I bend, but I don't break

Do you remember the part in "The Matrix", where Neo fights Mr. Smith for the first time? Mr. Smith is beating the living hell out of him and Neo gets smacked around and knocked down over and over. Then, the turning point...Neo gets up, shakes the dust off and motions for Mr. Smith to bring it on. Because I like you, I have provided the video. Feel free to forward it to about 1:50 and watch the part I mentioned. I'll wait.

 

 

Super terrific, right? Well, that's me. Neo's me. Life has beaten the hell out of me lately and for awhile I just let it. But then, I remembered that not only am I not the type of person that is easily beaten down, I'm not the type of person that stays down after a beating. I always get up. Always.

So, I got up. I shook off the dust and said, "Bring it the fuck on."

I did, however make some changes. It's funny how a beating makes you reevaluate your life and remember what's important and what's just junk. Technically, I'm back on Facebook but I have zero interest in it. Perhaps that will change with time, perhaps not. So, if I don't respond to a comment, it's not because I'm being bitchy, I probably didn't see it.

Also, I made the decision to be done with school. I applied for graduation and will be taking part in commencement ceremonies in May. I took a long, hard look at what I was doing and realized that I was trying to be something I'm not and have no desire to be. I thought I was supposed to "be someone". Nearly everyone I know is "something"...a teacher, a nurse, an administrator, an attorney. I thought I was supposed to do that too. I was supposed to finish school so I could be "something". It took a 2x4 to the face for me to realize that I already am the thing I want most in the world to be.

I'm a mom.

I'm a Full-Time Mom and I am not ashamed of that. I'm a mom who is privileged to be home when the kids are home. To volunteer in their classrooms or go on field trips. I know their friends because I'm either at their school every day or their friends are at my house. I'm a mom who doubles as a taxi service for the two of them and however many additional kids I can fit in the car. And you know what? I like it. I like that their friends call me Mom and talk to me about stuff. So, instead of torturing myself through 2 more math classes and then transferring to a UC to complete my Bachelor's, I'm going to finish earning my AA and then I'm going to be completely satisfied with it.

I'm going to continue being a mom and enjoy it without the pressure of being in school all the fucking time. I'm going to help run our business so that my husband can stop working 10-12 hours a day, 6 days a week. I'm going to take care of my house so that it's a calm, safe, happy place for whoever walks through my door, I'm going to write. As in, write a book.

It's funny, all these years I thought I needed to be more and it turns out, I just needed to be me. And when I finally gave myself permission to do that, the world lifted off my shoulders and I could breathe again.

There are still some scary, ugly things I have to get in order and things are in motion to do so. It might not all turn out beautifully, but that's okay. In the Dark Days that may be ahead, I will remind myself that I can do this. I can Stand Fast. I will not break and if I fall, I will get up. I am Neo.

And we go round and round...

I have isolated the problem with our health care system. Seriously.

We have been very fortunate to have the girls covered under Healthy Families since they were born. The Mr and I don't have coverage...but that's a post for another day ;). Anyway, it's that time of year when we have to renew our application for coverage. Since we are self-employed, we have to submit different paperwork than your average bear. We have to provide something called a Profit and Loss Statement. Now, I won't bore you with the details (you're welcome), but I will tell you that through this process, I have discovered the root of all bureaucratic red-tape evil. It's stupidity. True story.

Ready?

At the bottom of our Profit and Loss Statement, we have to certify that we aren't pulling Big Brother's leg. We have to say something like, "The information provided is true to the full extent of my knowledge". Sounds pretty simple, right?

Nooooooooo.........

Here is what I submitted, a month ago...

"The information provided is correct to the full extent of my knowledge"

Pretty stellar word choice, right? Apparently, the Powers That Be took exception to my beautiful declaration and said that I have to include "above". Because clearly, when you include a statement about money shit on the same page as your money shit, there can be some confusion about what you're referring to. Perhaps, I was certifying that all the invisible numbers were true and you just had to use your imagination to see them.

So, I sent them this, "The information provided ABOVE is correct to the full extent of my knowledge". Bueno! Nope...no bueno. 2 weeks later, I receive a notification that the coverage will expire because they asked for paperwork and I didn't provide it. Huh.

So, I called and politely asked, "Really? What the fuck is the problem this time?"

I guess I'm shady as fuck and can't be trusted, because the word "true" just won't cut it. Now, I have to say "true and correct". Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but don't they mean the same thing in a general sense? I mean, really...You can't say something is true if it isn't correct and you can't claim something is correct if it isn't true. Right? Maybe I'm splitting hairs here, but come now, this is ridiculous.

So, I faxed them this, "The information provided ABOVE is TRUE and CORRECT to the full extent of my knowledge!!!!" Yes, I used CAPS and EXCLAMATION POINTS. Dammit.

But, really, here's what I wanted to say, "The fucking information provided ABOVE is TRUE and fucking CORRECT to the full extent of my knowledge, Assholes."

But I didn't.

In which I get heckled

I love Pinterest. Seriously, it's a super terrific place to get ideas for crafting, cooking, etc. It's also my favorite place to go for a laugh. And laugh, I do. I poke fun at stupid people, myself and life in general. One of the things I pin about is politics. I am not a fan of politicians in general and take advantage of any opportunity to get a giggle at the expense of political stupidity.

 

Apparently, Pinterest has revealed my true nature as a "hater". Now, my personal opinion is that people use the term "hater" when they disagree with something you do or say but have no valid argument to present. As in, "Oh! You posted a smart ass pin about President Obama but seeing as I don't really know you or clearly have no understanding of your principles or values, I'm going to call you a hater and be generally obnoxious.".

 

I was happily pinning shit that made me laugh and then I received an e-mail telling me that someone had commented on four of my pins. I was super excited because while people frequently repin things I post, they rarely comment. All I thought was, "Yay!". Then I looked at the comments...Not only were they not fun and witty comments, they were rude and abusive.

 

Huh.

 

I didn't bother to respond to the comments and subsequently deleted them, thinking that perhaps the commentor was having a bad day or perhaps hadn't gone poop for awhile and was just a little cranky. Nope. She kept on commenting. So, I fired one back, asking why she continued to rudely comment. Her repsonse was that I was obviously a "hater".

 

Now, intrepid readers, I can admit that rather than taking the high road and ignoring her, I found myself posting pins that I was sure would irritate her. I know, I know, probably not the nicest thing to do. But honestly, I pin for myself not anyone else and if it makes me laugh, I'm going to pin it. Consider it icing on the cake if it pissed her off in the process. So sue me. Anyway,  because I love you, I have posted the most entertaining exchange. Before you think I'm a complete bitch, I have removed her name from these postings because I don't reveal anyone's personal information. Ever. Let's just call her Thundercloud, shall we?   

 

This is the pin that I posted. Funny, right? I realized the other day that I haven't been fond of a presidential candidate in many, many years, so this isn't me just harping on Obama. But, you know, take it any way you want ;)

 

                                                                                 

Thundercloud:
Love theis president

Me:

If you are so inherently opposed to what I pin, why bother following this board? This isn't meant to be a public forum for debate.

Thundercloud:
I'm not follpwing you, don't worry. Just can't stand haters when I accidently run across them in this world. Sorry for you.

Me:

Oh brother...get over yourself. Self righteousness is unattractive.

 

Thundercloud:
Still sorry for you, now knock it off and talk to someone that agrees with your sick outlook on this world.

Me:

Oh honey, you're the one who started commenting, remember? I'm just pinning shit that makes me laugh, not getting butt hurt when I see something I don't agree with.

 

B: (this is a friend of mine)
Wow, someone needs to get a life don't they?

Another Pinterest user:
LOVE THIS PIN!!! So sad, but true!

 

Me:
You know, I think its one of those times where "live and let live" don't apply. I'm sure, had the election gone the other way, her boards would be filled with Romney bashing pins. It's all good, people like that amuse me more than anything :)

 

Thundercloud:
No I don't pin hateful things. Would block all you haters with no respect if I could. What are you teaching your children?. So Sad .

Me:

Wow, who ate your bowl of sunshine? It's called having a sense of humor, you should try it. And feel free to block me anytime, seeing as you keep coming back to my pins...not the other way around.

 

 

Funny shit, huh? My personal favorite is where she questions my parenting skills. Now, I'm curious, of the two of us, which one seems to be hateful and aggressive?  

 

In which I get saucy in my sleep

I don't know about you, but Winter wreaks havoc on my sleep. I know that you are just dying to know what I'm talking about because you are here on this blog that clearly never goes anywhere and is simply a product of my over active imagination.

Anyway...

In the Winter, the heat is on (because The Mr. is a delicate flower and gets cold...big baby), since the heat is on, I get parched in my sleep. Yes, parched! I use big words now, big words are cool. When I get parched, I get thirsty and when I get thirsty, I cough. And this wakes me up. Still with me?

Good.

Last night, I woke up coughing and so I got up and went to the kitchen for a drink of water. Now, here is where the story gets fuzzy. I was sure that I went right back to bed and fell asleep. Sounds legit, right? According to The Mr, this was not the case. His version of the story goes like this...

I came back to bed and sat down on the edge. And didn't take that next critical step, the lying down step. Never one to miss an opportunity, The Mr reached over and, um...placed his hand on my northern regions. My response to this? "Why, hello there!".

Now, I can't testify to the validity of this event but in all honesty, it sounds about right according to the recent night time antics my brain has been playing on me. Greeting my husband's wandering hand with a suggestive and slightly shady, "Why, hello there!" pales in comparison to my recent dream in which I was in a McDonald's bathroom and the toilets where so high up off the floor, that I had to leap up onto it and then, when I managed to get up there, the toilet became a swing toilet and there was some sort of circus happening under me.

See? Winter + heat = havoc.

An open letter to Bank of America

Dear Bank of America,

How are you? Good? That's nice. Let me tell you how I am. Better yet, let me tell you a story.

Once upon a time, a family bought their first home and they said, "It's good." The years went by and America began to fail. The jobs went away, the money went away and the government turned a blind eye. Then, in what seemed like a miracle, the government said, "We'll help you, Americans!" We thought, "Finally!". Sadly, the government only had eyes for you, the Big Bank. You got your bailout and we got...nothing. No jobs, no money, no bacon. Then, the government said, "The banks will help you, Americans!". You were supposed to help us keep our homes. You were supposed to do the right thing and help our economy get back on its feet.

But you didn't. Shame on you.

The government enacted programs like, Making Homes Affordable and The Hardest Hit Fund. Your job was to work with homeowners that wanted to keep their homes. But you know what? You suck at your job. As it turns out, you were only interested in "helping" homeowners who had crazy interest rates or adjustable rates or balloon payments or in other words, homeowners with bad loans that banks like YOU gave them in the first place. Your plan of action? Foreclose on the house and write it off for your own benefit. It's a win-win for you, isn't it? You write off the loss and then sell the house at a ridiculous price.

Shame on you.

My family wasn't one of the favored ones. Our loan was a good loan. A fixed loan with a low interest rate. Seems pretty great, right? Not so much. Remember the part about no jobs? My husband was in danger of losing his job, so we took a huge risk and opened our own business. By the grace of God, our business was successful. I can feed my kids and pay our bills but there's a little, tiny problem. It's a stretch every month to do so. We looked at our finances and thought, "This is not good.", so we asked for help. For the next 2 years, we "worked" with a Bank of America agent. And by "work", I mean submitting our paperwork and then waiting for an answer. Guess what our answer was? "Your paperwork has expired, you need to resubmit it." For 2 years we did this, because your agent would wait for the paperwork to expire and then ask for it again. In the meantime, we were getting phone calls, 4 or 5 of them a day asking when we were going to make a payment. It's kind of hard to make a payment with no money. As our business improved, we were able to catch up on payments until we were again current. Then, one day, our credit companies started sending us ominous letters in the mail. Things like, "Your credit limit has been reduced" and "We are closing your account". Once we got over our shock, we discovered that Bank of America was accepting our checks every month, cashing them and sending us new statements, but were not applying them to our account. The result? Our credit score showed that we were 5 months behind on our mortgage payments. 5 months! In the meantime, your agent still hadn't gotten our paperwork together enough to be reviewed.

Shame on you.

After many phone calls, our credit was repaired but we were removed from the modification program, ironically called, "The Hope Team" or some such nonsense. But guess what? We still couldn't afford the house. About 6 months ago, we decided to try again, but this time, we hired someone to work on our behalf. We experienced an all too familiar process. Submit, re-submit, re-submit. Wait. Re-submit. Until we finally received our modification letter in the mail. Hallelujah! Let me share with you what I opened...

"We are pleased to tell you that you are approved to enter into a Trial Period Plan under the federal government's Home Affordable Modification Program." Phew! I breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe we can finally get some help! Well, guess what? Bank of America is nothing if not predictable. Want to know how much you are willing to "help" us with?

$30.00

Yep, your grand gesture is $30.00 a month less than what we currently pay. I'm feeling overwhelmed by your generosity. How could we ever repay you?

Shame on you.

And as an added bonus, if we decide to make these super affordable "trial payments", you are going to be reporting to the credit bureau that we are only making partial payments. So, not only have you slapped us in the face with your ever so generous $30.00 savings, you are going to spank our credit in the process.

So thanks, Bank of America. Thanks for proving once again that Middle Class America will always get shanked and that your Big Bank and all it's executives will continue to profit from our loss. I hope you enjoy your dirty money, you earned it.

Very Truly Yours,

Middle Class America

Shoplifters, Yoda and The One

Today is a special day. Today, I'm giving a big shout out to all the thieves and shoplifters out there. Now, before you become indignant, let me tell you a little story.

It starts innocently enough, the family and I headed out to the Mall to do some back-to-school shopping. We found a great deal on backpacks. Yay! As usual, The Mr. escaped to the TV section (the big baby), which happens to be right next to the bra section. In hindsight, I realize that this is, in fact, great marketing at work. Think about it, you're a man, your lady wants to look at pretty panties, "Babe, aren't these cute?". You're as cornered as a rat in a barrel. Suddenly, you see out of the corner of your eye, your White Knight. He beckons you, "Come toward the light!" You find yourself drawn like a moth to a flame, "Yeah, those are great. I'm just going to look over here...". Your lady is blissfully unaware that you have abandoned her (cardinal sin, gents) and you get to stand, slack jawed before a huge bank of TV magic.

It's a win-win.

Anyway, I left The Mr. drooling over TVs big enough to fill a wall and went in search of the ever elusive Comfortable, yet Flattering Bra. Perhaps you've heard of it. I've heard whispers, rumors..."It's true, I say. My mother's cousin knows a bartender that has a roommate who met a girl at the bank who swears that she has one! It's real!" I decided that today was my day, I was going to find this Mythical Beast. Onward!

I searched high and low, pulling style after style, color after color. The tags shouted at me, "Best Bra Ever!", "No Pinch Underwire!", "The Best Kept Secret!", "Mega Pushup!". Oh, the sensory overload. I gathered my wits about me and headed to the fitting room with an armload, thinking, "One of these has to be The One."

Things started out fairly tame. Not The One, but nothing weird either. Which, ladies, you KNOW is important when we are seeking the Care and Maintenance of "The Girls". Then, it happens.

The security device.

Don't get me wrong, I completely understand stores using these and don't disparage them for it. However, I definitely have a problem with where they have decided to attach them. Could it be on the strap, where it wouldn't interfere with the fit? No. How about on the upper area of the cup where, while it may feel awkward, wouldn't really be that big of a deal? No.

No.

The security device is on the back. Right on the clasp. Because that's THEE perfect spot to put a large, bulky plastic thing. It's so incredibly easy to reach behind you and blindly try to fasten your bra clasp when there's a plastic bulge the size of Australia. Not. If, by some miracle, you get the damn thing fastened against all odds, now you're faced with a different problem. When a woman is trying on her most important piece of clothing, it's important that it be seamless and comfortable, right? Well, nothing says comfort like Australia digging into your back. I wish ALL bras had Australia somewhere on them, it would make life much more interesting and our clothes would look just that much better on us.

So, while I was trying to appreciate the bra that may well be The One, I was also cursing shoplifters everywhere because thanks to their errant ways and general misbehavior, I got to stand in front of a fitting room mirror (or as it's more commonly know, the Fun House Mirror) and try to ignore Australia hunching on my back like Yoda. So thanks, all you rotten shoplifters, you made my day,

I did prevail, I found The One. I skipped back over to the TV section where not only was my husband still drooling over the big screens, my daughters were standing in front of a 3D TV with 3D glasses on looking like little zombies. As special thank you for "shopping" with me, I let The Mr. pay for The One. Good times.

Remember ladies, when you're faced with roadblocks on your search for The One. Don't despair. Don't give up. You too, can conquer Australia.

"Do or do not, there is no try" - Yoda

Measure T and The Crazy Lady

I recently had an encounter with what I believe is the world's angriest woman. It was super fun....

I was recruited by our town Librarian to campaign for a measure that is being presented to the voters in June. This measure would renew an existing tax (1/8 of a cent) that currently provides 87% of our county's library funding. Sounds pretty important, right? I thought so too. I agreed because not only do I love to read, but my kids love to read. I feel that I can swing 1/8 of cent to fund the library and really, if the library isn't getting the money, you better believe that the government would not only refuse to give it back, they would find something else to fund with it. Maybe more private jets.

Anyway.

Part of my responsibility was to walk different neighborhoods, knocking on doors and making sure people knew about the measure and handing out literature. Now, I really dreaded doing this, not because I don't like talking to people because I do. Ask my kids, I talk to everyone. It's a running joke in my family that I make friends everywhere I go...waiting in line at the grocery store, shopping at Target. I figure, if you're just standing there waiting you might as well have a good time doing it and since making snide remarks to (or about) strangers tends to get frowned upon, I get chatty instead.

Moving on.

I fully admit that I'm one of those people that will do just about anything to avoid opening the door to people I don't know (or sometimes to people that I do know, but tell. Shh.), so it didn't hurt my feelings at all if people ignored my friendly little knock. I left my little paper under the mat and moved on. No harm, no foul. Until I arrived at The Crazy Lady's house. This was one of those times when her house didn't give any clues as to the menace inside. It was nicely kept, a happy little welcome sign on the door. Inviting, right? Not so much.

She answered, I introduced myself and told her briefly why I was there. Things like, this tax provides 87% of the library funds and if it doesn't pass, the library faces massive closures. As in most, if not all the libraries will close. She then said, "I'm voting no."

I admit, I chuckled because I thought she was joking. Really, who would vote to close libraries other than people who kick puppies and name their kids Adolf.

I was soon put in my place, because not only was she serious, she was so serious that she kept me on her porch for 5 minutes while she ranted about how, "The government should have gotten all those assholes out of office years ago and then we wouldn't be in this mess. And what are we doing supporting illegal immigrants anyway? All those damn liberals have screwed us up and taken our money and I'm not going to give one more cent for them to clean up their messes!"

And then came the real shocker...

"I'm a published California historian and I donate books all the time to the library! So no, I'm not voting for this!"

Wow. Wow. So, let me get this straight...You're an author and you what, don't like libraries? You don't want people to have access to your books? You're against reading?

Intrepid readers, you should be so proud. I pasted an enchanting smile on my face and said, "Thank you for your time." and walked away.

People like her need a warning sign. Or some poison in her coffee. Either way.

It's elementary, my dear Watson

If our teens are tomorrow's adults, we are in for a shitstorm. I was driving home from dropping the kids off at school and two cars in front of me was a truck pulling a horse trailer. As we approached an intersection, a high school boy and his little brother stepped into the street. To his credit, they were in a crosswalk but to his discredit, he stepped out from behind a car parked on the street. AND he didn't bother to wait to make sure the driver of the truck had seen him. The guy in the truck wasn't going fast, but he didn't have time to stop due to his HORSE TRAILER and had to swerve completely off the road to avoid hitting this idiot. Rather than being chagrined or scared that he had almost caused an accident that would have surely injured or even killed him (or his brother), this Douche Bag turned and started yelling at the guy in the truck.

What a fucktard.

This is one my of pet peeves. If you are going to cross the road, LOOK to make sure there are no cars approaching! It's not fucking rocket science! Have we learned nothing from the chicken who crossed the road??

My kids could cross better at 5 years old than this dumbass.

Heaven help us...

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 which the need for an umbrella is strong

I wonder about people. I wonder if some were deprived of oxygen when they were babies or if they hit their heads one to many times. Seriously, I do, because I've decided that there has to be a reasonable explanation for all the stupidity I see. For instance...

My family was at an amusement park the other weekend. Good times, right? Sure, up until we were almost vomited on.

We had just exited a ride that flips you upside down, several times. Now, this is not a ride that is shrouded in secrecy. Nope, it's out there in plain view for all to see. If you get on the ride, you are going upside down. Period. Not rocket science. So, we were exiting and the exit ramp parallels the landing that you step out onto after you get off the ride, but it's at a lower level. So, you are almost underneath the landing. With me? Good. As we begin to walk down the ramp, I look up and see a boy (maybe 10, 11) leaning over the landing railing. I don't think much of it until I see a long line of drool hanging out of his mouth. Then, I hear his mother (who is standing next to him) shout to someone waiting for them, "He's getting sick, do you have any water?".

Let's pause for a moment.

If your kid is getting sick, do you call for water? Do you have him hang over a railing that overlooks an area where people are walking?

The answer is no. NO.

The correct response should have been to rush him away from everyone and perhaps find a bathroom or possibly a bush. But did this mom do that? Nooooo. She stood by and watched him vomit. Over the railing. Near the people. Awesome.

I really want you to experience what we experienced. So, I drew you a picture. You're welcome.

A fly's revenge. Or, how I mangled the keyboard.

I was working the other day and was being harassed by a fly. Naturally, I did what came...well, naturally. I murdered it. In cold blood. Gleefully grinning the entire time.
Unfortunately, the fly had its revenge because as I completed my downward swipe to end its miserable little life, I hit the keyboard of my laptop. Oops. I completely knocked off the "f" and "g" keys. My bad.
Although, my good friend Aimee told me I didn't need to swear about it, I could have just said "stinky g key".
Bah ha ha ha ha!

Disneyland and my unmentionables

The Mr. and I went to Disneyland this past weekend...just the two of us. Ahh, it was bliss. We walked hand in hand through the park. We sat close to each other on the benches and gazed into each others eyes.

We also gleefully shot past families waiting in line when we heard those magic words, "Party of two?" That was US! A party of two! It's not often we get to be a party of two and we intended to enjoy it to its fullest. We also took great satisfaction in knowing that any crying children we saw or heard were NOT ours and even took to laughing maniacally when any ride instructions directed riders to "please, watch your children". Ha! What are these children you speak of? We don't have any children!

Ah, good times...

We went back to the hotel that first night tired and happy and ready to sleep deeply so we could enjoy another blissful Disney day.

I showered, brushed my teeth, combed my hair, put on my jammies and then...WTF? Where's my panties?

TMI? Sorry folks, but if I had to endure, so do you.

I forgot to pack clean panties for myself. Wow. This was definitely a first as I truly understand and appreciate the importance of clean underwear.

After tearing my suitcase apart to make sure I didn't pack them in a secret compartment that even I didn't know about, I sadly came to the conclusion that I was indeed, pantie-less.

No bueno.

After I recovered from my shock and despair, I did what any resourceful wife and mom would do. I busted open the hotel soap and had a little laundry party in the bathroom sink. Pretty good, eh? I thought so too until I woke up the next morning to find that my panties were just as wet as they had been the night before.

Now, as much as I appreciated The Mr.'s offer to "wear his" underwear, I decided that men's boxers just weren't for me. Again, I did what any resourceful wife and mom would do.

I went commando.

That's right, you heard it here first.

Coffee, school and aliens

I think there's something wrong with my kids.

This morning, they were all ready for school but we still had about 10 minutes before we needed to leave. I decided to use this time wisely and by wisely I mean sitting down with my book and a cup of coffee. Right before I sat down, Zippy went to the front door and said, "Can we leave now?". No, mom needs coffee and her book.

I sat down, opened my book, breathed in the delicious, life-changing elixir of fresh coffee...

"Can we leave NOW?"

Really? I can't sit for 5 minutes and drink my coffee? Come on! It's bad enough they were hassling me but they were hassling me in order to go to school. Early! Who does this??

I never wanted to go to school. I dreamed up all kinds of reasons why I shouldn't have to go to school. But oh no, not my children. My children not only want to go, they want to go early. These same children wanted to leave Disneyland so they could go back to school. Kid. You. Not.

Disneyland.

So, the logical conclusion I have arrived at is

a) There's something wrong with them

or

b) They are, in fact, aliens.

I'm going with "b"

Dress code

There is a disturbance in the force. I came home from bringing the girls to school, pulled into my driveway and was accosted by the sight of the man 2 doors down running amok in his underwear.

Okay...maybe not actually running, but he was definitely outside the safe zone in his chonies.

People please, put your clothes on!!!

This ranks right up there with going to the store in your jammies, walking around in your bunny slippers, women going "commando" and unfortunate public displays of Spandex.

All I ask is this, think before you walk out your door. Think to yourself, "Would I want my picture taken in this? Would I get arrested for wearing (or not wearing) this? Would this get-up enable me to catch the attention of the opposite sex?" Let's clarify that, shall we? I use the word "catch" in the sense that it would elicit an appreciative whistle or perhaps a classic, "How YOU doin'?", not "catch" in the sense that it would result in any of the following: a restraining order, a jump from a Taser or a faceful of Mace.

The guidelines are pretty clear, before leaving your safe zone, you should have the following:

1. Shirt - If you are a man with a washboard stomach, please feel free to skip this step.
2. Bra - Men, most of you can disregard this step. However, if you have moobs, please, please reconsider.
3. Underwear - Now, not all underwear is equal, you know it and I know it. Underwear should be just that..."Under Wear". Do we want to see your chonies? No. If this confuses you, please refer to guideline #4. Keep it covered, folks.
4. Shorts/Pants/Skirt - Keep in mind that at no time should your ass be visible. Period.
5. Footwear - Notice, I said "footwear" not "sleepwear.
6. Deodorant - I realize that this is not technically clothing but I feel that it is just as important.

Follow these guidelines boys and girls and we will all get along just fine.

Geek alert

You might remember my fully awesome math class as described here. My good friend Marisa asked if I had found "The Geek" yet and at that point, I hadn't. You will be happy to know that "The Geek" has finally made her appearance. She has been there from the first day of class but apparently was hiding her little Geek Light under a bushel. She started in before class even began with tales of her escapades in math lab where she cornered some poor, unsuspecting tutor and then "worked ahead 2 whole chapters!!". Little did we know, she was just getting warmed up...

She was fairly bursting with her need to fly her Geek colors and shortly after class started, couldn't contain it any longer. Her hand shot up in the air and she started firing off questions left and right, "Will we need to do the Austrian Method? When will the first test be? Is it alright if I worked ahead? I hope so, because I worked ahead 2 chapters!".

You should be so proud Intrepid Reader, I put my hand over my mouth and didn't say a word. Not a word.

In which I engage an automated phone system

I wonder, is it normal to engage in an argument with an automated phone system?

No?

Dammit.

I called a financial institution this morning, not my favorite thing to do. I was immediately greeted with a female voice that was a) too damn chipper and b) probably meant to be soothing but never fails to sound like nails on a chalkboard to me. Let's reminisce, shall we?

Bank voice (Let's call her Myrtle): Tell me, why are you calling today?

Me: Operator

Myrtle: Iiittt sounds like you want to speak with a representative, is that correct?

Me: Yes.

Myrtle: In order to direct your call, I need to know why you're calling.

Me: Gah! Alright, payments.

Myrtle: Alright (BTW, she sounds like I'm her new best friend and she's sooooo glad she's helping me), would you like to hear about your last payment?

Me: No.

Myrtle: Hmmm (shit you not, she says hmmm), tell me, why are you calling?

Me: Operator!

........................

This is when we repeat the entire first section of the conversation not once but twice while I angrily press "0" repeatedly.

Myrtle: Iiittt sounds like you want to speak with a representative, is that correct?

Me: Yes! Dumbass phone system.

Myrtle: I'm sorry, I couldn't quite catch that. Would you like to speak to a representative?

Me: DUH!!!!! YES!!!!!


I finally got who I needed and was able to chew out the appropriate person (yay me!). But it left me wondering, what does it say about me that I willingly engaged with an automated system that couldn't care less what I say and furthermore won't be properly chagrined after I fix her wagon?

Nothing good, I bet.

The Urinator

Day 8 (of 30ish)

Things I will pretend to have never seen:

While waiting for a train...the car in front of me was a mini-van. While waiting for the train to pass by, I observed the sliding door of the van open. A young boy stepped up to the threshold of the car and with all the grace of an Olympic Urinator, sent an arcing stream of urine high up in the air. You read it here first, folks.

Riddle me this

Day 3 (of 30ish)

Things that baffle me

Fashion trends I just don't understand:

Skinny jeans for boys. Really? I wonder if that could make you all look any more awkward than you already do?

Super low slung jeans. Personally, I believe there's a problem when the distance from crotch to button is 2 inches. I live in fear I'm going to see things I shouldn't. Cover your goods, girls!

Really big, curly hair on boys. This is wrong. It was wrong when Afro's were the thing and it's wrong now.

The "Comb-Over" for girls. Have you seen this? Teenage girls that start their part above the ear and sweep it up and over their head? WTF is this??? Save the comb-over for when you're old.

Big Ass Urkel glasses. Or for you younger whipper-snappers, Napoleon Dynamite glasses. The girls are wearing these and I cannot fathom what would possess them to do so. They look retarded and they make you look retarded.



Maybe I'm aging myself and I fully understand the whole concept of fashion trends but come on, some things just shouldn't be tolerated. Stop this weirdy shit at once!

Behold, the dark side (of the wind)

*Taps the microphone*

Hello? Hello? Anyone there?

Sorry, I have completely ignored you and there really is no excuse for me so I won't even try. I will however give you a tiny little treasure to cherish today.

Me: "Hello, I'm calling because your child is absent from school today"

Parent: "Yes, my child has chapped lips so I kept him home today."

Me: "Wow. Really?"

Parent: "Yes, he has to put on chap stick all day long, so he couldn't come to school today."

Me: "..............Alright then."


The above is a true and accurate story, because really...you can't make this shit up.

BOHICA!

I have officially experienced the epic waste of government money. Remember that I was serving on a jury last week? We're done now and I can give you the scoop. We sat in a court room from 10 to 4 for four days listening to attorneys... Objection! Can we have a sidebar? Can we have a 5 minute recess so I can get some water? Would you please just answer the question? And so on and so on... What was the big hulabaloo? This guy took a bunch of muscle relaxers, got behind the wheel, drove recklessly, got pulled over, failed 5 out of 6 field sobriety tests, admitted to taking prescription drugs and was arrested. In 2009. Because he pled not guilty, our job was to determine whether he was driving while under the influence of a drug. Did I mention that the night he was arrested, he had a blood draw which later revealed the presence of both the drugs he admitted to taking that night? I cannot express to you the utter stupidity that was this trial. The guy was clearly impaired, admitted to the drugs and his blood test ratted him out. Needless to say, we deliberated less than an hour and returned a guilty verdict.

Because of this amazing journey, I missed 4 days of work, paid $8 a day for parking, $7 a day for lunch and close to $40 total for gas. I figure that when all was said and done, I actually paid out of pocket to be a juror.

Tax dollars at work, folks!