Pick a winner!

So, I was driving into town the other day and while at a stop light, I happened to glance in my rear view mirror. Behind me were two men in a fairly nice car. Both were big guys, tattooed, shaved heads. I guess some would call them a little intimidating. As I was sitting there, waiting for the light to change, I glanced back again.

I wish I hadn't. Seriously. There are some things in life I wish I could unsee. Things like the pink, flabby wiener of the old, fat guy that exposed himself to me when I was young. Not because I was traumatized, but because he was infinitely unattractive and his weenie was a hot mess. I would also like to unsee my backfat, raunchy beer bellies and hairy, overgrown toes. Oh, and Justin Beiber. But sadly, I don't think any of those things can or will be erased from my psyche, so I guess I will just have to carry on.

So, back to the baldies behind me.

The passenger, who happened to be the biggest and most tattooed...your stereotypical tough guy, was picking his nose. Not just a quick, "My nose is itchy, maybe this will help", but a committed up to your elbow, digging for gold pick.

I almost wished I was a kid again, trying to figure out what was wrong with the saggy, pink wienie.

On second thought, I'll take the nose picker.

Now, I was equally grossed out and in awe of this man. We have all picked our nose (You're lying if you say you haven't and lying is bad. Shame on you!). But I would venture to say that for most of us, our picks are of a utilitarian nature. Dust gets in there. Suicidal bugs get in there. Nose hairs tickle. Sometimes, you just have to excavate. However, as much as this is a necessary evil, I would also venture to say that most of us try to practice discretion. Right?

Not so for Baldy. He boldly sent his finger where no finger had gone before. He was a Pioneer!Huzzah! This is were my awe comes in. I thought about it later and decided that he must fall into one of two camps. He is either thee most confident man on earth who couldnt' care less about what people think of him. Or, he has zero social skills and couldn't care less about what people think of him. But, it gave me hope for pickers everywhere, whether recreational or utilitarian. Pickers need not be ashamed!

So, go ahead Pickers, tunnel right on in there!

 I even have a motto for you, "We Pick but Don't Lick!".

Or maybe, "It's Not Sick To Pick!"

Either way, carry on Pickers. The world just might be ready for you.

Ants, laundry and being thankful

I have been waging a great battle. Seriously, I am currently engaged with a vast and menacing army and I don't think I'm winning. The Great Ant Battle is currently underway in my house. Ants makes me homicidal. True story. As of right now, my kitchen is torn apart because there were ants in my butter dish, on the dishes, the paper towels and in the silverware drawer. They are also hanging out in the bathrooms and wandering around Little Bit's dresser. Why they were crawling all over the extra paper towels and trooping across the top of the dresser, I'll never know. Hey, I never said ants were smart.

Anyway...

Like I said, ants makes me homicidal and being homicidal is pretty much a negative thing. As I was thinking about my blog today, I thought...I'm going to blog about the stupid ants! That will show the little bastards! But then, I remembered that ants don't have access to the internet and even if they did, I'm pretty sure they can't read.

Sooo.....

I decided to go against my deepest, darkest feelings and blog about things I'm thankful for.

Ready?

I am thankful for ants in my butter...because this means I have food in my kitchen.
I am thankful for a broken dishwasher...because this means I have dirty plates due to my kids getting to eat every day.
I am thankful for ants in the bathrooms...because this means we have indoor plumbing.
I am thankful for bills...because this means my family has a roof over our heads.
I am thankful for piles of laundry...because this means that my family has clothes on their backs.
I am thankful the stupid signs my neighbor puts in her yard...because this means our neighborhood is a safe place for kids to hang out and play.
I am thankful for ridiculous gas prices...because this means I have a car to put gas into.
I am thankful for the obscene cell phone bill my daughter ran up...because this means she has dear friends to talk to.
I am thankful for my alarm clock...because this means I have purpose every day.
I am thankful my husband works 6 days a week...because this means my family is provided for.

Did you see what I did there? Normally, I would just bitch, bitch, bitch about this stuff. But today, today, I choose joy and thankfulness.

In which we narrowly escape the black market

I went away this weekend and almost didn't make it back. True story.

A girlfriend of mine, Lulu, is turning 30 and so her hubby aranged for a surprise weekend away for her and some girlfriends at a beach condo. Awww. We whisked her away and headed for a weekend with no men, no kids and if we played our cards right, copious amounts of alcohol.

We made a stop on the way to get a snack and pee. We thought it would be a perfect moment to take a picture so that our trip could be enjoyed for generations to come. My bestie, Tracy, approached a normal looking guy and asked him to take our picture. Now, this seems innocent enough, right? How many times have you asked someone to take your picture or been asked to take a picture? It's not like we were asking him to donate a lung or solve world hunger. Nope, it was just a picture.

Tracy: Excuse me, can you take our picture?
Man: No, I don't have time.

*crickets*

Now, intrepid readers, if you had just told a group of women that you didn't have time to take a picture (because let's face it, that's some hard, time-consuming shit right there), wouldn't you make an effort to walk away? Perhaps whip your phone out of your 80's throw back denims and start madly texting or talking or...something? Not our new friend. Nope, he just stood there. And stood there. And stood there. He stood there while we asked a woman to take our picture. He stood there while we laughed maniacally about people who "don't have time". He stood there until his wife/girlfriend/babysitter/parole officer/dominatrix came out of the bathroom and they walked away.

Shit. You. Not.

We made it to the condo in one piece and had some wine while watching the ocean. We walked down to the beach and wiggled our toes in the sand and picked up shells. Good times.

 As the day wore on, we decided that we should adhere to the "Safety First" rule and called a cab to take us into town for dinner. Charms specified that there were 6 of us (twice), could they accomodate that? Yes, ma'am, be there in 20 minutes. Yay, let the party start!

We should have known that the driver was a whack job when he couldn't find his way through the parking lot to the unit we were at. When he finally arrived, he pulled up in a mini-van. Looks promising, right? Oh, you optimistic little ray of sunshine.

He opens the door and there, where the middle seat belongs is...nothing. That's right, folks, there was no middle seat. Why? Who the fuck knows. He says he took it out but doesn't know why.

Alrighty then.

If we were smart, we would have sent him packing and found a van with ALL its parts. But not us! We said, "Fuck it!" and off we went with Lulu and Charms sitting on the floor of the van. On the FLOOR of the van. From this vantage point, they were able to see that our driver had a cooler between the 2 front seats. Obviously, he was going to smuggle us out of the country, steal our organs and sell them to highest bidder. Beacause really, could it get any weirder?

Yes, yes it can.

After dinner, we called another cab to take us downtown (for 6 please, with 6 seats!), hopefully for drinks and dancing! While we waited, we went into a little gift store and looked at all the crap that tourists absolutely insist on buying while on vacation but almost always turns out to be something like, "What the fuck was a thinking?" We came around a corner of the store and there was the tallest chick I've ever seen with a pelican at her feet...biting her hand. Seriously, a pelican. One of these...

That's right, in the store, biting her hand. But it's okay because it's a baby, it's been there for 2 days and birds poop all the time. Phew, thank goodness Tall Chick was an expert on birds.

Our cab arrives. Yay!

We count the seats, yep all there...and we're off! This driver seems normal enough until we notice a bottle of...something between his legs. "Whatcha got there, O'douls?"

Driver: No, no, this is just Ginger Ale.

Riiiigggghhhhhttttt.....

He drops us downtown and we go looking for trouble. I mean dancing. For a beach town, it was damn quiet. The most excitement we found was at the pizza parlor where the staff was doing a floor show. A little Greased Lightning and some flying pizza dough makes for a damn good time. We did find a slightly frightening person that looked like the Bird Lady from Mary Poppins...

Except without the birds and about 75 more colored scarves and electric blue paint and glitter around her eyes. And she sang. Why yes, I did have nightmares.

And we called another cab (for 6 with 6 seats). This guy was younger than the other two and the ride started out without incident. Until he informed us that he was a 3rd degree black belt and if anyone was to ask, he was a fighter not a lover. Oh and he didn't seem to like it when Lulu asked him if he was going to steal our organs and then kill us. Touchy, touchy.

He dropped us off at a "club" where there was supposed to be good music for dancing. There was dancing alright...there was the guy that was just DYING to dance and looked like he was about to bust a move at any moment. The chick who was either dancing with an invisible friend or had dropped some very pretty acid before she left the house. Although our personal favorite was a couple who we don't think was really a couple that was either having a dance off or this was their version of foreplay. They were running into each other and flinging each other around. At one point, she ended the dance by falling slowly to the floor and then just laid there.

Best entertainment ever.

And we called another cab (for 6 with 6 seats). Apparently, the reason downtown was so quiet is because cab driver #4 thought the party was in his van. I'm pretty sure each and every one of my organs was vibrated to within an inch of their lives (it's a good thing cab driver #1 didn't try to sell any of them then because I think they were damaged) and I think I'm clear on how it feels to have heart palpitations. And did I mention he thought he was in the Indy 500? At one point, while trying to enter the condo address (which Bre had to google on her phone because he didn't know where in the hell he was going), he nearly plowed into an off-ramp guard rail. But don't worry girls, "I got you!" But I'll tell you what, Kristin and DanceBoy were dancing and singing like it was 1999!

Thankfully, we made it home alive (and with all our organs) and had dessert and more wine.

This is where we get to the sad part...we're old. I hate to admit it but we are. Give us a warm blankie and a glass of wine and we'll fall asleep on the couch.

No one lost a kidney or got stung by a jellyfish or was dry humped on the dance floor. But it was amazing and unforgettable and I can't wait to do it again.

I would tell you more, but I don't have time. *wink wink*

iPods, fractures and a discount

I think there is a conspiracy against me, and my iPod is in on it.

Due to the excessive amount of time I spend in my car, I have been listening to a lot of podcasts. Alot of them. Yesterday, while driving to school, I started the first podcast in my "Stuff Mom Never Told You" queue. Ordinarily, these are fairly benign and often very educational. Good stuff.

Not this time.

The podcast was titled "Is masturbation good for you", an enticing title, to be sure. They started out talking about the different myths associated with masturbation and statistics of who is doing it and where. For the most part, this didn't sound to dangerous, so I kept listening. I was doing really well until the conversation turned to the dangers of men humping hard surfaces. Hard surfaces?? What, like the table or a door? No, no...the floor. WTF?? Guys hump the floor?! Apparently, they do and if they do it too hard (!!), they risk the chance of a penile fracture.

.....

You heard it right folks, penile fracture. I almost had to stop the car so that I could vomit. *shudders*

I decided the safest course of action would be to change podcasts. Yeah, I'm just that smart.

So, I switched to "Stuff From The Science Lab - Those crazy Kimodos". Cool, right? Not so much. Apparently, Kimodo Dragons vomit. All. The. Time. And not just your normal vomit, they vomit things like partially digested goats. Goats!

And, another switch. This time it was about sending Jay-Z and Beyonce on the Virgin Galactic to film a music video. At the cost of $200,000. It's a good thing people don't waste money on stupid shit. Let me tell you that as soon as I heard the words "vomit bag", I switched again.

Then, I noticed the title on the next podcast... How the digestive system works.

Seriously.

On the upside, I went to Save Mart after class to do some grocery shopping. As I was checking out, I handed the lady my S.H.A.R.E.S. card (super cool if you've never heard of it. You earn points every time you shop and then Save Mart sends a check to your school. Check it out.). As she proceeds to push the button telling the register that she is going to slide my card, she accidentally presses the senior discount button. Sweet! $10 off my grocery purchase! I am totally willing to be a senior, if it saves me money.

Hooking 101

So, I ended up on the wrong side of town today. Wait, that didn't sound right.  I was driving to the cheap but geographically challenged Walmart today. Um, let me try again...I was in my car at a stop light, in a seedy part of town today. *sigh* Any way I put it, it sounds bad.

Moving on.

While in my car waiting at a stop light, I happened to glance out the window and saw a woman standing at the corner of a business plaza. Now, I use the word "plaza" in a very broad term as "plaza" might imply some sense of elegance or class. At the very least, graffiti free walls and a garbage free parking lot. But stay with me.

So, I really don't pay this woman any attention because people are not at all an unusual occurrence. At least, not where I'm from. I sat patiently, waiting for the light to turn and didn't give her another thought until I heard, "Well, that's not working. Who wants to buy some ass?". Now, remember, I'm in my car with the window barely cracked, a full 2 lanes and a sidewalk away from her and I can hear her as if she is in my backseat. Thankfully, she was not in my backseat as I would have immediately needed to take the car to a detailer and have them clean the seats. I possibly would have even had to sell the car.

Phew, dodged that bullet.

So, she's yelling, "Who wants to buy some ass?". Now, I can only imagine what her tactic had been up until this moment, the one that caused her such distress that she had to abandon it and get out the Big Guns. Let this be a lesson to you, if at first you don't succeed, shout to the Heavens that your ass is for sale.

She sure got my attention! But as I am in fact, a girl, married, fearful of STD's and generally against one selling their body for money, I had to resist her ever so tempting offer. Instead, I chuckled and shook my head as one can only do in times of extreme disbelief. Apparently, she saw this and took offense because the next words I heard were, "That's what you have to do when you have a family!"

Soo, if you have a family, you have to what? Sell yourself in front of the local pizza joint? Damn, I've been taking the wrong approach all these years! Here I thought that working was the way to go. How could I have been so misled?

I very calmly drove though the intersection and didn't say what I wanted to say, which was, "Get a fucking job!" or "Lay off the crack!"

Good times. And my husband wonders why I want to move.    

In the car or short trip to crazy land

My family took a mini vacation this Labor Day weekend. We traveled about 7 hours to Southern California and spent some time on the beach and with family. First and foremost, you need to know that I don't like the beach. I know, I know...what kind of crazy person am I? But really, sand in unfortunate places? No thank you. Anyway, The Mr. and the girls LOVE going, so I brought along a book and a chair and enjoyed the beachy weather while they swam. But that's not what I want to tell you. What I want to tell you is that strange things happen when 4 people are in a car for long periods of time. For instance...

Little Bit, "Mom, she bit me and she licked me"

Zippy, "Mom, she bit me and licked me first"

Little Bit, "Mom, she took Mr. Bumble (this is her Pillow Pet...clearly not to be touched). Let's take her to get the cheapest, ugliest pillow pet, then she won't take mine anymore"

Kid. You. Not.

I was also privileged enough to hear the Happy Nappers jingle, reasons why boys are dumb and a running monologue of Little Bit being Tour Guide Barbie for Mr. Bumble.

But seriously folks as much as I was glad to be home, we had a great time. Not as good of a time as I plan to have on my birthday trip to Disneyland with The Mr. but that's another story ;)

Mom

We took my parents to a theme park awhile ago and I have to tell you...I remembered why I don't travel often with them. My dad rode shotgun while The Mr. drove and my mom sat in the back with the girls and I. Our trip took us through my mom's old stomping ground and I kid you not, she was like the father-in-law from Forget Paris. Do you remember him? No? Let me illuminate...

Everything we drove by, "I remember that!", "This wasn't there before, wow!" "See kids, I drove through there, right there!"

Oh my...

Love her dearly folks, but I learned my lesson.