Archive | March, 2009

How to gift a Snuggie

25 Mar

So we’re leaving tomorrow.  Am I packed?  No.  Is the laundry done?  No.  Is the house clean?  No.  Have I found a new outfit for the wedding?  No.  But I did finish customizing my Snuggie box for the lingerie shower!

Top of the box:


Get your Snuggie on!

Back of the box:


Use anytime, anywhere, for anything.  Its uses are only limited by your imagination!

Side of the box:


Join the Snuggie mile high club!

Other side of the box:


See what a Snuggie can do?

I know it’s real subtle, but I wanted to keep it classy.

And the money shot:


Stay warm for any activity

That’s a picture of my SIL and her fiance from their engagement photo session with a little enhancement from yours truly.  Here’s a closer look (warning—it’s a little racy):



Yeah, I’m pretty sure the Snuggie’s going to be my go to gift for all those future lingerie showers I’m likely to attend. 

Are you ready to get your Snuggie on?!

Ready or not

24 Mar

I’ve been trying to get ready for this wedding trip.  We leave in two days and there is still so much to do, but I have managed to check a few things off my list.

notify schools of vacation—Check.  I sent an e-mail to my girls’ elementary school principal explaining they would miss the last two days of this week for an out of town family wedding (by the way, this week happens to be half-days for my kids as well as the week before spring break), and this is the reply she sent:


Enjoy your vacation. Your children are both doing very well in school and missing these half days will unlikely have too much detriment to their education.
Thanks for letting us know. Enjoy the wedding.

Ms. Principal

Phew.  That’s a relief!  Oh.  Brother.

practice Rock Band—Check.  Although, I haven’t gotten in nearly as much practice as I would like.  Chuck’s extended family are all big Rock Banders, so we’re anticipating a good portion of our down time will be spent rocking.  One of the songs we like to play on Rock Band 2 that I actually hadn’t heard of before getting the game is Interpol’s PDA

Whenever I hear this song, I like to imagine Richard Butler singing.  Can’t you hear him singing it?  Maybe I’m high.

I sang in our RB session last night.  DynaGirl pointed out that the “tambourine” parts where I normally tap the microphone can also be done with your voice.  I tried it out, singing short bursts of ha, ha, ha, ha, ha in a pseudo-operatic voice.  That was actually pretty fun.  And funny.  (You kind of need to hear it, I think, to believe it.)  She dared me to do it while we’re in Utah.  She is so on!

get Mr. T’s hair cut—Check.  It’s so awesome having a sister nearby who just happens to be a hair dresser.  Mr. T always gets a pretty short cut.  Last night, while we were rocking, DynaGirl said, “Mr. T’s hair is so soft.”  Then, while feeling the back of his head, Mr. T said, “Yeah, I like stroking it.”  Then Chuck said, “I wouldn’t say that at school.”  To which, thankfully, he got a couple of blank stares.  I’m just glad no one felt the need to have a Michael Scott moment.

make wedding guest book—Check.  My sister-in-law asked me to make the guest book for their wedding.  I guess the latest trend is to have these kind of mini scrapbooks with pictures and everything.  The guests are just supposed to sign around the pics like an autograph book rather than the lined pages of a traditional guest book.  Again, it’s so awesome having a sister nearby who not only cuts hair, but also has her own scrapbooking business.  She helped me with this.  A lot.  While we were putting together one page, she thought it would be cool to add an accent charm to the layout.  She was looking through her supplies for one that said love, but could only find sweet, cherish and create.  Then she suggested we use the create charm and write in “pro”.  We settled on cherish.  I’m already giving them a Snuggie.  I don’t think they need any more encouragement than that.

lingerie party gift—Check.  The Snuggie has been purchased.  They only had it in royal blue, but blue just happens to be one of her wedding colors so I’m thinking it will be perfect.  The box it comes in is extremely informative, showing all different situations in which one might wear a Snuggie: watching TV (with hands free to operate the remote), studying on your bed (with hands free to take notes and turn the pages of your book), working on your laptop (with hands free to type), knitting (with hands free to knit), roasting marshmallows (with hands free to hold your roasting sticks), attending a sporting event (with hands free to cheer on your team or give the ref a piece of your mind), riding in an airplane (with hands free to secure the oxygen mask should the plane experience a change in pressure).  The possibilities are endless.  How do we not all have one of these already?  And I’m thinking this “hands free” feature works perfectly with the theme of the party.  I was thinking about enhancing the box a little—maybe customize it for the occasion.  Any thoughts?

Still to do:

find an outfit for the wedding—The invitation says “Sunday best”.  My Sunday best is a denim or khaki skirt and a nice t-shirt or sweater.  Not exactly wedding attire.  I have no idea what I’m going to wear.  Any suggestions for a noon wedding in March in Utah?  It’s still cold in Utah, isn’t it?

pack—I hate this part.

clean the house—I hate this part more.

Well, I better get crackin’.  I hope to be back tomorrow for one last post before I go, and then I won’t be seeing you until Tuesday or Wednesday of next week.  See ya suckahs!


P.S.  I’m calling Janelle the winner of my special friend epitaph contest.  It was the Breasts’ Friends Forever that cinched it for me.  Janelle, e-mail me your address and I’ll send out your prize, a Gullah Gourmet Beadah Lickin’ Brownie Mix.  (The official Gullah Gourmet site is down at the moment, but this link will give you an idea. My husband picks up a few of these kinds of mixes every time he goes to Charleston on business.  De-lish.)

Sometimes more is more

20 Mar

Chuck’s sister is getting married next week. The night before the wedding, one of his other sister’s is throwing a bridal shower. Well, it’s more of a lingerie party really. After the last time I attended one of these lingerie parties, I swore I would never do it again. Who knew what was going on in my sister-in-laws’ minds! I love them to death, but woah boy! I was more than a little uncomfortable. If you want more juicy details, you’ll have to e-mail me. I can’t bring myself to post them here. This is just not that kind of blog, regardless of what my wacky search term hits might suggest (the ones I don’t use for WSTW).

Anyway, the invitation for the lingerie party said this:

Bachelorette Party & Lingerie Shower

Favorites: red, blue, black & green
No pink, please
Sexy costumes! 🙂

I’m a little thrown by the “sexy costumes”.  What does that mean exactly?  My first thought was, “Do they sell underoos in adult sizes?”  But maybe I’m taking the costume bit a tad too literally.  I don’t really consider myself overly prudish, but I’m not super comfortable shopping for lingerie for myself (which I don’t really do), let alone someone else.  We were provided with sizes, but I’m not totally confident that I will pick out something that would fit or be flattering.  And also, I really don’t like the idea of someone thinking of me while they’re doing whatnot in the item that I purchased for them.  Not that I think they’ll be thinking of me exactly.  I’m just imagining a scenario like:

“Nice nighty, shmoopie.  Where’d you get it?”

“Thanks, sugar toes.  Bythelbs gave it to me.”

I just don’t want my name or any kind of Bythelbs-related thought to enter into that particular situation, if you know what I mean.

So I’ve been struggling with this for a couple of weeks now until last night I had a revelation.  Cue heavenly rays and angelic chorus.  I know exactly what I’m getting for her.



Doesn’t she look alluring?  It’s a one size fits all kind of thing, so I don’t have to worry about that.  It comes in red, blue and green, so there are plenty of options there.  And isn’t less skin supposed to be more sexy?  So I’m thinking coverage-wise, sometimes more is more, right?  It’s perfect.  I’m going to go pick one up at Target today.  I think maybe I’ll wrap it up with a card that says, “Snuggilicious!”

Conversations with DynaGirl

19 Mar

These all took place at the breakfast table this morning.

DynaGirl: Sometimes when I’m talking—and this has only happened at home, well, maybe once or twice at school—but sometimes when I’m talking, a little drool slips out of my mouth. But it mostly just happens at home.

When my kids do embarrassing things at home I always ask, “You don’t do that at school, do you?”


DynaGirl’s always getting after Goose about clearing her dishes from the table.

DynaGirl: When I grow up my family’s going to have a rule that if you don’t clear your dish from the meal before, you have to use that same dish for the next meal.

Me: Did you just make that up?

DynaGirl: No, I’ve been thinking about it for a few weeks.

For weeks.

Future hopes and dreams.

DynaGirl: When I grow up, I want to have 9 kids—5 girls and 4 boys.

Me:  Why?

DynaGirl:  Because I have lots of names to use plus I just want to.  There’s going to be Dominic, Lexi, Christopher and Chrysanthemum (they’re twins and we’re going to call them both Chris because Chryssy would be like a tomboy and Christoper wouldn’t like Christopher), Trevor, Lola and Kylee (they’re twins too), and Sunny.

Me: You’re missing a boy.

DynaGirl: I have it written down in my journal.  Do you want me to grab it real quick?

Me: If you want.

DynaGirl, not finished with her breakfast: I’ll take my toast.  Coming back downstairs.  It was Sam.  OK, so it’s Dominic and then Lexi Lily, Christopher Frank and Chrysanthemum Joy (wait, it’s really Joy Chrysanthemum), Trevor Fred, Lola Violet and Kylee Rose, Sam Phil, and Sunny Lupin.

Me:  Lupin?

DynaGirl: It’s a flower.  I want all the girls’ second names to be flowers.

Me: How come Dominic doesn’t have a second name?

DynaGirl: I thought my husband could pick that one.  Remember my caterpillars’ names? (DynaGirl’s second grade class studied caterpillars and each student got to raise a few of their own from caterpillar to butterfly.)

Me: No.

DynaGirl: Well, all of my boys’ second names are my caterpillars’ names: Frank, Fred and Phil.

Me: Oh, OK.  Go brush your teeth.

DynaGirl:  Oh!  I left my toast upstairs!

I can’t wait for her to read her journal in about ten years.

Wacky search terms Wednesday—second special intervention edition

18 Mar

You can find the first special intervention edition of WSTW here.

A friend of mine recently asked the question, “What are you contributing to the world?”  To be honest, I don’t rightly know.  But whatever it is, I’m sure it’s not enough.  So I’m going to try to do more—give more—right here, right now with another WSTW special intervention edition.  Sure, there are all kinds of freaks out there looking for all kinds of freaky answers to freakish questions, but who am I to judge?  We’ve all got problems.   We are all human and we all need to be loved.  Everybody does.  So I’m here for you, freaks (and I say that with the utmost love and respect because I am, after all, one of you).  I am here for you.

afraid of phone calls and cant stop pluc(king my eyebrows)—Bless your heart.  As if suffering from EPD weren’t enough.  First off, let me reassure you, it’s going to be OK.  I used to be you.  I used to think I couldn’t stop with the plucking, but I did.  And you can, too.  Admitting you have a problem is always the first step to recovery.  Set some boundaries.  Define a no-pluck zone then no-pluck it.  Allow yourself to pluck anywhere else, but do not under any circumstances enter that zone.  That’s the danger zone.  Once you cross that line, it’s a long road back, buddy.  A long road.  You can do it.  I believe in you.  Oh, and sorry, don’t know what to tell you about that phone call thing.

i am writing this mail to you with tears—You entered the danger zone, didn’t you.  It’s OK.  The first week or two is the hardest.  This is only a minor setback.  Reestablish the boundaries and try again.

just like everybody else—We are all special in our own way.  No two snowflakes are alike.  No two people are the same.  I’m sure there is something unique and wonderful about you.  Maybe your thing just isn’t as obvious as some.  Maybe it’s a little deeper down.  Just start digging, little buddy.  You’ll find it!  Just remember, in the immortal words of Mr. Fred McFeely Rogers, you are special.

step brothers molestation potholder—First, let me just say that you are very brave to come forward.  I know this must be a very difficult and awkward situation.  The most important thing is that you protect the potholders.  Get them to a safe place.  Then you can worry about getting your step brothers some professional help.  There is healing to be found.  But remember, protect the potholders!

help my computer chirps at random times—I can see how that would be annoying, but don’t panic.  I’m sure it’s nothing serious, like say, a bomb.  No, certainly not a bomb or anything like that.

how to get concave armpits—Um, I’m kind of at a loss here trying to imagine what kind of situation you’re in, but I recommend seeking professional help.  I would advise against the self-reconstruction of  the armpits.  It just doesn’t seem wise.  Or safe.  But good luck with that.  Feeling like you have a physical, um, abnormality(?) is hard.  If you discover there’s nothing to be done about it, look on the bright side—you can use that stick of deoderant down to the nub without fear of scrapage!  What I wouldn’t give for that.  Besides my concave armpits, of course.

i need club like everybody have—I know sometimes it seems like you’re the only outsider in a world full of cliques and clubs, but you’re not.  Really.  Everyone feels this way at some point, even those of us who appear to always be part of the group.  There are plenty of people looking for companionship and a sense of belonging.  Just look around for people with similar interests and/or needs.  Perhaps at an ESL class at your local community center?

im not a snack—That’s right!  Stand up for yourself!  You go, person!

flip flops make my knees throb—I’m no expert, but I’m going to go out on a limb here and say maybe it’s time to buy a more sensible pair of shoes.  Nothin’ wrong with making a few sacrifices for fashion, but when you’re talking about your health and throbbing—throbbing can never be good.

evil devil foods—Be careful here.  They’ll pretend to be your BFFs—all tasty and delicious with their chocolatey and/or cheesy and/or sour cream and oniony goodness.  Don’t be fooled by that momentary comfort you find in that foil-lined bag.  It’s lies.  All lies.  They’re just using you.  They don’t care about you at all.  I’m sure you think you can stop whenever you want.  We all do at first.  But pretty soon you’ll find yourself lying in a gutter somewhere, elbow deep in neon orange cheese dust, ready to sell your soul for a 1.5 ounce snack bag.  You’re better than that.  You deserve better than that.  Believe it!

snorting crushed wintergreen mints get y—get you high?  get you minty fresh nostril breath?  Dude, just eat them.  Sure, it sounds fun and exciting—living life on the edge—but you never know what kind of long term damage you might do.  Don’t get sucked into that lifestyle.  It’s not as glamorous as it looks.  You’ll find no fulfillment there, I promise you.  If you need a more intense mint experience, trying sucking on like three at a time.  I guarantee you that’ll get the juices flowin’.

ill be the one flaring my nostrils uncon(sciously)—But you don’t have to be that one.  You really don’t.  You can kick that mint habit.  You. Can. Do it.  Believe it!

how big are the holes in a ped egg—About the same size as one of those mini cheese grater things.  Why do you ask?

mini cheese grater—Hold up now.  Jus, Just wait.  I’m all for home remedies and saving a few dollars and all that, but I do not recommend MacGuyvering the foot care.  Seriously.  I know it looks like a mini cheese grater, but it’s not.  I’m pretty sure it’s not.  Please, just spring for the $10 professional instrument.  Trust me, you’re worth it.

can you use a towel more than once after—I don’t exactly know where you’re going with this, but just to be on the safe side, let’s say no.  No.  NO.

why always me woes me—Why always woes me?  It’s woe is me, people.  Woe is me.  As in you are so woeful you have become one with the woe.  You is the woe.  I’m sorry for your pain and whatever, but sheesh, can we just get this right?  For once?  Seriously.


Speaking of seriously, you really should check out Susan M’s higher thinking and deeper feeling post, and give it some serious thought.  Happy Wednesday, everyone.

In which I’m finally ready to move on

16 Mar

I went out Saturday to look for something to wear to Chuck’s sister’s wedding.  Well, at least I told myself I was going out to look for something to wear to Chuck’s sister’s wedding.  I was really on a mission to find something else—a secret mission.  I had to keep it a secret from even myself because heaven knows if I actually set out fully admitting to myself and the world that this was the particular thing I was looking for, I would never find it.  Never ever.  Ever.  Laws of the universe!

So I casually looked around at the skirts and dresses, even picked out a top and this really cute cropped sweater off the clearance rack to try on.  On my way to the dressing rooms, I just happened to find myself in the lingerie department.  “What are these doing here?” I said innocently to myself in my mind.  Then I casually and nonchalantly (you always have to do these things casually and nonchalantly so as not to tip yourself off) browsed the racks.  I had just two things in the back of my mind—the very back, so as not to arouse my (or the universe’s) suspicion:  it had to be wireless (I’ve never understood the point of a wire in an A cup bra.  Seriously.  Pointless.  In so many ways.) and it had to be lightly padded (An A cup might be a slightly generous description, but I’m not in the market for prosthetics either.   I have no delusions of Barbiedom, but I’d rather not go totally Skipper either.  I like to think of myself as more of a Midge.  With cuter hair.)

I found four possibilities, and took them with my top and sweater to the dressing room.  I tried on the top first.  It was pretty dang cute, I thought.  Although, looking in the mirror, it didn’t take me long to realize I was in one of those stores.  One of those stores with one of those dressing rooms with one of those mirrors that make you wish everyone was required by law to wear corrective lenses of the same prescription as that mirror because good frick you look good in that mirror.  Gooood Real good.  Then I tried on the sweater.  It had real possibilities as well.  And then I tried on the other things, real casual and nonchalant like.  I put the first one on and almost immediately rejected it.  It was a little snug and was offering little support to the ladies—emotional or otherwise.  I was sure I had been thwarted again.  Obviously, I hadn’t been casual and nonchalant enough.  I had caught on to my little plan.  The jig was up!  I was ready to abort the mission when I thought, “What the hey.  All hope is gone.  I have nothing to lose now.”  So I tried on the next one.  It felt pretty good.  Pretty darn good.  And the ladies were feeling a little, dare I say it, perkier?  I turned to the side, and I had a subtle yet discernable silhouette!  I tried it on with the shirt I was wearing that day.  Still looking good.  Then I tried it on with the new top.  Hey, not bad.  Then came the real test.  I poked it.  With my pokiest pokey finger.  And frick-on-a-stick-a-dinkly-do!  What do you know?!  It didn’t even leave a dent!

Riding on that high, I threw all caution to the wind and tried on the other two with similar fricktastic results.  I left that store with a trio of new pallies, my friends!  My new BFFs.  Another checkmark for the list.  A big, fat, fully and fantastically supported checkmark! 

As I retired for the evening Saturday night, I wondered what I should do with my old pal.  After five years (at least) of being that close and depending on her so much, I couldn’t just discard her like yesterday’s empty Cheetos bag.  She deserves a farewell far better than that.  I considered the ultimate gesture of respect:




But I’ve never really been one for bra-burning.  Then I thought about other beloved companions that our family has lost.  A ceremonial flush didn’t seem wise, but perhaps I could find a nice shoebox and a peaceful spot in the backyard.  Maybe a small marker with a thoughtful epitaph?*

For now, I think I’ve decided I’m not quite ready to say goodbye.  Sure, with my track record and the three new purchases, it would seem I won’t be in the market for a new companion until sometime around the birth of my third grandchild.  But if I’ve learned anything in the thirty-five years of my existence, it’s that life is wholly unpredictable.  Sometimes even the best of friends let us down.  Sometimes relationships end unexpectedly.  And let’s face it, we never know how much time any of us really has.  Yes, for now, I hope she’ll find some comfort in having been safely tucked away in the bottom of my drawer.  Perhaps someday I’ll have reason to discover she has a little life in her yet.**


*And now, a little contest: write an epitaph for my longtime faithful companion.  She who makes me LOL hardest, wins a prize.

**Yeah, I know this totally doesn’t fit, but I just really love this song.  Maybe this one would be more appropriate.

Freaked out Friday

13 Mar

I had this crazy, cra-zee, freakish dream earlier this week.   I was going to post it before, but then there was all that other business to take care of, and, of course, Mr. Norris’ birthday.

It was one of those dreams where you wake up with that sickish feeling that comes from being scared out of your wits, followed by utter relief that it never actually happened, followed by the thought, “What have I been smokin’?”

So I was outside of my house, but it wasn’t my house, but it was.  I lived on a street with houses on one side and a fence on the other, which is totally not like where I actually live, which just has houses EVERYWHERE.



My Dad was there, and he wanted to borrow my bike.  It was an electric blue mountain bike.  I have never owned a bike that was either of the electric blue or mountain variety.  He didn’t care for my seat, and decided to swap it out for his more comfortable one.  Why he had his comfy bicycle seat and not a bike to ride on it with, I have no idea.  I reminded him that he needed a helmet, which kind of annoyed him.  He put it on, but refused to buckle the strap.  I thought, “What good is a helmet if it’s not properly and securely fastened?”  But he was a grown man, so I just let it go.


Then I looked across the street and saw Madhousewife all hooked up and ready to go hang gliding.  I noticed she was wearing a helmet, and hoped that she had at least bothered to properly secure and fasten the strap.  Her glider was being towed by a truck or something to get it off the ground.  When she was up in the air, the tow line dropped.  For about two seconds I thought things were going great. 


But then the glider went into a nosedive!  Mad hit the pavement head first, but before her body or feet even touched the ground, she immediately sprung 30 feet back into the air and over the fence that was across the street from my house!


I couldn’t believe my eyes!  “Maaaaaaaaaaaaad!”, I screamed.  Then I handed off BigHugs (who for some reason was suddenly with me and also only 1 year old) to my younger sister (who was also suddenly there) and then yelled to my older sister (again, just popped up) to call 911.  I was screaming, “Call 911!  Call 911!”, but my sister just kind of stood there with her arms crossed looking annoyed.


I ran down to the next street over to see if I could find Mad on the other side of the fence in one of the neighbors backyards.  I frantically looked everywhere, but she was nowhere to be seen.  I kept wondering why there weren’t any sirens or emergency personnel around.  I looked and looked some more, but there was no evidence of her anywhere.  I ran back to my house to see if the police and ambulance had shown up yet, and when I walked inside I saw BigHugs passed out on my younger sister’s lap who complained, “She cried herself to sleep”.  And then I looked over and saw Mad sitting at the table all fine and dandy while I stood there trying to catch my breath.

“Are you okay?!  I saw you crash!” I panted.

And Mad said very casually, “Yeah, that was kind of messed up.”

And then I woke up.

So, Mad, for my peace of mind, could you please refrain from hang gliding?  But if you must go, make sure you wear a helmet that is properly and securely fastened.  And if you should crash and then spring 30 feet back up into the air and land on the other side of a fence somewhere out of sight, do me a favor and come find me before you go home, so I’ll know I can stop looking and worrying.  Please.

What have you been dreaming about?  Go check out Cheryl’s wackadoo dream.

Taking care of business

12 Mar

First off, I’d like to thank you all for your kind words of encouragement on Tuesday.  I’m pleased to inform you that I actually did accomplish something.  Actually, somethings.  See that ‘s’ there on the end?  As in plural?  As in multiple?  As in more than one?!

Check it:

I took Susan’s advice (and a bunch of the rest of y’all’s) and tackled the clothes pile in the girls’ room first.



And after:


OK, so there are still all kinds of toys, books and other crud on the ground and the floor hasn’t been vacuumed in at least a month, but did you notice the clothes disappear?  Like magic!

With that victory under my belt, I was sorely tempted to spend the rest of the day resting on my laurels.  But did I?  Did I?!

You bet your sweet bippy I didn’t!



Dude, remember before?


I cleared that sink out!  And also the counter full of dishes that I didn’t bother showing you before.


See?  All clear.   I don’t have a before shot, but trust me there were plenty o’ dishes there too.  And also the stove.


Those pots don’t count because Tuesday night’s dinner was cooking.  (I knew I needed to hurry and take pics before the dinner aftermath.)

And in a moment of totally uncharacteristic (but not completely unprecedented) over-achieverness, I also:

  • wiped down all the countertops
  • ran two errands (Costco and Target)
  • and made two appointments for Mr. T with the orthodontist and the eye doctor (he failed his last vision screening at school with his glasses.  Oops.)
  • oh, oh, oh!  AND did all the dinner dishes, including the pots and pans!

Bask in my productive awesomeness!  No, really.  Bask!  OK, so some of you might be thinking, “Big woop-da-frickin-doo.  I accomplish ten times that on a daily basis.”  But we’re not talking about you here, we’re talking about me.  We all have different levels of productive awesomeness—different levels of productive awesomeness potential, even—and I’m telling you on Tuesday, I just about reached the full measure of mine, I think.  And it feels fantastic!  Even the ladies are reveling in the victory, perhaps with a little less gusto than they would be had I taken care of them first, but I’ll get to them.  Eventually. 


Wacky Search Term Wednesday—special Chuck Norris birthday edition

11 Mar

This edition of WSTW is dedicated to Mr. Norris in honor of his birthday, which was actually yesterday. OK, maybe I’m a day late, but around our house everyday is like Chuck Norris’ birthday, so you can see how it might have momentarily slipped my mind. (Do you think he’ll buy that? Let’s just keep these belated birthday wishes between us, just in case. Shhhh…)

how many birthdays does Chuck Norris hav(e)—I’m going to go out on a limb here and say AS MANY AS HE WANTS.  I’ve also heard: “Chuck Norris does not age. Every birthday, it’s just another year added to his existence, which sucks for you.”

cowbell chuck norris—Are these seriously available?!  I obviously purchased prematurely.  I’m thinking I may need to pimp out my cowbell.


Or maybe they mean this:


chuck lbs—First of all, Chuck does not disclose his weight.  Probably because he intimidates the crap out of scales.  But here are some other Chuck Norris health and exercise related facts:

When Chuck Norris does a push-up, he goes up and the world goes down.
After a workout, Chuck Norris rubs his muscles down with liquid-hot MAGMA.
Chuck Norris does not lift weights, weights rise before Chuck Norris.

chuck erotica—Dude, I wouldn’t go there if I were you.  Just… No.

ideas on how to celebrate chuck norris b(irthday)—First of all, you’re going to need a kickbutt cake.  Like this one:


Or maybe this one:


(Was this cake really for a 2 year old?)

Then for gifts, might I suggest a classic CN tee:


Paired with an authentic pair of Chuck designed and approved action jeans:


In case you’re having trouble with the fine print, the description reads, “Developed by Chuck Norris for stunt fighting in movies.  These great looking western style jeans have a unique hidden gusset which allows greater movement without binding or ripping.”  A steal at $19.95—you can pick up a pair for the birthday boy (or girl) and yourself!

Happy Birthday, Mr. Norris!  Stay classy!  And actiony!chuck-norris1

And awesome!

Unfinished business

10 Mar

Yesterday, Madhousewife posted a previously unposted blog from her draft file.  The original idea of the exercise was to post what’s in your draft folder and then have your readers tell you which ones they’d like you to finish.  I checked out my own draft file and found just two things: one was just a title, “This is for Julie”, which I’m pretty sure had something to do with my perfect potty-training experience losing the sparkle of its perfectness (though four total accidents is still pretty close to perfect, as far as I’m concerned) and one was a religion-themed kid speak post that felt incomplete.  I’ve been waiting for my kids to say more funny things about religion, but apparently that just hasn’t been a source of humor around our house lately.

These unfinished drafts got me thinking about all the other unfinished business I have going on around here.  I’m going to list some of them here, and then you guys can tell me which ones you think I should finish.   Or maybe which ones I should give the highest priority.

1.  Remember this?  Yeah, I think I got as far as June or July on that whole post categorizing thing.  And I’ve only very sporadically remembered to categorize my posts published since then.  I’d kind of like to finish this one.

2.  And this one.  This one is really embarrassing.  To be honest, I don’t even think I’ve looked since posting this, and we’re getting into a pretty desperate situation.  My friend is on the verge—the vergiest of verges—of giving up the ghost, but I’m just not sure I’m up for this particular quest that will surely be a perilous and harrowing adventure that I have no confidence will end in ultimate victory.

3.  I started this little project last August:


We got two coats done, and after they dried, realized we really needed a third coat, but didn’t have enough paint for a third coat for all of the stairwell and upstairs hall.  We have yet to buy paint.  And the thing is, when the painting is done, we’re supposed to be getting new carpet.  Oh how I’ve longed for new carpet!  You’d think this would be motivation enough for me to slap on a third coat already.  But now, seven months later, I’m beginning to wonder if there is enough motivation in the world to get me to finish.  (You should know that when we painted our living room/kitchen area it was a horrible ordeal that went into the wee hours of the morning.  I knew that if we didn’t finish it all at once, it was likely to never be finished so we pressed on.  At 4 am we were so exhausted that we called it good, and promised we would finish painting the corner of the kitchen by the refrigerator the next day.  We finished painting that corner of the kitchen about two years later, so, uh, yeah.)

4.  The girls have had trouble getting their clothes to fit in their dresser drawers, so I decided it was time to purge the too small and never worn stuff.  We made this big pile in the middle of their room:


I can’t remember for sure when we did this, but I know it was sometime the week before the Vegas trip.  I still need to sort through it to determine if there’s anything worth keeping for BigHugs and then pack it up for Goodwill, I guess.

5.  And then there’s always this:


That’s from this morning—the picture, not the dishes.  I think Sunday night was the last time I touched the dishes.  And by I, I mean Chuck.  I know, I know.  I’m a disgusting slob.  The rest of my downstairs looks pretty, though.  See:


OK, so maybe I didn’t take this picture this morning, but it pretty much looks just like that.  Almost.  More or less.   Honest.


So put me to work.  Where to start?  And what kind of unfinished business do you have going on around your house?