Dryers and duress

I have a migraine and my dryer broke...but not in that order. First things first. I was washing my bed comforter the other day and put it into the dryer. Apparently, my dryer no longer has any love for me or my sense of cleanliness because midway through the drying cycle it stopped working. That's it, no dramatics, no great explosion. It just stopped. I have to admit, I was little disappointed with this whole thing, and not for reasons you may imagine.

I was disappointed because I am of the opinion that if you are going to break, do it with gusto! Don't just fizzle out and cease to work, explode! Smoke! Come on, have a little pride in your work (or in your non-work, as the case may be). Secondly, my disappointment came a few days later when The Mr., being tremendously handy, discovered that the dryer had only blown a fuse and was a very easy fix. I was kind of looking forward to being able to buy a new dryer. Not that I have any money and not that the dryer has EVER given me trouble, even after 15 years. In my mind, I was already prancing through Sears while scattering rose petals and shimmering slightly in the glorious rays of the fluorescent lighting.

This was not to be. We found the fuse online and ordered it. In the meantime, I have gained a new appreciation for the women that did laundry when there were no dryers to be had. My house currently looks like a washroom (no, Marisa, I haven't taken pictures yet...but the week is young!). I have discovered the warmest places in the house and lay my laundry over whatever surfaces I can find.

It's quite exciting actually, The Mr. and I were placing bets last night as to whether a certain piece of laundry would, in fact, dry overnight. I won.

Onward...The Migraine. I have suffered from them since my teens but have noticed an increase in their severity over the last 10 years or so. As I currently don't have insurance, therefore a doctor, I don't have either a professional diagnosis or medication. Normally, if I can get to sleep they don't last through the night. My buddy right now is hanging on for dear life. It really sucks.

That is all.

Well, I'll be a monkeys uncle

Apparently my sole purpose on earth is to amuse my kids. Beside being inexplicably weird, I tend to say things they find tremendously funny. I present for your reading pleasure...

"That'll do Donkey, that'll do" or if the mood strikes me...

"That'll do Pig, that'll do"

"I choose not to run"

"But I don't want to be a pirate"

"I can't do it captain, I don't have the strength" (this is said with the worst possible accent)

"I got your six"

"Hi there" (I think the only reason this is funny is because it is always said like Dug in "UP") What's that? Who is this Dug I speak of? Well, let's look together, shall we?
Dug says Hi There... 

"Sup"

"Your father" (this is said with great exasperation)

"Thank you Captain Obvious"


And there you have it. BTW, you get 29,000 points if you can identify which movies/shows several of these came from. Annnddd...go!

Oh, the humanity

I was completely traumatized today. Seriously, I think I might need therapy. Stop laughing, this is really serious! I heard the statement I've been dreading for many, many years. Are you ready?

"Mom, can I date?"

This is no bueno. No bueno at all. I know that she has been noticing boys for awhile now and they have been noticing her as well. How do I know this? Because I make a point of being on her school campus often. I want those boys to know my face and know who exactly belongs to me. In fact, just the other day I made a point of noticing a boy noticing my daughter. Who knew teenage boys could move so fast?

Anyway, back to my trauma. I was innocently doing my grocery shopping and wham! out of nowhere Zippy asks if I think she's old enough to date. Eh? Who's Zippy? Well, that's my daughter. What's that? No, of course that's not her real name. I don't divulge real names because there are alot of whackadoos out there (you know who you are). Moving on. You should be so proud of me. I didn't start wailing like a crazy woman or start telling her all the bad germs and cooties that boys have. No. I took a deep breath and asked her some very reasonable questions.

"Do YOU think you're old enough to date." "Yes Mom"
"What do YOU think dating is?" "MOM!"
"Well, what do you think it is" "Well, sitting together and maybe holding hands" *blushing*
"What if he tries to kiss you?" "EWWWWW!" *screws up her face in disgust*

I told her that I had to think about it and talk to her dad. I'm a little encouraged by the fact that she thinks kissing is gross. I know that those feelings won't last though. Dammit. 

Lions and tigers and puppets, oh my!

DISCLAIMER: If you or someone you love is or has ever been involved with ventriloquism, you might want to run away. You will most likely be offended. Really. Run away right now...*waits* You're still here? Okay, don't say I didn't warn you.

Tonight, I was watching the show on TLC called "My Strange Addiction". For those of you who that have not seen it, it's kind of like watching a train wreck. You find yourself peeking through your fingers or grimacing while saying really mature things like, "Eww" or "Did you see that??" Tonight's episode involved something that should scare anyone in their right mind...puppets. Not those cute little puppets that your kindergarten teacher had. No, these are the scary-ass big headed monstrosities that are used for ventriloquism.

Seriously, who among us here today are completely petrified by these things? *raises hand* Are they not right up there with clowns on the Creepy Scale? I swear, I was watching this show and the wackadoo on it with my mouth hanging open and my hand curled around the remote so as to be fully prepared in the event one of those bad boys crept up behind me.

This chick takes the puppets with her. Everywhere. They showed her and her evil sidekick hanging out in Central Park, New York. As if there aren't enough weirdys that hang out there already. These puppets were like muppets on crack and looked like they had been ridden hard and put away wet. My skin crawls even now thinking about it.

You can bet I'm sleeping with my bedroom door locked tonight. Now, will you please excuse me while I go hunt down my trusty baseball bat.

In which I get taken advantage of, and not in a good way

I was robbed today. Now, don't worry...it's not what you think.

As I previously mentioned, I am a part-time student finishing a degree I should have taken care of years and years ago (let this be a lesson to you kiddies, the trick is not just to go to college, it's to FINISH college). Anyway, my next class starts next week and I need a textbook. I learned my lesson early on not to buy textbooks from the college bookstore. They are extremely overpriced and as far as I'm concerned, the bookstore practices highway robbery. Let me 'splain...

You can search for your books online through the college website. When you find your book, you can choose to buy it new or used. Keep in mind, the used price isn't that much better than the new price, but hey every dollar counts! Naturally, I chose the used price and clicked the magic button, "add to cart". Have I mentioned how much I love online shopping? Think about it, you can shop in your jammies and no one looks at you funny. However, if you live in my town you can shop in your jammies and people don't look at you funny...but that's beside the point. Back to reasons why I like shopping online. No crowds or lines or obnoxious people. You don't have to worry about the previous user of your shopping cart or using a public bathroom. You don't have to drive anywhere or worry about store hours. But...I digress.

Where was I...right, "add to cart". So I add the used book to my cart and choose the option to pay at the bookstore because I prefer to pay in cash. Sounds pretty good, right? Just wait. I arrive at the bookstore to pay for and pick up my used book, only to be told that they didn't have any used books and I had to buy a new one. What??? The funny thing is, she said it with a completely straight face, like this was the most reasonable thing in the world. I replied, "But I ordered a used book, the website offered me one."

"Right, well we don't have one."

You're fucking kidding me.

Since I was totally screwed already I went ahead and paid for the new book, told her and anyone else with ear-shot how I felt about her and the damn bookstore and left. When I got home, I immedately went online and looked in the bookstore for the textbook I had just bought. What do you think I saw? "Buy this book USED and save!" Huh. Fancy that.

Which brings me to today. After that illuminating experience, I have not bought from the college bookstore, preferring to save lots and lots of money buying them from other websites. But for this coming class, the college has gotten just a little smarter. This text is actually published by the college, thereby forcing you to buy it from them and prohibiting you from re-selling it anywhere else. Quite a racket, right?

So, I was taken advantage of today by a little old lady who didn't look like she would harm a cockroach. She smiled sweetly at me while I wrote a check for an obscene amount of money. All the while I grumbled under my breath because I knew they had me right where they wanted me. BOHICA  

Piercings and other atrocities

My daughter completely threw me under the bus the other day. But let me start at the beginning...

I've always been the opposite of my mom, coincidentally in some ways, deliberately in others...but you get the point. I color my hair, watch movies with bad words, listen to an array of different music, have tattoos, swear, drink. Hm? What's that? Does this have a point? Right, sorry. *clears throat*

I let my kids do a lot of things that my mom doesn't think are a good idea. Little things, but I get "The Look" from her quite a bit. Anyway, my girls and I were having lunch with my mom the other day and my oldest, who's 12, pipes up with, "My mom is going to color my hair green before I go back to school!" Now, before you gasp with shock, I don't color all her hair...just 2 streaks toward the front in the color of her choice. Last time, the streaks were purple. See? That's not so bad, right?

Before my mom has a chance to recover, let alone respond, the kid goes on with, "And then were going to get my ears pierced again!" Thanks for that, kiddo. My mom looks from her to me and back again, then at the 8 year old who is cracking up at this conversation. Mom says, "Next thing you know, you're going to have your eyebrow pierced and your nose pierced and your cheeks pierced...piercings everywhere!" (Yes, because getting your ears pierced is clearly the "gateway" piercing to becoming one big hole. *rolls eyes*)

And what does my sweet daughter say to that? "Oh never Grandma!" or "Of course not!"? No. Out comes the following response, "I'm not going to get a bunch of piercings Grandma...but I am going to get a couple of tattoos." And then she sits there quite pleased with herself while yours truly gets "The Look".

Shave and a haircut...two bits

So, I have a new tactic, a new strategy if you will. It involves shaving. No, not my face or my back...my legs. Since the first time I shaved my legs, I have shaved them every day with very few exceptions. Why, you ask? Several reasons. 1) For some reason, when you shave something, it grows back in a fierce way. Thick and black and I'm sure if you look closely, you will see that it carries a tiny little hairbrush so as to add the most possible density. 2) Because of said ferociousness of the "grow-back" hair, if I don't shave every day, it starts to rub on my pants or tights or heaven forbid the OTHER leg (which as you can imagine has a tiny army of its own). This, I cannot have. Anyway, due to these unavoidable hair hazards, I shave every day.

Now, I must tell you about this new development, the new strategy. I'm not sure if I'm too old or too busy or just don't care a whole hell of alot but the excessive hairy-ness doesn't seem to bother me too terribly much. Now, before you get any wild ideas, I have no intention of turning into that slightly frightening woman who wears mid-calf skirts, rolled down ankle socks and tennis shoes who probably doesn't know what a razor is much less how one works. Razors are my friends. BUT! I have a strategy and here it is...

I sometimes shave every other day. Did you see that? Every OTHER day. Oh the excitement, the intrigue, you must be saying! I sometimes do this so as to give myself a little reward. What could it be! See, if I shave every other day the shave itself seems so much more successful. In an instant my legs go from a hairy forest of hairbrush toting rogue hairs to a silky smooth plateau of touchable goodness. It's like a little celebration of shaving success every time.

Ah, the little things in life.