I honestly can't believe I'm still getting visitors to this blog from people googling how to murder people and get away with it. I admit, the most recent search from an individual in England is my favorite so far though: "how to kill your girlfriend and get away scott free like no csi stuff or nothing." That's the British education system for you there, friends. Sooooo many things wrong with that search specifically, sooooo many things wrong with that person in general.
Is it bad that of the 14,351 celebrities to die within the last two weeks the one that devastated me the most was that of Billy Mays? And not just because I was in the planning process of making fun of him on my blog, either (THANKS FOR THAT). I genuinely liked seeing his huge face screaming at me through my TV. I watched a program on TV pitchmen not too long ago and they interviewed Billy. I was absolutely dumbfounded. He was...normal. He spoke in a quiet, calm voice, and he sat there like a regular person and not, you know, racing around the room at a fevered pace with the interviewer throwing one word at a time at him with every lap past him. I don't know what I expected him to sound like in reality, either, but it sure wasn't that. I guess I was imagining him at home, sitting at the dinner table with his family, screaming, "SO IT TURNS OUT THAT LUMP ON MY LEFT TESTICLE WAS JUST BENIGN THANK GOODNESS BECAUSE I WAS GETTING WORRIED. WHERE'S THE BUTTER? JOHNNY, GO GET IT FROM THE FRIDGE WILL YOU? AND WILL SOMEONE PASS THE SALT PLEASE?" Turns out he was normal all those years and we just never knew it. Surprising, really.
Anyway, I'm sad that he's gone. My New York City Slider Station and I will miss him severely. I'll also miss my opportunity to tell him personally that the damn thing doesn't work!! Stupid slider station.
And yeah, Michael Jackson's gone too, but he wasn't putting out any new music anyway. Meh.
Hey, speaking of things not working, did you know there are companies and agencies out there that actually test TV products to ensure they actually do what they claim to do? And that they can halt sale of the product and impose heavy fines if found otherwise? Whodathunk?! I just assumed buying things off TV was akin to buying magic elixers from 19th century travelling salesmen (which I do infrequently); you buy at your own risk and if you get a dud, hey, you're stupid! Not so! And did you know that these companies also guiltlessly admit to raising the shipping and processing fees to make an extra buck? I knew they did, but I didn't expect them to fess up to it. Amazing what having a lack of conscience will do for you these days.
FYI: one company tested the ShamWow absorbant cloths on the show and concluded that they do indeed do everything they claim to be able to do. So I ran out and bought some. No, I haven't tested them yet. Why would I? That's what those companies are for, remember?
30 June 2009
27 June 2009
"Dear Abby"'s Most Helpful Advice
We're doing a quite bit around here to prepare for Baby #3. One thing that appears to be essential is finding sleeping arrangements for this young thing (supposedly dresser drawers are no longer kosher or something; whatever). I belong to a parenting group out here and we have a fancy mailing list and everything. One day a mother in the group was selling quite a bit of her baby stuff for very cheap and I noted a mini-pack-n-play for $25. Hardly ever been used and exactly what I'd been looking for. How great is that? So she drove it over and we made the exchange. At the time she asked how far along I was and when I told her she very wonderfully exclaimed, "Why, I'd never guess you were that far along! You look great!" I felt fabulous. Right until I remembered that she had likely already read about my rant regarding such things in the parenting newsletter I write for. Yes, My Neighbor Melissa Who Lives Three Doors Down From Me asked me to write a humor article for the parenting newsletter each month. I'm sure she's regretting that decision now, but there's also little she can do about it without hurt feelings ensuing (mostly hers, like when I set her car on fire out of spite).
Looking for something to write about on my blog today and not actually wanting to write it, allow me to reproduce that month's article here, won't you? Yes, I am that lazy. Take it or leave it.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Q: Dear Abby,
I’m 34 weeks pregnant with my first baby. My husband has shown less and less interest in me physically over this pregnancy as my girth has gradually increased and I worry that he won’t ever be attracted to me again, even after the baby’s born. Do you think he’ll ever think I’m attractive?
Sincerely,
Heartsick
A: Dear Heartsick,
Well, that kinda depends on if you were attractive before. If you weren’t, then there’s probably not a lot of hope for you now. Good luck, Gigantor!
Hey, that totally reminds me of a story! I was six months along with my first pregnancy when my husband and I flew out to spend Christmas with my family. None of them had seen me pregnant so I was a bit nervous. I’m the baby of the family and the only girl to boot, so I didn’t know how my family, particularly my parents who still treat me like I’m five, would take to seeing me very pregnant and, you know, adult-ish. When I got a moment alone with my folks I decided to satisfy my curiosity and simply ask if they thought it was strange to see me pregnant. And my ever-helpful mother immediately replied, “Oh honey, you’re supposed to look puffy.”
OK, 1.) Thanks a lot, Mom,
and 2.) NOT WHAT I MEANT.
I’m working on my third pregnancy right now and am recently into my second trimester. You would have thought that my mother would be used to seeing just how huge I can get during a pregnancy, despite my never gaining more than 23 pounds total per ordeal thankyouverymuch. And yet, last week I caught my mother telling complete strangers (to her AND me I might add) over the phone that I am most likely having twins. Mind you, I’m not. When I corrected her she said,
“Are you sure? They have sonograms now that can tell you these things.”
“YES Mom, I’m sure. I’ve had three sonograms so far and they’ve each said there’s just one baby in there.”
“Perhaps you should check again. Sometimes those things can be wrong.”
SIGH. I’m getting to the point in my pregnancy when I’m becoming quite insane, belligerent (more than usual I mean) and rude (actually, that’s about the same). I swear that the next time someone asks if I’m overdue or just expecting multiples, I’m going to take that person’s fist and shove it down their throat. So, you know, don’t ask that. ‘Cause I don’t want to have to give birth in prison.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
FYI, Melissa's husband (who had read this article previously) asked me recently if I was having twins. Because he's that VERY FUNNY KIND OF PERSON. I'M WATCHING YOU, PAL. AND YOUR CAR.
Looking for something to write about on my blog today and not actually wanting to write it, allow me to reproduce that month's article here, won't you? Yes, I am that lazy. Take it or leave it.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Q: Dear Abby,
I’m 34 weeks pregnant with my first baby. My husband has shown less and less interest in me physically over this pregnancy as my girth has gradually increased and I worry that he won’t ever be attracted to me again, even after the baby’s born. Do you think he’ll ever think I’m attractive?
Sincerely,
Heartsick
A: Dear Heartsick,
Well, that kinda depends on if you were attractive before. If you weren’t, then there’s probably not a lot of hope for you now. Good luck, Gigantor!
Hey, that totally reminds me of a story! I was six months along with my first pregnancy when my husband and I flew out to spend Christmas with my family. None of them had seen me pregnant so I was a bit nervous. I’m the baby of the family and the only girl to boot, so I didn’t know how my family, particularly my parents who still treat me like I’m five, would take to seeing me very pregnant and, you know, adult-ish. When I got a moment alone with my folks I decided to satisfy my curiosity and simply ask if they thought it was strange to see me pregnant. And my ever-helpful mother immediately replied, “Oh honey, you’re supposed to look puffy.”
OK, 1.) Thanks a lot, Mom,
and 2.) NOT WHAT I MEANT.
I’m working on my third pregnancy right now and am recently into my second trimester. You would have thought that my mother would be used to seeing just how huge I can get during a pregnancy, despite my never gaining more than 23 pounds total per ordeal thankyouverymuch. And yet, last week I caught my mother telling complete strangers (to her AND me I might add) over the phone that I am most likely having twins. Mind you, I’m not. When I corrected her she said,
“Are you sure? They have sonograms now that can tell you these things.”
“YES Mom, I’m sure. I’ve had three sonograms so far and they’ve each said there’s just one baby in there.”
“Perhaps you should check again. Sometimes those things can be wrong.”
SIGH. I’m getting to the point in my pregnancy when I’m becoming quite insane, belligerent (more than usual I mean) and rude (actually, that’s about the same). I swear that the next time someone asks if I’m overdue or just expecting multiples, I’m going to take that person’s fist and shove it down their throat. So, you know, don’t ask that. ‘Cause I don’t want to have to give birth in prison.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
FYI, Melissa's husband (who had read this article previously) asked me recently if I was having twins. Because he's that VERY FUNNY KIND OF PERSON. I'M WATCHING YOU, PAL. AND YOUR CAR.
23 June 2009
Spread the Talent
Even if you've never seen an episode of SpongeBob, you've gotta admit this is pretty funny. (For those who haven't seen an episode, Gary is SpongeBob's pet snail. All snails sound and act like cats where SpongeBob lives.)
Apparently the voice talents behind SpongeBob and his friends wanted to prove they were capable of more than just cartoons (or so goes the story they tell anyway). Heh heh. The "Singin' in the Rain" bit still makes me laugh.
Apparently the voice talents behind SpongeBob and his friends wanted to prove they were capable of more than just cartoons (or so goes the story they tell anyway). Heh heh. The "Singin' in the Rain" bit still makes me laugh.
18 June 2009
Revelation: the Creepy Kind
My boy Peanut is adorable, despite the crying. And yet, I get the uneasiest feeling in my gut when I put him in one specific outfit:
Keeps me up nights.
Like I've seen him somewhere else before.
Keeps me up nights.
16 June 2009
An Apron Has a Thousand Faces
Hey, hey, hey, remember back when I finally won a blog giveaway and got that beautiful apron that Lovely Loralee made and subsequently mailed to me? And I said I'd post pictures of it when I got it? And then I never did it? And you all forgot? Except Loralee who now thinks I'm the most ungrateful person ever? Well, fret not my little hamsters, I've finally downloaded the pictures and am prepared to post them at this time! Unfortunately, the cat was far more tolerant of wearing clothing than I had previously anticipated (lousy cat!) so those pictures were less than exciting. So I had to find other, BETTER models to show off this gorgeous apron! Let's go!
Tic, you irritating cat! Run away! Do something! You're boring! Stupid thing.
Peanut, pre-haircut. He's wondering why I'm abusing him so (with the apron and the girly hairstyle)
By far, the most cooperative of my models.
A tad too cooperative.
And the youngest, SweetPea. She was asleep at the time. Wake up! You're as boring as the cat!
Tic, you irritating cat! Run away! Do something! You're boring! Stupid thing.
Peanut, pre-haircut. He's wondering why I'm abusing him so (with the apron and the girly hairstyle)
By far, the most cooperative of my models.
A tad too cooperative.
And the youngest, SweetPea. She was asleep at the time. Wake up! You're as boring as the cat!
Thank you, Loralee! It's gorgeous! I will make sure not to wear it around any foodstuffs so as to not soil it. 'Cause we sure wouldn't want that to happen. You know, more than it has been already being dragged around the house by my various models. Hooray for family! And free crap!
11 June 2009
A Veritable Online Book of Faces
Wow, I haven't posted in eight days! Did anyone notice but me? No? Fine. Now, it's not uncommon for me not to post for short periods of time, but there are usually other reasons for it. Like, I hate you or something. You know, good reasons. But this past hiatus is due to only one person: Nancy. I feel very comfortable in talking about my friend, Nancy, on my blog because she has never ONCE deemed her time useless enough to visit here. Ever. No, Nancy only does facebook, that treasure-amongst-preteens. She has made this very explicitly clear on more than one occasion. If we want to communicate outside of email and Christmas cards, it will only be through facebook.
Fine. So when I got that email reminder telling me I was ignoring valuable friends on facebook RIGHT NOW, I finally gave in and signed up. And oh my, the glory I beheld before me! Why, the stalking possibilities are up there in the thousands of dollars!
Now, I'm still new to this facebook thing by nearly a week (nearly a week of reading about people's thoughts, mocking others, and taking online quizzes and ignoring all else in my life, if I may be specific). If I understand this correctly, the concept behind this game is to con/guilt/confuse as many friends/brief acquaintences/total strangers as possible into admitting they know you and adding you as one of their "friends," thus pushing your overall numbers high enough until someone wins. Is that about the long and short of it? What do we get at the end? A prize of some construction? I sure hope it's candy. Because candy is totally worth exposing my personal information to a gaggle of people I barely know.
And is it just me, or is this publicizing of one's thoughts in brief sentences for all the world to see exactly like Twitter? I hate Twitter! I don’t even care about what I think about every second of the day, let alone anyone else on earth. And I'm the most interesting person I know! You could be the most fascinating person on the planet and I wouldn’t care what you’re thinking every blasted second of the day. So stop asking me to. 'Cause it ain't gonna happen. Now let us never speak of this again.
If you are already on The Facebook and I haven't yet added you to my group of facebook friends it's because I don't have your email address, I don't know your full name, or I hate you. If I have your email and I know your name, well, I guess you know where that leaves us. Take the hint already.
And Nancy? Thanks. THANKS A LOT.
Fine. So when I got that email reminder telling me I was ignoring valuable friends on facebook RIGHT NOW, I finally gave in and signed up. And oh my, the glory I beheld before me! Why, the stalking possibilities are up there in the thousands of dollars!
Now, I'm still new to this facebook thing by nearly a week (nearly a week of reading about people's thoughts, mocking others, and taking online quizzes and ignoring all else in my life, if I may be specific). If I understand this correctly, the concept behind this game is to con/guilt/confuse as many friends/brief acquaintences/total strangers as possible into admitting they know you and adding you as one of their "friends," thus pushing your overall numbers high enough until someone wins. Is that about the long and short of it? What do we get at the end? A prize of some construction? I sure hope it's candy. Because candy is totally worth exposing my personal information to a gaggle of people I barely know.
And is it just me, or is this publicizing of one's thoughts in brief sentences for all the world to see exactly like Twitter? I hate Twitter! I don’t even care about what I think about every second of the day, let alone anyone else on earth. And I'm the most interesting person I know! You could be the most fascinating person on the planet and I wouldn’t care what you’re thinking every blasted second of the day. So stop asking me to. 'Cause it ain't gonna happen. Now let us never speak of this again.
If you are already on The Facebook and I haven't yet added you to my group of facebook friends it's because I don't have your email address, I don't know your full name, or I hate you. If I have your email and I know your name, well, I guess you know where that leaves us. Take the hint already.
And Nancy? Thanks. THANKS A LOT.
03 June 2009
Why Do I Even Bother?
Blogs are for whining and complaining, right? Right? Fantastic. Let it proceed.
So yesterday I developed a bad headache that I knew would wind up to be a migraine. I knew because I'm brilliant. Around 9:15 pm, coincidentally right at the moment The Husband walked in on me watching that freakshow "18 Kids and Counting" and said, "What the hell is this?!" I developed said whopper of a migraine. After arguing for 30 seconds about who "the hell" the Duggars were and if, in fact, The Husband had indeed heard of them before that very moment like I know he had, I stumbled to bed. And I didn't sleep until 4:45am. This had to be one of the worst and most painful migraines I've ever had in my life. And not only that, it freaked me the crap out because it didn't hurt in the same places it usually does, cold didn't help it but made it ten times worse, and lying down made it downright unbearable. So I would sit in bed clutching my head until I would pass out from lack of sleep, only to bolt straight upright in bed again 30 seconds later because the excrutiating pain had woken me up. As I mentioned, this went on all. night. long. *
Finally, I got desperate enough that I decided to call the hospital, or more accurately, the Labor and Delivery doctors at the hospital since they love to hear about any complaint you have while you're pregnant. Now, you know my thoughts on hospitals and their effectiveness when it comes to solving migraines. As in, they suck at it. And so it was with great misery and desperation that I called them at 4:30 in the morning. This after avoiding such all night, thinking The Husband would have to miss work and Peanut would starve to death while I was gone, and blah blah blah. I finally stopped caring about my loved ones at all and made the call. I mumbled my problem and the doctor asked a couple of questions and said...wait for it..."Take some Tylenol and call back in an hour if it isn't better." If I could have seen straight I would have driven to the hospital and murdered this doctor. TYLENOL?? OF COURSE! IT'S ALL SO CLEAR NOW. THE WORST MIGRAINE EVER CAN BE SOLVED BY TYLENOL. WHY DIDN'T I THINK OF IT FIRST? BECAUSE I DIDN'T GO TO EXPENSIVE DOCTOR SCHOOL, THAT'S WHY.
But I couldn't see to drive, so I decided to do what she said just out of spite. "FINE, I'll take the damn Tylenol. Stupid doctor. Yes! Tylenol! That genius of medications that solves absolutely nothing! Hooray! *popping of Tylenol in mouth* Just wait you jerks. My brain will be bleeding out of my ear when I show up on your doorstep in an hour, you wait and see. Tylenol. That's the fricking stupidest thing I've been told yet and zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz."
I woke up two hours later to my inner baby trying to kick her way out of my stomach and with the worst migraine of all time, uh, gone. I was left with only a standard migraine. I can deal with that. I know how to handle that kind. That other kind, not so much, obviously. And I missed the one hour deadline to complain to the hospital, too. Damn.
No, I will most certainly NOT apologize to you, Tylenol! Where were you all those years before when I needed you?? Sure, you come riding in on your white steed at the last possible moment before I cram my head into the garbage disposal and claim victory, but that just isn't good enough! It doesn't make up for all the other failures, do you hear me??
Stupid Tylenol.
*In case you're confused, I long ago made a pact with The Husband that my migraine=his sleeping somewhere else. He gets sleep and I get to thrash and writh about in agony without worrying that I'm keeping him awake. Plus I can hog the blankets.
So yesterday I developed a bad headache that I knew would wind up to be a migraine. I knew because I'm brilliant. Around 9:15 pm, coincidentally right at the moment The Husband walked in on me watching that freakshow "18 Kids and Counting" and said, "What the hell is this?!" I developed said whopper of a migraine. After arguing for 30 seconds about who "the hell" the Duggars were and if, in fact, The Husband had indeed heard of them before that very moment like I know he had, I stumbled to bed. And I didn't sleep until 4:45am. This had to be one of the worst and most painful migraines I've ever had in my life. And not only that, it freaked me the crap out because it didn't hurt in the same places it usually does, cold didn't help it but made it ten times worse, and lying down made it downright unbearable. So I would sit in bed clutching my head until I would pass out from lack of sleep, only to bolt straight upright in bed again 30 seconds later because the excrutiating pain had woken me up. As I mentioned, this went on all. night. long. *
Finally, I got desperate enough that I decided to call the hospital, or more accurately, the Labor and Delivery doctors at the hospital since they love to hear about any complaint you have while you're pregnant. Now, you know my thoughts on hospitals and their effectiveness when it comes to solving migraines. As in, they suck at it. And so it was with great misery and desperation that I called them at 4:30 in the morning. This after avoiding such all night, thinking The Husband would have to miss work and Peanut would starve to death while I was gone, and blah blah blah. I finally stopped caring about my loved ones at all and made the call. I mumbled my problem and the doctor asked a couple of questions and said...wait for it..."Take some Tylenol and call back in an hour if it isn't better." If I could have seen straight I would have driven to the hospital and murdered this doctor. TYLENOL?? OF COURSE! IT'S ALL SO CLEAR NOW. THE WORST MIGRAINE EVER CAN BE SOLVED BY TYLENOL. WHY DIDN'T I THINK OF IT FIRST? BECAUSE I DIDN'T GO TO EXPENSIVE DOCTOR SCHOOL, THAT'S WHY.
But I couldn't see to drive, so I decided to do what she said just out of spite. "FINE, I'll take the damn Tylenol. Stupid doctor. Yes! Tylenol! That genius of medications that solves absolutely nothing! Hooray! *popping of Tylenol in mouth* Just wait you jerks. My brain will be bleeding out of my ear when I show up on your doorstep in an hour, you wait and see. Tylenol. That's the fricking stupidest thing I've been told yet and zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz."
I woke up two hours later to my inner baby trying to kick her way out of my stomach and with the worst migraine of all time, uh, gone. I was left with only a standard migraine. I can deal with that. I know how to handle that kind. That other kind, not so much, obviously. And I missed the one hour deadline to complain to the hospital, too. Damn.
No, I will most certainly NOT apologize to you, Tylenol! Where were you all those years before when I needed you?? Sure, you come riding in on your white steed at the last possible moment before I cram my head into the garbage disposal and claim victory, but that just isn't good enough! It doesn't make up for all the other failures, do you hear me??
Stupid Tylenol.
*In case you're confused, I long ago made a pact with The Husband that my migraine=his sleeping somewhere else. He gets sleep and I get to thrash and writh about in agony without worrying that I'm keeping him awake. Plus I can hog the blankets.
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