There, but for Camille Grammer, go I.

It has come to my attention that there may be some things that I neglected to mention.  Not intentionally, I just didn't think about it until one night when a few friends close to the situation, pointed it out to me.  And then it hit me.  Like a TON. OF. BRICKS!...I could have been Camille Grammer.  True story.

So there I was...circa 1991, a fresh faced 21 year old, little Miss Sassy, doing my thang at the Red Onion.  That's a restaurant/nightclub that used to be the ONLY hang out in the area.  I was just dancing, enjoying a little Vanilla Ice, because... I mean...who doesn't?!  Am I right?! ;)   When this man comes up to me and says he has a friend who wants to meet me.  Hmmmm...interesante'.  So I was intrigued because this guy was dressed in a suit, and in a world full of Hammer pants, he stood out like a ho' in church.  When we got to the bar...who was sitting there?!  None other than KELSEY GRAMMER.  I kid. you. not.  This wasn't the tidy Kelsey of late.  This was the-last-season-of-Cheers-w/-the-long-straggly-hair-and-bad-coke-habit Kelsey.  Not attractive.  So did I maintain my composure, you ask?  Did I conduct myself as though this sort of thing was not unusual and happened to me all the time?  But of course I didn't.  My exact words were...~insert high shrill voice of a teenager~ "WELL LOOK WHO YOU ARE?!!!".  He glanced up at me over his drink and said in his sad, defeated voice, "Who am I?".  I said, "You're Frazier Crane!!".  So pretty much the romance died right there at the bar of the Red Onion.  He bought me a drink and I walked away.  ~whispers~  Foreverrrrrr. 

So, cut to me having drinks last week w/ some girlfriends and telling this story.  When I finished a few ladies where staring at me with their mouths open.  What?!  This is when they chastised me for not disclosing this tidbit of info on my blog.  Never occurred to me!!  But then I started putting the pieces together. Camille was a dancer...I was dancing!  Camille was a young 20's girl w/ big hair in the early 90's...I was a 21 year old, big-haired girl!  OMG!  So close!  Whew!  Kinda made me sweat for a second.  Dodged a bullet on that one, my friends!  Not saying that Kelsey is unattractive now, but back in the day...eeeek!  And I had no desire to be the drug addict's savior.  That's God's job, not mine. 
 
So thinking about all of my rantings and ravings about this hollowed out, shell of a woman (Camille, not me!), could this just be sour grapes?  The green-eyed monster having its way with me.  And it is entirely possible that I have suppressed and suppressed until it has shown itself in the form of beating her Botoxed, so-you-think-you-can-dance-but-not-without-a-pole, insecure self about the head & shoulders.  Maybe it is time to reflect.  Look SHARI in the eyes and see what's behind all of this Camille angst...aaaaaannnnnnd, we're done.  NOPE, no jealousy.  Just the overwhelming urge to slap her. :)  Thank you and goodnight.

I peed my pants. I literally peed. on. myself.

Whomp, there it is.  Me, in all my glory.  This is what my life has come to.  Two degrees, small business owner, wife and mother of 2, and now I will only be known as The Urinator.  I accept defeat WORLD!! YOU WIN!  I peed the fight right out of me.  How did I find myself in such a situation, you ask?  Well, pardon the pun but it all started because I was pissed.  Literally and figuratively.  Let's take a look back, shall we?...~cue wobbly screen and Mike Meyers~ "biddily-doo, biddily-doo, biddily-doo".

So there I was, waiting on the refrigerator repairman for visit # 14.  I. kid. you. not.  And if you are saying, "Shari!  There's a lemon law!  Insist on a new refrigerator!!", then I need you to give me your address so that I can come over and punch you in the face.  Don't worry, I won't stay long.  I'll just ring the bell, you'll answer, PUNCH, back in my car, and I'm gone.  I do not have the strength to go into the entire story w/ you, just like I didn't have the strength to tell repairman # 8 what was wrong w/ my fridge.  I told him, "You are not Kevin.  Kevin is my repairman.  He knows what is wrong.  Last time they sent Robert.  Robert had to call Kevin because he knows what is wrong.  Robert didn't know.  He called Kevin.  Robert and Kevin spent 2 1/2 hours trying to fix it.  Needed another part. Kevin said he would come back because he knows what's going on.  You do not.  I will not tell you what is going on for fear of flying into a rage that I may never recover from.  I'm sure your family loves you and will miss you when you are gone.  If I have to repeat my story to one more person, that person may not live to tell the tale.  Save yourself and go get KEVIN!!!  Of course then he said that Kevin could come tomorrow (I'M NOT WASTING ONE MORE DAY!!) and it was already 6:30pm...my window was 1-5pm.  Which is why he was here at 6:30pm.  They enjoy showing up 90 minutes past the window.  I know this.  I have done extensive research on this in the form of scheduling FOURTEEN VISITS!!!!!!!!!  Now in Kevin's defense, his company has only been on 6 of the 14 calls.  The previous visits were split between 4 different companies.  None of them spoke English, only Russian.  I, unfortunately, do not speak Russian.  It's not that I wouldn't LIKE to speak Russian, it just never came up.  As a child, had I have known that someday Russian would be imperative to the repair of my appliances, I would have sought books, tutors, scholars, to aid me in my quest.  But coulda, shoulda, woulda.   I have now come to discover that it isn't that Moscow has a huge billboard that says, "Go to America, Fix Appliance".  It's that 4 brothers own 4 repair companies.  They share one warehouse and start all of their companies w/ the letter A.  That way, when you Google or look them up in the phone book, their company is at the top.  (sorry, I'm having a hard time writing right now because for some reason, when thinking of Russia I want to talk in short, choppy sentences.  Like...come fix fridge.  Fridge no work.  Piece of crap.  What is borscht?  Is it just me?...oh no, wait...Just me.  That's better.)

Back to the pee.  SO, I've completely forgotten where I was in the story and I'm too damned tired to read what I wrote so here goes...window is 1pm-5pm.  At 2:30pm I get a call that he'll be here closer to 5pm.  Of course he will.  ~rolls eyes~  Now this screws up my program because I needed to go to my mom's house to do laundry.  (WHOLE OTHER OPRAH!!  Brand new Maytag washing machine is on the fritz, too!  Serenity NOW!)  AND mom was going to make dinner for me and the kids since hubby was working late.  Scratch all that, because now I have to make dinner for the kids and have no clue when hubby is going to get his panties washed.  (He doesn't really wear panties, that I know of.  I just use that phrase when I'm mad.  For example, "Don't get your panties in a bunch", "Calm down, you're running around here like your panties are on fire!"  It calms me.  It's an outlet.  What can I say?)  So it's a little after 5 and I finally have 2 seconds to pee.  I've had to pee for over an hour, but I've got 2 little kids so it's not always an option.  Wouldn't you know, JUST as I start to go...the phone rings.  It's the repairman, I just know it!!  If I don't answer, he won't come!! O.M.G.  I try to stop peeing...wth?...can't stop...too much pee...must get phone...STOP PEEING!!!!...I grab tissue...baby's in the way...MOVE ADAM!!!...OMG!!!...3rd ring...SONOFA$^%&*..."HELLO?!!"...this is when he tells me that he is Peter, NOT Kevin, and I go into my whole "Who do I have to sleep with to get Kevin here ON TIME?!!" shpeel.  (It was a dark day, my friends.  I'm not gonna lie to you.)  And now I'm thinking...why am I wet?...what's wet?...there's wetness...all while having this convo w/ Peter.  Then I realize O.M.G.  Did I just pee myself?  What THE...where's Adam?  What's that noise?...OMG!  Adam is in the bathroom, splashing in the toilet.  Water is everywhere.  Or is that pee?  O.M.G.  PLEASE, somebody knock me out.  I want to be unconscious RIGHT NOW.  Still having convo w/ Peter...washing Adam...changing MY OWN pants...cuz I peed myself, ya know...still having convo.  And now I'm shaking because I'm so pissed.  HA!  Yeah.  That phrase takes on a whole new meaning.

Thank God for mothers because I called my mom, she came and got the laundry, and took it to her house.  Peter showed up at 6:30pm, not knowing what sort of hell he was walking into.  Fortunately for him, I had my breakdown before he got here and was in some altered state of numbness by the time he showed up.  Post Traumatic Pee Disorder.  PTPD, for those in the industry.  So he installs the part while telling me that he's never done this before.  All I could muster was a "that's nice".  At least I still had my wits about me enough not to finish w/ a ..."I peed my pants." 

Michael Jackson's new song got me reminiscing...

about the days of yore...days of your?...no, definitely yore.  The olden days.  Like the Thriller days.  Aaaaahhhh, the soundtrack of my youth.  I was a freshman in high school, just made the cheerleading team and was preparing for my very first pep rally.  I was thrilled when the Varsity Cheerleaders included us in their dance routine to kick off the school year.  We were doing the routine Michael Jackson did in the Beat It video.  You know, gang bangers w/ the bandana headbands across the forehead, (this isn't me, by the way.  Just giving a visual for those who aren't as street savvy as myself) flannel shirts and baggy pants. 

It was important to look cool and make a good first impression, since this routine would be done in front of the entire school. And since we were risking getting our asses kicked by the real homeboys/girls in school who dressed like this on a regular basis.  I was a little skeered, I won't lie to you. Cuz they'll cut ya...they'll cut ya deep.


Here...remember this?  (Although I gotta be honest, watching this video again after all these years, I couldn't help but think that Michael was gonna get "Beat" for wearing that piano shirt.  I mean, really Michael, why not just paint a target on your forehead)


 Michael Jackson - Beat It: "Thriller"

~cue music~  Adrenaline pumping, so excited...and here we go!  We start w/ the walking and snapping, you know what I'm talking about!  Oh yeah, going good...lookin' fine...snappity snap...freshman year is gonna ROCK...and then...it begins.  Homeboy headband starts to fall...raising eyebrows...trying. to. keep. it. up...not...working...slipping, falling...going...blind...and there it is.  Blackout.  Instead of cool homeboy, I am now a member of 3 Blind Mice.  I am completely blindfolded.  Dancing in the dark, if you will.  Can't see.  (Have I made that clear?)  But I kept dancing.  I knew that routine like the back of my hand, so I just busted a move.  I danced like nobody was watching! (pardon the pun) Maybe nobody noticed.  But I was suspicious.  Definitely heard laughing.  It's true what they say about your other senses being heightened.  Suddenly, I could smell the fear.  Taste the humiliation.  Maybe they weren't laughing at me.  Maybe someone tripped or fell.  But I'd have to wait until the song was over before I could remove my blindfold and see what high school had in store for me. Song ends and I take a peek.  And there it is.  My first of many public humiliations.  Didn't help that my spot was in front of the entire Senior class.  Oh well,  that's how we develop character, right?   And so, a class clown was born. :)

Just call me Shari Rogers...move over Kenny!

~singing in my best Kenny Rogers voice~

"On a warm fall evening, with a cart bound for Target,
I met up with a mother.  We were both too tired for sleep.
So we took turns a starin', at the discounts in the distance.
The boredom overtook us, and she began to speak.

She said, girl I've made a life, of keeping people happy.
Knowin' where their socks were, and Nintendo DSi's.
But if you don't mind my sayin', I'm sick of wipin' faces.
For a taste of that Pinot, I'll give you some advice...

You got to know when to hold 'em,
Know when to scold 'em.
Know when to walk away,
And know when to run.

You never eat your dinner, while you're sittin' at the table.
There'll be time enough for drinkin',
When the screamin's done."

Word to your mutha.

Went to Super Target today, and I have some thoughts...

Numero uno!  Although I am pleased as punch about the new Super Target w/ the grocery store, pulling into the parking lot I spy a HUGE GRIEVANCE!!  All of the cart return thingies are in the front row of the parking lot.  WTH?!!  Which told me that there were no mothers on that planning board!!  So I have a 4 year old and an 80 lb. 17 month old (not really, but he feels like it) that I have to haul WITH my cart cover because...well, just because eeeewww!  So we park in the back because every mother knows that if you try to park near the front, some idiot will park so close to your car that you won't be able to get yourself, much less the kids and all the paraphernalia out!  The wind is blowing like a banshee and so I will admit that I had a bit of a 'tude going in.  I own that.  But does that mean I am wrong when I get inside the store and see Kim Kardashian staring at me from People magazine with the headline, "I thought I'd be married by now", and I give an audible, "Oh Kim, SHUT UP!".  When my daughter looked up at me I realized that was out loud and not in my head.  Although in glancing around, I got a few head nods as if to say, "Go on w/ your bad self, sista!".  So on I went. 

I do love me some Kim Kardashian, but that kind of whining I just can't tolerate.  Lucky for her I didn't see Marie Osmond on Oprah before I saw that cover.  I might have had to whip out a Sharpie.  (Why, you ask?  Oh...no reason. :)  )  Poor little Kim is 30 and thought she'd be married by now.  Well guess what, Kimmie?  I thought I'd be living in a mansion, getting paid to get facials and smile at parties. Oh no, wait...that's YOU! Life isn't fair, but you've gotten more than your share so maybe having to wait a few more years to be married ain't all that bad!  (FYI, if I start whippin' out the "aint's", it's time to duck.) 

I'd hate to have to add Kim to my prayer list alongside Camille Grammer.  Next thing you know, Kim will be married w/ 2 kids, 6 nannies, a butler, and Alice from Brady Bunch.  All I can suggest to Miss Kardashian is that she call 1 (800) waaaaaa, or maybe www.stopcryingyoupatheticbaby.com.  It's just pissing the rest of us off. 

Camille Grammer vs. Marie Osmond...

So today I watched the most recent installment of the Real Housewives of B.H. Or as I like to call it...Camille Is Bat Shit Crazy.  Immediately following that pitiful, hollowed out, train wreck, I watched Marie Osmond talking to Oprah about the death of her son.  And I cried...and cried...and cried.  I mean, seriously, you'd have thought I knew her.  Although I feel like I do in some way.  (I had her Barbie as a kid, so that's something.  She had a hole in her hand to hold the microphone, made me think of Jesus, although he didn't have a microphone, but I bet he could sing, I mean...Son of God...pretty good bet being able to sing was part of the package... and Donny had purple socks, but I digress.)  But what I knew were those pictures of those chubby little toddler cheeks, and those sweet, big eyes looking up at you...sniff, sniff...(ok, who am I trying to kid?!  I'm still bawling as I type this.)  Now THAT is a mom.  An amazing mother of 8 children who never had nannies, but honestly had a reason for one!  or FOUR!  A woman who is focused on what's important in life, although I wasn't a fan of the big upper lip, Marie!  You don't need a big upper lip!  You are beautiful just as you are, so stop it!  Lip plumping is ridiculous, and we all can see that it is fake, so it's not like anyone is thinking 'wow, look at those really full, sensuous lips'.  We are thinking..."Who the hell just whacked you in the mouth w/ a skillet?".  And who wants people to look at you and think that? Cuz then I'm thinking skillet, which leads to bacon, which leads to a BLT, but I'd have to make it on white bread because Kaitlyn won't eat the wheat, I hate to have to buy 2 loaves of bread for the house, she really needs to eat the wheat...and now I've just missed the last 5 minutes of what Marie's said and I have to rewind. 

The differences between these 2 women were so glaring after watching these shows back to back.  After Oprah I actually said out loud, "What a silly woman you are, Camille Grammer."  Sad and silly.  (and INSECURE!! HA!  There, I said it!  You projector!...projecter?...one who projects?...who is projecting upon others the things she feels about herself?...ANYWAY, you know who you are!) 

So I had a Target rant that I was going to unleash after I caught up on my shows, but Target will have to wait until later.  I was so full of emotion that I had to share.  I need to go hug my babies now.  Ugh...they are fighting...ok, butt swats and THEN hugging my babies. 

Happy Birthday, Smelly Cat!

Now, I love my husband...don't get me wrong.  BUT, what is the dealio with greeting cards these days?!  I am BEYOND frustrated.  I go to get him a birthday card and heaven help me, but I'm in that freakin' aisle for 30 minutes!!  Every card says, "To the man I love...",  yeah...ok,  I do love him,  but what is this...Days of Our Lives?!  "For the one who makes my life complete...", "I never knew love could feel this way..." (ok, that one is kinda true cuz sometimes it really blows),  "If someone would have told me that in the ocean of love I would meet someone as great as you ...".  Oh dear LORD, I'm nauseous over here!  Can't you just say, "Hey buddy, love ya more than my luggage, and I'm forever grateful that I don't have to go on any more loser dates.  If you could see it in your heart to keep the farting to a minimum, I'd be forever grateful.  Happy Birthday!".  As I was talking to these ridiculous cards at Target, I noticed some young 20-somethings picking out 'Love' cards.  I'm sure I burst a few bubbles as I'm repeatedly saying, "Oh PUUUHHHLEEEZ!", with a fussy baby in the cart and a 4 year old singing her version of Preschool Musical.  Well, consider it my Public Service Announcement.  Someone has to break it down for these ladies.  It ain't all hearts and roses.  Most often it's butts and sippy cups.  IN that order. 

Sidebar:  I was shopping at Nordstrom's last week and the salesgirl was about 22 years old.  She was talking about her boyfriend who only liked to travel w/ the amount of stuff he could fit into his backpack. (I'm thinking, "What, is he NINE?!  That's not a man, that's a boy!)  She was trying to convince him to go to either Hawaii or to Italy with her.  THEN Salesgirl says, "Yeah, I told him I'd pay because otherwise we'd never go.  He would never spend money like that on me."   That's when my mouth flew open.  As if it was separate from my body.  I jumped my little (shut up!) self,  right into that girl's beeswax and said, "Aaah, little tip from one who dated for 17 years before finding Mr. Right...if he won't spend money on you NOW, he never will.  If you want to dish out that kind of money, take one of your girlfriends with you.  You will have a much better time and you will never regret it."  Wish you could have seen the look on her face.  It's like the clouds parted and she saw the light for the first time! And then, like Spiderman fading into the night, I was gone.  My work here was done.  Now back to our regularly scheduled program...

I truly think that the people who wrote these cards are not married.  That should be a requirement.  And I'm talking married for like 5 years, at least!  If you've only been married for a couple of years then you can work in the Engagement Dept., or in Newlyweds.  You cannot work in the Anniversary Dept!  And I believe that Mr. Hallmark needs to separate the Anniversary Dept. into smaller divisions, one being cards for couples married less than 5 years...let's call it the Isn't Love Grand Dept.

Next, we have the section for couples who have been married for 5-10 years w/ young children, entitled Love is Great but I'd Rather Sleep Dept.  (This is my dept. :) )  For those who have been married from 10-20 years, Who Does a Girl Gotta Sleep With To Get Some HELP Around This House!?! Dept.   And for those fantastic couples who have made it 20+ years we have the I'm Too Tired To Tell You You're An Idiot Dept.  ~cue music~ "...there is loooooooove....therrrrrre...iiiiiissss...looooooooooove."

Let us all pray for Camille Grammer...

God bless her hard working soul.  This poor, unfortunate woman has it tough.  My heart truly goes out to her.  It's not that I think celebrities (she's married to Kelsey, in case you didn't know) don't have problems, I just didn't realize the magnitude of their problems.  How. Does. She. Do. It?  Well, I tell ya, she's an absolute inspiration to me.  Makes me so thankful that I don't have to try to handle 2 half-grown children with only 4 nannies and a house manager.  I was so happy to see that she was able to get away to Hawaii and get some alone time.  She looked stressed, and I'm sure she could use the rest...~tires screeching~

HOLD UP, WAIT A MINUTE, let me throw a BEATING in it!  (Sorry, the high school cheerleader in me came out of nowhere!  She does that when I'm overly excited.)  Is she kidding?  I know she's not, but I am ready to put a WWF-sized SMACKDOWN on this woman.  She needs to be absolutely ASHAMED of herself!!  Now I am blessed (that's what they tell me.) to be able to stay home with my children, and I only have 2, which contrary to the popular 80's t.v. show...IS ENOUGH!  But as crazy as these children make me, I would not be able to come up w/ enough stuff for TWO nannies, much less FOUR!  And my kidlets are 1 and 4!  If they were the ages of her kids, looks like 8 & 9ish, I'd be having a freakin' party! 

Other than make a sandwich and get some juice...what do these nannies do all day?  I tease about wanting a nanny, what mom doesn't.  I am known to use the phrases, "Where's the Nanny?", "Call the Nanny!", "I'm going to fire that freakin' Nanny!".  But in reality, I wouldn't let her take my kids to the doc...I want to be there.  I wouldn't let her get up with my kids in the middle of the night...they need their Mommy, and I need to see that they are ok.  I guess I'd let her change a diaper or two, maybe dish out some raisins and juice...that would be nice.  But mostly, I think my nanny would sit here while my kidlets nap so I can run to Target.  Not really worth paying someone for that.  I guess I could have Diaper Nanny, Juice Nanny, Sandwich Nanny, and Nose-Wipin' Nanny.  But do I really need this many people standing around staring at me?  Listening to me while I talk to myself?  ("Tell me you aren't going to do something, when Mommy tells you to.  You MOVE when I say move!  Who do they think they are talking to? I brought them into this world, and I can take them out!) I say NAY!  I like to keep 'crazy' behind closed doors, thankyouverymuch.

Maybe Camille is good for us REAL moms.  Those of us that wouldn't trade our kids for a million bucks, but wouldn't give you a nickel for another one.  The moms in the trenches who have to get the kids up, out the door...oops, the baby pooped...back in the house, change the diaper...out the door...forgot the lunchbox, pack the lunch...out the door...4 year old has to pee, unbuckle carseat, back in the house...out the door. ( I'm not really out the door yet but I could do this all day, and I have. So let's just stop here, shall we?)  If it weren't for Camille, to remind us what a great mom really looks like, we might just be floating aimlessly out in the world.  Camille has given us purpose!!  Focus!!  Drive!!  Yes, DRIVE...as in, "let's DRIVE to Camille's house and punch her in the face!"  I kid.  I wouldn't waste the gas.

But one can't help but wonder, when Camille is in her golden years...how many nurses will her children hire?  

The Search is OVER! ~cue angels~

For YEARS, and I do mean YEARS, I have searched for a Christmas Tree topper.  Unlike my success w/ antenna ball toppers, the perfect Christmas Tree topper has eluded me.  Year after year, I feel unmeasurable joy when I'm decorating my tree, until...Topper Time.  Ugh.  Freakin' Star Topper w/ it's 4 inch cord!!  What am I supposed to do with that?!  Anyone?!  And then there's that clip that will snap your finger right off, if you aren't careful!  Of course the star is too heavy so after clipping, you get to watch in horror as it starts to leeeeean.  Double UGH!  And what about the height?  Why is it the tree always goes right up to the ceiling so the topper won't fit (even if you COULD get it on!) without dinging the ceiling?!  I don't know about you but I'm NOT A FAN of dinging my ceiling!  So all of my happy happy, joy joy of decorating the tree is ruined in the last 5...ok, who am I kidding...30 MINUTES of trying to wrastle (it's a word) with the topper.  This is about the point where I consume 2 1/2 lbs of the fudge I've made for Christmas.  Ughtothemax.

Ok, so today...this year...will be different.  I have found the answer to my prayers!  Yes, I have actually prayed for this.  Although it comes out more like, "Oh my GOD, PLEEEEEZE fit, you MOTHER%&*%^!!  If we can put a man on the moon (and why is it the man on the moon is always brought into it?!  Thank God for him.)  WHY can't someone make a freakin' TREE TOPPER that FITS and isn't completely USELESS!?!".  Those days are over, kids.  And speaking of kids...those days are over just in time so that I don't scare my children. (any further.)

Gaze upon all that is wonderful and glorious.  All is calm...all is bright...

Why the FRICK didn't someone think of this sooner?!!  The angst I could have avoided over the last 15 years!  Aaaaaahhhh...this little gem is mine!  And for only $16!  Thank you Pottery Barn, for anticipating my every need and providing me with free shipping.  I shall sing your praises every Christmas from this day forward, til death do us part.  Amen.

Btw (By The Way, get with it!), click on the title of this post and it will take you to Pottery Barn Kids where you too, can purchase your own tree topper!  Aren't I fancy?  :)  (and not getting paid by PBK to do this...yet!)

Babies R Us...you are DEAD to me!

It's official!!  It's been a long time coming and I've felt like BRU (Babies R Us) has just had too much of a monopoly on all things baby, so I was stuck.  Well NOT ANY MORE!!  This is the final straw!

So there I was...w/ a 17 month old who isn't fond of sitting still, a 4 year old who isn't fond of shutting up, and me, Ms. Frazzle McDazzle, who isn't fond of any of this.  I'm trying to haul 2 HUGE and heavy baby gates to the check out area with one hand, pushing the cart, keeping track of the 4 year old. ( I guess the constant talking is good for something.  Never have to wonder where she is.)  They were too big to fit IN the cart and too big to go UNDER the cart.  So I mosey'd my way to the front where I could look forward to standing in line with at least 8 other people.  You know, the usual.  The whole while trying to keep these gates from falling over, playing tug of war with the baby who is ripping the shopping cart cover off of the cart and LICKING THE HANDLE!!!! OMG!  I was gagging, I won't lie.

Finally, my turn!  I haul the gates up onto the counter and present the checker with my coupons, friendly as I want to be!  These gates were $64 each and I had 2 20% off coupons.  WELL, the checker said that I could only use 1.  Only 1 coupon per customer per day.  WTH?!!  Exasperated, I said, "Ok, can you do 2 transactions?"  (People, you are talking to the girl who worked retail for 11 years.  I know how the system works!)  She said no.  Ok...so I have to go stand in another line if I want to use the 2nd coupon?!! (RIDIC!)  She said no, only 1 per person per day!!  OK, that is IT!!!  I unleashed.

"Miss BRU, I realize these are not your personal policies, but as a representative of BRU, you get to deal with this.  How ridiculous is it that a BABY store would make life soooo inconvenient for mothers who, most often are  hauling their children with them when they shop here?!!  So now I'm expected to load up my children and make a second trip to give you my money?! OOOOOHHH, I don't think so.  You can go ahead and put this gate back, because I will not.  And you can kiss my $64 good bye because I'm sure Amazon.com would love to take my money.  And by the way, will there be a survey I can take on my receipt?" (You know how they are always trying to get you to take those surveys?!  Well, HA!!  I just spent 15 minutes giving them an earful!...actually and eyefull, but whatever!) If I wasn't so desperate for that gate, I wouldn't have even bought the one I did from them.  I may take it back because I got too busy to put it up yesterday anyway.

OH, and another thing!!!!  I have used my freakin' "Rewards" card for 5 years now with nothing to show for it!  They said if you bought 9 boxes of diapers, you'd get the 10th free.  Wellll?  Don't you think that in 5 years, with 2 kids, I have purchased more than 9 boxes?!!  WHERE'S MY FREE BOX,  BASTARDS?!!

 So for all of you parents out there, Amazon Mom will send diapers TO YOUR DOOR with FREE TWO-DAY SHIPPING for prices at or below BRU or Target!  They also give you a 3 month free trial of Amazon Prime when you join.  That gives you free 2 day shipping on anything you order, with no minimum purchase!  I have no affiliation with Amazon, other than they have saved me from the treacherous BRU, and for that I lurve them.  Oh, and for every month that you spend $25 in the Amazon.com baby dept., they will give you one extra month of Amazon Prime for free!  Ok, that's the end of my commercial.  

But before I go, one last cathartic 'SUCK IT' to Babies R Us!!  You have no power over me, anymore!!  Say it with me...Amazooooooooooooooooon!!

RIP Pilgrim Mickey...we will never forget!

It was but one year ago, on a day not unlike today.  Sun was shining, birds were singing, and car was dirty.  So I drove me and my chitlins through the car wash without a care in the world.  And then...the HORROR.  RIPPED from his perch while minding. his. own. business.  Pooooooor little Pilgrim Mickey antenna ball.  ~sniff, sniff~  I panicked!  "FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, SOMEONE TURN OFF THAT MACHINE!!", I cried.  I tried to go in and save him, but it was too wet.  Too many moving, mechanical parts!  I had a family to think about.  I couldn't put myself at such risk.  They deserved a mother.  It was not unlike Sophie's Choice, so I chose.  But it doesn't mean that a Thanksgiving season doesn't go by without thinking of him.  Just this morning as I went to the car and realized that Mickey Bat ball had to come down, I thought...now what?  What do I do?  Wherrrre do I go from here?  The season is too important to be so cavalier as to throw up a Princess ball, you know?  Of course you know. That's just crazy talk! What am I?...An animal?!!...I don't think so. Thanksgiving just won't ever be the same.

So heed my warning!  Don't ever go to the car wash by Moorpark College.  It's violent and ruthless, and it will rip your balls right off!

RIP, dear one. RIP.

These are the kinds of conversations happening at my house...

The other night hubby was watching a show with the kids before bedtime.  I poured a glass of wine, you know...for heart health. :)  I was half-way through my first sip as I glanced at the t.v...I froze.

"What the...Tootles can TALK?!!  When did THAT happen?!"

Hubby, "Yeah.  I don't know."

Me, "I mean, I knew he got a face for his birthday, but when did he learn to talk?!  This is MAJOR!"

Hubby turns slowly to look at me.  Realizing that I am completely serious he says, "We really need to get you out more."

If you have no clue what I'm talking about...good for YOU!  For those that do...this is MAJOR, right?!!   Go Tootles!