anthem and then a few words from the principal and then a “stirring” rendition of Wind Beneath My Wings by a sweet girl who forced me to channel my inner-Simon and think “I don’t think you’re nearly as good as you think you are”. Then the vice principal got up to thank all those who had helped in planning and preparing for the evening because it had been quite an undertaking as there were some six hundred certificates to pass out that night. Six freaking hundred?! There are only 1000 students in the whole school! Six hundred of them made the honor roll?!
And here’s where I’ll surely offend someone—since when does a 3.0 land you on an honor roll? No offense to those B average students. A 3.0 is a very respectable grade point average—good for you! You should be proud of yourselves. I’m sure many of those students worked very hard for those grades. And not to take away from their accomplishment, but I’m also pretty sure just as many got there with very little effort. I mean, it’s middle school.
So what exactly is the purpose of these recognition nights? How meaningful can this honor really be when you’re more likely to be recognized than not? And what was with the cheesy certificates? They also recognized the top 6 students from a “how many pages can you read in a three month period of time” contest. They received certificates with a gold seal in a gold-embossed black cover. The honor roll certificates were printed out on plain old cardstock from one of the school’s computers and were bordered with paw prints (the school’s mascot is a timberwolf). Although, obviously if you’re giving out 600 certificates, you can’t do anything special.
Twenty minutes into the program they began handing out the certificates. They started with the 4.0’s. There were 13 eighth graders, two seventh graders and 11 sixth graders who had 4.0’s, and only five of these had 4.0’s for the entire year, including Mr. T. (Yes, I am bragging just a bit, but hey, being one of five students out of a school of 1000 to get perfect grades for the year is a noteworthy accomplishment, right?) Then they moved onto the 3.5-3.99 category. It was 7:30 pm and they were just finishing up with the 7th graders for this category from 1st semester. Next they would do the sixth graders and then they would go back to the 8th graders for this category for 3rd quarter and then to the 7th graders again and so on. Mind you, they still had all those to do plus all three grades from first semester and third quarter who had a 3.0-3.49!
I could feel the life draining out of me (and my butt—Holy cow those bleachers are uncomfortable!). I turned to Mr. T and said, “We’ve got to make a run for it.” We looked around—the bleachers were packed and we were sitting at the opposite end of the gym from the exit.
Mr. T: But what about all these people we’d have to climb over? We’ll never make it.
Me: We’ve got to try. We can’t stay here. As soon as this group goes to sit down, make a run for it. You go first. I’ll be right behind you.
Mr. T: But what if you can’t get through? What if you get stuck?
Me: Don’t worry about me. I’ll be OK. Whatever you do, don’t look back. Just keep going. If we get separated, I’ll meet you at the car, OK? Just stick to the plan.
All of the 7th graders with a 3.5-3.99 first semester started to sit down.
Me: Go, go, go!
Mr. T and Me: Pardon me. Excuse me. Sorry.
We almost took out a kid’s head on the way down and nearly sent a lady’s purse flying, but we made it to the gym floor.
Me: Walk. Just keep walking.
The exit was blocked by all the people who had arrived late and didn’t have a place to sit. I caught one lady’s eye and she looked at me knowingly and opened the door. “Thank you,” I mouthed. “You’re welcome,” she said quietly with a mixture of compassion and bitter envy. I wanted to ask her to come with us, but when I noticed her kid didn’t have a certificate yet, I just couldn’t ask her to make that choice.
We pulled out of the parking lot at 7:35 pm, and all I could think of as we drove off was, “See ya, suckahs!”
Six. hundred. certificates. Ridiculous, right?
At the dinner table.
Goose: Have you ever heard of a rabbica? ‘Cause I haven’t.
Chuck: Erotica?
Me: Chuck! What did you say, Goose?
Goose: A rabbica.
Mr. T: It’s from one of the episodes of Roadents.
Me, giving Chuck my best “I can’t believe you look”: Oh.
Chuck, shrugging and trying not to laugh: I couldn’t understand what she was saying.
DynaGirl: What did Dad say?
Me: Nothing.
Oy vey!
At the same dinner.
DynaGirl: Does it hurt when you get your ears pierced?
Me: Yeah, it hurts, but only for a little bit.
DynaGirl: Does it hurt when you get your ears pierced if you’re a baby?
Me: Yeah, it still hurts.
Goose: Does it hurt when you get your ears pierced when you’re a grownup?
Me: Yeah, it still hurts. They’re still sticking a needle thing through your ear.
Goose: I don’t want to get my ears pierced!
Me: You don’t have to get your ears pierced. Lots of people don’t get their ears pierced.
DynaGirl: My teacher in first grade didn’t have her ears pierced.
Me: Two of your aunts don’t have their ears pierced.
Chuck: My grandma didn’t have her ears pierced either. She used to wear those clip on earrings. We used to play with them.
Mr. T: You played with your grandma’s earrings?
Chuck: Yeah, we’d put them on.
Mr. T: You wore your grandma’s earrings?!
Chuck: Well, I was only like four or something.
Mr. T: Yeah, right.
Yeah, right.
So Chuck and I have recently joined Facebook, and we’re still trying to figure out how it all works. We edited our relationship and received the formal declaration “Chuck and Bythelbs are now married.”
Chuck, exploring the little pop-up boxes that let you update your relationships: Look, I can cancel our relationship.
Me: Nice.
So can I, dude.
Here’s another one Chuck picked out for me.
Chuck is nothing, if not subtle.
Wednesday night was Mr. T’s band concert. Needless to say, it was quite the experience. Thankfully only 45 minutes worth of experience. One of the songs very prominently featured a certain percussion instrument for which I have a particular fondness. I couldn’t help but laugh, and afterwards Mr. T wanted to know what was so funny. So I had to show him this: Cowbell
I’ve seen this a googillion times and it just never gets old for me. It’s like I’ve gotta fevuh and the only prescription is more cowbell.
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I feel I need to preface this by saying that I’m a firm believer in not judging others. Especially other mothers because motherhood is a tough gig and we all have our flaws and bad days—believe me, I have my flaws and bad days. And giving people the benefit of the doubt is a standard I try to live by, and a kindness I hope others extend to me. But every once in a while something just…just…torques me off (as Chuck would say), and I can’t help but think, “What the h-e-double L-shaped object is wrong with you, woman?!”
Yesterday I accompanied DynaGirl’s class on a field trip to a local nature park along with five other parents. We walked from the school to the park and then had lunch and visited the fishing pond and fountain, the marshes, the demonstrative gardens (really cool!) and finally the playground. While watching my group of kids at the playgroud I noticed two of the moms weren’t with their groups—they were a ways off by the gardens TAKING A SMOKING BREAK.
Needless to say, I have issues with this.
1. We were on a FIELD TRIP. With GRADE SCHOOLERS. At a NATURE PARK.
2. Who was SUPERVISING the children in their groups?
3. They each had a TODDLER in a stroller RIGHT NEXT to them, and the one mom had a double stroller with her 16 MONTH OLD and 4 MONTH OLD INFANT.
Who? Who does this?! Who smokes on a school field trip? In front of the children?! Well, in all fairness, they were removed from the rest of the group—enough that there was no way they could have been keeping track of the six boys in their combined groups, but not enough that people at the playground couldn’t tell what they were doing.
I understand that smoking is an especially stubborn monkey on your back, and perhaps they have made valiant efforts to quit. I’ll admit I have no idea what kind of trauma and trials they might be going through in life (including a field trip with a bunch of rambunctious 8 year olds) that might be momentarily eased by puffing on a stick of death. But they couldn’t wait until the field trip was over? Really? Really?!
I recognized one of the mothers as the same woman who had been smoking at the ZOO on DynaGirl’s first grade field trip, so I should not have been surprised I guess. She also happened to be the mother who wore a spaghetti strap tank top with peek-a-boo bra cups to last month’s field trip to the science center and the mother who had smacked her toddler across the mouth (loud enough that several people in the room could hear) in the school office that morning, but that’s neither here nor there. Sorry, I suppose I just threw that in to prejudice the jury, so to speak.
The whole thing just makes me very, very sad. Angry and sad. And yes, it also makes me think about what kind of mother I want to be and where I desperately fall short and what things I most definitely need to improve. And I should acknowledge that I don’t think these mothers are bad people. Obviously if they’re taking the time to be involved in their children’s schools, they care. And I’ve seen each of them hug and kiss and encourage their children before. But still, with the smoking on the field trip, it’s just wrong, right?
I don’t really have time to write a real post today (there are multiple field trips and singular band concerts and all sorts of other crud that I probably won’t even get around to), but I hate to leave you with nothin’ so here’s somethin’—my tried and true fall back of choice. I’m even going to give it a name, so should I ever need a quick and easy post I can just throw up one of these like it’s an actual intended series or whatever.
So I give thee…Wacky Search Term Wednesday! (Throw in a day of the week and a little alliteration and voila—instant series!)
sock monkey (this is by far my top search right now)—Is there like a Worldwide Sock Monkey Convention going on or perhaps it’s National Sock Monkey Awareness Month? Because I’ve gotten hundreds of hits for this over the past couple weeks or so, including sock monkey, sock monkeys, “sock monkey”, mr. t sock monkey, monkey mr. t pictures, genuine sock monkeys and old sock monkey, to name a few. I dare say nobody in their right mind would dispute the awesomeness that is the sock monkey, but I had no idea they were this popular.
come to the dark side we have cookies pj—At first I thought this was an invitation to some dude named PJ, but now I’m thinking that perhaps the pj is for pajamas? Where can I find me a pair?
paint wall colors denver omelette—Heaven knows I love me a Denver omelette and I’m certainly no interior designer, but this just doesn’t sound like a good decorating choice to me. What colors would that be exactly? Yellow? Orange? Green? Pink?
simpson sex—I’m assuming this is connected to the Marge Simpson reference I made awhile back. I’ve also gotten hits for “marge crazy hair” and “mother on the simpson cartoon”. Does someone actually want to know about Marge and Homer’s sex life? They’re cartoons, sickos!
www, 500 pound circus lady, com—And this brought them here? Well, I never! Harumph!
What little gems have you guys gotten lately? Leave a comment with your wackiest hits here and I’ll select a winner at random to receive a genuine miniature sock monkey of her very own!
P.S. Happy Birthday Susan! You’re all kinds of awesome and I hope you have a great day!
Madhousewife did this celebrity look-alike thing, so I thought I’d give it a go. The only celebrity I can remember anyone saying I specifically looked like was Taylor Dayne. It was some guy DJ-ing a dance I was at. I don’t think I knew what Taylor Dayne looked like at the time (I was 16), so I wasn’t sure whether or not it could be considered a compliment. What do you think?
She looks a little collagen happy to me here. Maybe there’s an older picture.
Oh yeah, I look exactly like this.
Oh, and here’s my celebrity look-alike collage:
I really don’t have anything to say. I’m still trying to stop laughing (or crying in the case of Tommy Lee—Tommy Fricking Lee?!).
Who are your celebrity look-alikes?
So last week DynaGirl participated in her school’s talent show. Anyone was welcome to perform any kind of act—there were no auditions, you just had to have your act approved by the faculty advisor. DynaGirl’s taking piano and just had her piano recital the week before, so voila—instant talent show act! Her piece, by the way, was Taco Rock—her teacher is really big on the classics.
A couple of days before the talent show they had a dress rehearsal, so that everyone had a chance to perform their act on stage and get all the logistics down, etc. I attended this dress rehearsal with DynaGirl and thought to myself—holy hell, if this is the show I have to sit through on Thursday night.
Two words. Hannah Montana. There were Hannah Montana “dance” routines. Hannah Montana jump roping routines. Girls doing 50,000 cartwheels and “cartwheels” (there were varying skill levels in that group) back and forth across a mat while Hannah Montana played in the background. Hannah Montana songs being sung in the key of which I didn’t previously know existed.
It wasn’t all about the Hannah. There were some other non-Hannah dance routines and non-Hannah song singers and non-Hannah “comedy” sketches about non-Hannah people getting blown up by bombs and set on fire and attacked by robots built by an evil mad scientist (actually, that might have been funnier with a Hannah theme).
But the common thread through a lot of these acts was the painfully obvious lack of preparation and … dare I say it? Yes, I dare. Talent. Don’t get me wrong, sucky acts are part of the charm of an elementary school talent show. And I’m a firm believer in allowing everyone to participate and celebrating all of our gifts and talents in all their gloriously different magnitudes and forms. My niece had to audition for her elementary school’s talent show, and she didn’t make it. I thought that was sad, and I really didn’t like the idea of telling children that they’re not good enough to perform in a grade school talent show, but after last week’s open mic night at my daughter’s school I think perhaps my niece’s school had something there—at least they could weed out the acts that weren’t really acts, but just some kids winging it for their 15 seconds of fame.
There were actually two separate performances to accommodate all of the acts. My sister went with us to see DynaGirl (who totally rocked Taco Rock, by the way) and suggested that perhaps next year they could put all the sucky acts in one show and the good acts in the other—that way the parents of the kids who actually put some effort and practice into their acts didn’t have to suffer through all of the open mic acts of the other kids whose parents obviously didn’t care.
Forgive me if I’m coming off overly harsh, but I had to go to the dress rehearsal and the school assembly performance for the students and the evening performance for the parents and it just about sucked the life right out of me. And it’s really exhausting holding in the inappropriate laughter because laughing at the unintentionally funny grade schooler is just wrong. Even when they do a “cartwheel” off the stage and then stand up perfectly fine and uninjured. When we got home from the evening performance Mr. T said, “We’ve only been gone one hour? It felt like five.” Exactly.
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