Global warming and garden gnomes

So I'm sitting here in January enjoying the most kick ass heat wave. It's really more of a dry heat, it's a balmy 4 degrees. It's a high of 8 today. Tonight it's supposed to be 13 below zero, which should be fun for outdoor activities. We're actually kind of lucky though, there was some places in Wisconsin, Minnesota and Northern Maine that were 47 below with the wind chill. I can't even comprehend that kind of cold. I did learn though that skin freezes in 10 minutes at 43 below zero. I have no intention of testing this theory, I'm going to just take this on good authority (the National Weather Service). It's apparently like 89 today in California. We hate them. Seriously, it's been said before, but it must be said again, if global warming keeps up, I'm going to freeze to death.

The other night I was flipping through the channels with Chris and landed on the Home Shopping Network. Nate Berkus was on, who I love from the Oprah show. He had on all these really cool pillows which I decided we needed to have for the living room. I was like, don't you love those? He was like, ehh. No. Apparently Chris hates pillows. I went online and showed him all the different styles and colors and he was all, babe, they're pillows. I don't like them. I'm like, what don't you like about them? Do you want a different color? Different pattern? He's like, no, no, no. I don't care how they look, I hate pillows. This is not the first time I've encountered his strange phobias. He also has an aversion to seat cushions, which is just weird. He doesn't seem to mind pillows if they're totally attached to something, like the back of a couch, or a really puffy recliner, but try to get throw pillows and he gets all crazy. I could understand if I'd tried to smother him with a throw pillow or something, but I totally wouldn't do that. I wouldn't risk getting spit or face dirt on my good pillows, they're really hard to clean. No, that's not true. Any good dry cleaner could take care of stains. You know, this reminds me, he also has a fear of garden gnomes. Perhaps he's not afraid of me smothering him...perhaps he's afraid of garden gnomes smothering him with throw pillows...

P.S. I totally wouldn't really smother Chris. He's way stronger than me. And besides, I always "get" him wrong. A couple of weeks ago, he took out the trash and I thought it would be funny if I sprayed him with the faucet sprayer. He walked in and I aimed and hit him right in the chest. He was like, AHHHHHH! Son of a bitch baby! That's HOT water! I was like, awww. I didn't mean to scald him, just get him wet. This is why I don't mess with Chris, it always goes terribly wrong.

P.P.S. The fear of garden gnomes is called gnomophobia. For real.

P.P.P.S. I'm totally getting a garden gnome for my garden. Who needs throw pillows to scare your husband when you have garden gnomes? *rubs hands together and laughs manically*

P.P.P.P.S I fear may regret this decision...

Fan mail and Beyonce

Just when I was thinking that no one besides my familee read my blog, I got my first piece of fan mail yesterday. I was kind of excited, I just wish the person who sent it didn't remain anonymous. The coolest thing about fan mail is the lengths people will go to to make sure you don't know who they are (they don't want to seem stalkerish or anything). This fan of my blog created a bogus email account and used the name of a person I actually know, and then sent me this love letter.

I was like, yay! Fan mail! But then I was sad because the real person who sent it doesn't want to take credit. I was hoping to send them a nice mini muffin basket or something. I was thinking of attaching a nice note. Something along the lines of, ur email makes makes me all tingly inside, because of the way you spell familee. I was also thinking of including a picture of my children dressed in rags with big sad puppy eyes so that my secret admirer could understand the depths of my depravity and my willingness to totally use my children to manipulate people, especially my familee. I actually use my children all the time to manipulate my familee. I leave them on the doorstep of my familee's house, ring the doorbell and run away. I hide in the bushes while they shiver in the cold, waiting for my familee to take pity on them. That's how I amassed such a fortune you know, and of course kids always good for drumming up pity, gifts and other trinkets. Sadly, because I don't know the true identity of my secret admirer, I can't send them anything.

I just wish they hadn't gone to all that trouble. I mean, I'm truly flattered. To show my sincere appreciation, and because I can't thank them personally, I'll give them the gift of a gay man imitating Beyonce. Watch and enjoy Secret Admirer, it'll make you smile, just like you make me smile.

Wamayuuoooo!

Ok. So last week(ish) I was commenting on MTV and how ridiculous it was. Well, here it is, another Saturday and the kids are with their dad, Chris is working and I'm here...alone...watching Made again. Sigh at me. Anyway, today was the "Head to Head Hip Hop Challenge". As much as I tried, I couldn't pull myself away from it. These 3 kids from Boston (complete with the retahded accent) were "made" into hip hop dancers. The winner of the competition got $10,000. Can I just add, I would be made into just about anything for $10,000. But these kids, one in particular, whined, and quit, and cried. I'm like, dude. It's freaking 10 grand. Get over yourself. So about half way through the episode, they get a surprise visit from who else but Soulja Boy! YAYAYAYAYA! Ok, not so much. He's apparently some gifted song writer who has a “new hit single” called Birdwalk, and it even has it's own dance. It's like this whole thing. Anyway, these 3 crybabies are going to be Soulja Boy's back-up dancers. So he teaches them the "birdwalk". The birdwalk is a dance that you put your arms up like a muscle man, but you leave your wrists limp, and you stand on one leg and bend the other leg at the knee, putting your foot behind you. You know, like a bird (clever name for the dance, huh?). And you keep doing it over, and over again for 3 and half minutes.

Ok so, they did their performances. All in all not bad for a bunch of white kids trying desperately to get some rhythm. But then it was time for the real treat. Soulja Boy performing his new hit single Birdwalk! Wooohooo! It goes like this, " wamayo birdwalk wamiyawa birdwalk birdwalk birdwalk over and over again." For real. But for accuracy's sake, the actual, honest to God lyrics are, "Watch me hit my bird walk Watch me hit my bird walk Watch me hit my bird walk Watch me hit my bird walk Watch me do it Yuha Watch me do it Yuha Watch me do it Yuha Watch me do it Yuha " but it doesn't sound like "watch me", it sounds like "wamyawa." So this disturbs me, because I already had nightmares about this crap. I was introduced to the most horrific song ever last year during a cheering competition. All these 9 and 10 year old's start dancing to "Superman" also by the lyrically gifted Soulja Boy. This one goes, "wamayuuoooo, Soulja Boy, wamayuuoooo, Soulja Boy, wamayuuoooo, Soulja Boy, wamayuuoooo, Soulja Boy" incessently for like 27 minutes. Real lyrics are, "Soulja Boy up In da Hoe Watch Me Crank It Watch Me Roll Watch Me Crank Dat Soulja Boy den Super Man Dat Hoe Now watch me Yuuuuuuuuuuuh (Crank Dat Soulja Boy) Now watch me yuuuuuuuuuuuh (Crank Dat Soulja Boy) Now watch me Yuuuuuuuuuuuh (Crank Dat Soulja Boy) Now watch me Yuuuuuuuuuuuh (Crank Dat Soulja Boy)" This is all quite surprising, because I swear he says wamayuuoooo, and I really did look up these lyrics online, and I was so sure he said wamayuuoooo...and I'm usually so good with lyrics, but I suppose it's easier to understand lyrics if their spoken in English. And now I know that Birdwalk is going to be a new favorite song of the kids. And it sucks. Seriously sucks.

Anyway, the overweight shy kid won, which is nice. I'm thinking of calling Directv and asking them to remove MTV from the channel lineup, because I obviously can't stop watching it on my own.

By the way, I'm totally downloading Birdwalk and Superman to my ipod. For sucking as much as they do, they're really catchy.

This is why I need to move...

From the wtf department.

Yes, that's a real (or used to be real) Alaskan Brown Bear. You can buy it for $4,000, marked down from $10,000. The heading of the story on the front page of my local newspaper is "Marden's goes wild". Ehhh, wtf? Apparently Marden's has received a shipment of stuffed dead animal carcasses. I need to be a little more specific with this, because earlier this morning Chris told me that Marden's was selling "stuffed animals." I'm thinking, like cuddly, squishy, child's toy stuffed animals, I in no way ever thought he meant dead animal carcasses. If I had, I probably wouldn't have been such a smart ass with my, "aww you want one?" comment. Suffice it say, he does not want one. Anyway, I was looking online at the local paper, and saw that beast staring back at me. And apparently, according to the article, you can also buy "a buffalo head with black horns for $249, reduced from $2,499; and a Dall sheep with curly horns for $5,000, regularly $19,000, according to the price tag." Well, isn't that lucky. And if that's not enough, "We have an elk, a coyote, a wildebeest, caribou, a deer -- and there are some exotic ones over there". Sigh. Now I don't want to point and laugh at my neighbors, but I can't ignore this: "Look at the eyes on this one," he said. "He was not a happy camper when they shot him." No shit? Seriously? *points and laughs*

Let's forget for a second that I think taxidermy is one of the grossest things on the planet, and let's ignore the fact that these animals are for sale in a discount warehouse store, let's ignore the fact that some wanna-be-Sarah-Palin-hunter-extraordinaire is going to buy this for their HOUSE (to which I hope I never get invited), the fact still remains that Maine is home to some backwoods crazies. It's no damn wonder people think we're a bunch of hicks with stuffed animal carcasses for sale in the local store and plaid passing for couture in this state.

Here's the link to the story, just in case you thought I was making it up.

Throw a parade in my honor

Yes, that's right. I want floats, firetrucks, dancing girls, those psychotic Shriners in their mini cars, barnyard animals and candy being thrown by creepy looking old guys on stilts.

I lost 5.6 pounds this week.

Totally parade worthy.

I'd also like to mention that 5.6 pounds is roughly the weight of my prized Pomeranian, Vivvy, which of course means the old ladies driving old, old, old cars and the skanky Patriots cheerleaders who always show up at the 4th of July parade looking like they just rolled out of bed should also be at my parade, because they only come out for special occasions.

The scary truth about Fiber One

So the not smoking thing sucks. And I mean sucks as in I suck at it. I started smoking again Friday night. I did however make it a whopping 13 hours without smoking. Maybe next week. I am still on my quest to no longer be a hog beast. While I can't seem to drag my lazy ass to the gym, the Weight Watchers thing is going pretty well. I'm tracking all my food and behaving, which is nice for a change. I'm eating a Lean Cuisine for lunch. Lemon pepper fish. It's remarkably good. It may just be the hunger talking, but it's really not bad. It's surprising what tastes good when you've realized that your fat jeans are too tight and you refuse to buy a bigger size.

I had a Fiber One bar for breakfast and was like, mmmmm, chocolately goodness. Now normally, I'd be all mmmmm, chocolately cardboard. Desperation is a funny thing that way. How sad is that I actually look forward to eating those gross bars? The last time I was on Weight Watchers I ate them all the time. Kat had gone into the pantry to get a snack in the snack basket and she pulls out a Fiber One bar. She was like, ooo, chocolate. Can I have it? I was like, yeah, but it'll make you poop. She's like, that's ok. I have to poop anyway. I was like, well go ahead, but I warned you. So a couple of hours later she's watching tv and gets this horrified look on her face and goes racing up the stairs. She came back down all relieved looking and goes, phew. Mom, those bars make me poop FAST. I was like, I know, I told you that. So Davey, goes, um...Mom? I had 2...what's going to happen? I was like, oh my God?! You had 2?! Davey, that's so, so bad! You're going to poop your pants! His face totally fell and he got all teary-eyed. I was like, aww, I'm totally kidding. He's like, THAT'S NOT ANYTHING TO JOKE ABOUT MOM!

He didn't poop his pants of course, but he's never had another Fiber One bar. He also is very leery about granola bars. It's probably a bad thing that I scare my children into not eating healthy food by tormenting them with threats of pants-pooping. Heh. That's quite possibly the strangest sentence I've ever written.

The genius of emphysema

I found this picture on another site.

Since the type in this picture is so small, allow me to share the genius of this ad. Keep in mind, I've painstakingly copied it word for word from the picture:

"Instead of eating between meals...instead of fattening sweets...beautiful women keep youthful slenderness these days by smoking Luckies. The smartest and loveliest women of the modern stage take this means of keeping slender...when others nibble fattening sweets, they light a Lucky."

The next paragraph is about how Luckies are deliciously toasted, extra processed and use the finest tobacco in all the land. And the must see line from paragraph 2:

"That's why there's real health in Lucky Strike."

Then of course, throw in some doctor's opinions for good measure:

"For years this has been no secret to those men who keep fit and trim. They know that Luckies steady their nerves and do not harm their physical condition. They know that Lucky Strike is the favorite cigarette of many prominent athletes, who must keep in good shape. They respect the opinions of 20,679 physicians who maintain that Luckies are less irritating to the throat than other cigarettes."

And to close the deal:

"So, for moderation's sake, we say:- REACH FOR A LUCKY INSTEAD OF A SWEET."

I'm sold. Who am I to argue with the 20,679 physicians? Hell, if it's good enough for athletes, it's good enough for me. And I really do want to be youthfully slender. On the other hand, hacking up a lung is not so sexy. No wait- according to the ad, "No throat irritation-No cough" YES!!! I knew that smoking would eventually pay off. Emphysema? Pfft. Not for one of the smartest and loveliest women (which I totally am because I smoke like chimney). See, that's obviously my problem. I haven't been smoking Lucky Strikes. I'm totally switching brands.

Not smoking makes you love sick and delusional.

On January 1, at 12:01, Chris and I were officially in wedded bliss for 2 years. Maybe not wedded bliss, but when you get to spend the rest of your life with your best friend, you feel pretty damn lucky. I was telling Chris last night that part of the insanity of our marriage is that we don't make sense...at all. We're total opposites in just about every way. But there in lies the fun. I think I'd get bored if we were the same. Chris never ever bores me, and I get bored pretty easy. Drives me crazy maybe, but never bores me, and honestly I love to be with him. It's funny because on New Year's Eve, we were at my mom's house with my Aunt Joni, Uncle Gary, Michaela, and Gary's nephew Chris. Well, someone decided that the men had to watch football in the den and the women were going to watch sappy romance movies in the living room. Chris and I were like pffft. It's our anniversary damnit, we're going to be together. So we tried to sit in the living room and ignore the direct orders to change the channel. Then there was this whining about football still being on tv when there were so many great movies we'd seen a million times on, so my mom came in and changed the channel and Chris was banished to the den. I spent the better part of the next 2 hours walking back and forth feeling guilty. Luckily I had some Mike's Hard Lemonade to keep me company, because holy crap it sucked. We were watching "My Best Friend's Wedding", which I've seen about 15345674641 times. Chris was watching football in the den with the guys with the freaking window open (it was a balmy -2 degrees outside), so sitting with them wasn't an option unless I wanted to freeze to death.

After the movie ended, they were looking for a another movie and were like ooooo, "Pride and Prejudice"! I was like, oh HELL no. You've tortured me long enough. So I got Chris and I was like, time to go home, so done with this. He wanted to finish his beer first, which gave my mother ample time to guilt me into staying. Chris came out like 15 minutes later with his jacket on, and I was like, yeah...we're staying. So it's about 10:30 at this point. And Joni's like, we'll watch something else, you're more important the the movie. So that was good for about 7 seconds...until we started watching "Maid in Manhattan". C'mon. Seriously? You're killing me here. That was it for me. I watched tv with Chris and the guys for the rest of the night. I had to wrap up in a blanket and tuck my feet under Chris' legs for fear that hypothermia would take over and I'd lose my limbs to eventual gangrene, but it was better than the chick flick marathon in the other room. The kids came in at midnight, did the countdown and stuff, which was nice. Anyway, all this was leading up to my original point, that I really enjoy spending time with Chris. During the whole banishment thing, I was getting kinda irritated and I was like, doesn't it bother you that your husbands are in the other room on New Year's Eve? Joni was looked at me like I was crazy and was like, no? She explained that she doesn't need to like all the same things as Gary, and enjoys doing separate things some times. I can totally understand that, and know that it's like that for most people. And maybe it's just the "my anniversary was less than 24 hours ago" perspective, but that sucks. While I don't share all of Chris' interests (actually very few), and although I love Cowboys football, most other football wears on me after awhile, and I'd really rather watch We tv than ESPN, I'd be content watching grass grow if it meant being with Chris. Corny? Totally. And don't forget sappy, cheesy and barf-tastic. But 110% true. He's my best friend, and if we weren't married, I'd still want to be with him all the time. He's the funniest person I know, and is genuinely just one of those really cool people that everyone wants to be around. I'm just lucky that I get to. Now that I've sufficiently gushed and fawned, and given Chris ample ammo to tease me mercilessly, I can start my day.

We're doing the whole resolution thing. Quit smoking, lose weight, go to the gym, etc. I'm writing this as I have my 3rd cup of coffee...and it's 6:40 in the morning. It's my last great vice, and if anyone tries to take it from me, I may break their arms, rip them off their body and beat them with the bloody stumps. Oh see, now that was mean. I was all I'm in love and it's wonderful and now I'm all bloody stumps and stuff. That's what too much caffeine and a lack of nicotine will do to you though.

Should've just read a book instead...

Ok, there's NOTHING on tv. I mean nothing. We were actually watching MTV yesterday. We were watching "Made", and it was about this girl who wanted to be a bad ass skater punk. This poor girl was delusional, going on about how all the cool kids are skaters. Sigh. Sweetie, they're really not cool at all. Anyway, I felt really bad for this kid. She was like 15, daughter of a "politician" (apparently County Commissioner counts as a politician these days), and her mom had some job outside the home, but really her main job was to quell any urge for this girl to be a normal human being. So the girl is trying to learn to skateboard and kept falling. She cried and was all, I can't do this! So her mom brings her to the skate park and the girl's coach is like, Quit being a baby and skate damnit! Her mom like launched herself at the coach and was like screaming at her about how dare she speak to her child like that, blah, blah, blah. I didn't even finish watching it the woman was so ridiculous I couldn't stand it. Anyway, the whole thing made me realize 2 things.

1. If I ever act that ridiculous and over-protective about my kids, I give Chris permission to slap me upside the head. Although, I don't think it's likely. After all, I am the same mom who laughed at her kid when he fell in the driveway and told her daughter to "toughen up" when she complained about being sick...turns out she had a double ear infection and strep throat...but we won't discuss that.

2. I'm getting really old. MTV is stupid. The commercials are stupid. I SO don't get The Hills, or Speidi or whatever the hell that is. And all the flashing lights and break dancing makes me go into convulsions. I used to love MTV, but now it all just makes me feel old.

So what have we learned? 30 is way older than it seemed when I turned 29 and I really am a spectacular mother.

Merry Christmas, except to the Cowboys who suck.

Busy, busy, busy. We had Christmas Eve here, and it was...hectic. I was working on Tuesday and Chris calls me to tell me the light on the boiler is blinking. I was like eh...ok, and? So he pushes the little button and the furnace starts...and stops. I was like DID WE JUST RUN OUT OF OIL?! Yep. Bone freaking dry. I called the oil company and they're like, we'll deliver first thing tomorrow morning. Ok, that's not completely the end of the world, it'll just be a tad chilly. We took the kids to my mom's for a couple of hours and did the last-minute Christmas shopping in the seventh circle of hell, otherwise known as Wal-Mart. 4 hours later (yeah, seriously 4 hours for a total of $30 worth of stuff), we get home, and although it's pretty cold it's not that bad. Next morning, I wake up early and go to the bank to get the money to pay the oil delivery guy, who I'm sure will be there literally ANY second. I waited in line for about 45 minutes, sure that I was going to miss him, but I got home and he hadn't come yet. So I gave Dave (ex-husband/errand boy for the day) my list of needed grocery items to prepare for that evening's party. The day goes on and on, and no oil delivery. No oil means not only no heat, but no hot water, means no dishes can be done. Finally at about 1:30, oil gets delivered. I run downstairs and push the flashy button...no joy. I push and push, yell some profanities and stomp back upstairs to call my dad for help. Dave finally strolls in at about 2:00 with my groceries (he left the house at 10:00), but completely botched it. My dad was in an appointment and didn't pick up his phone and my brother was out. So I waited some more. Meanwhile, I've dirtied every dish in the house and I have people coming in 4 hours. I smell like a trucker and my house looks like an F5 blew through.

My dad finally answers his cell phone and gives me a bunch of sighs about how busy he is, I'm like, Dad...me too, please help anyway. He and brother come, bang around for about an hour and are like, yeah, we can't start it. It's now about 3:15 and I'm seriously on the verge of a nervous breakdown. I was like ok, I'll boil water to do dishes, I can handle this. We call the oil company back (who has of course closed by now), and they send their emergency guy out. On a side note, I'm switching careers, this guy who didn't bother showing up until after 4:00 made $120 for his little 35 minute visit. I'm obviously in the wrong profession. Anyway, he trudges around, gets mud all over the kitchen floor, but FINALLY gets the furnace started...at 5:05. I now have company coming in 55 minutes and I still smell like a trucker. So Chris and I go into total panic mode, rushing around like crazy people trying desperately not to kill each other when Chris looks up and goes, "someone's here". I think I may have screamed a little, but it was just Michaela coming to help. So people came at 6:00...on the dot. Now mind you, these people have never been on time a day in their lives, and pick today to be on time. Sigh. I didn't get a shower, but I did get deodorant on, so at least I didn't smell. All in all it was a good night. It didn't go at all how I'd planned, but it was ok. Everyone raved about the food, but with all the drama all day, so many little details were missing, and it was definitely not how I wanted it. But what are you gonna do?

Christmas Day was nice, very low-key and quiet. Just hung out at my mom's and ate myself silly. Friday I ate myself into a sugar-induced coma. Saturday I slept until 2:00 and ate some more. Today I skipped church, and ate some more. Kat had cheering this afternoon. She got her uniform that "fits like a second skin", which really means don't breathe or you'll bust the seams. But that's what God invented tailors for. Tonight the Cowboys rolled over and died for the Philadelphia Evils. The NFL should be insulted that people actually called that football. I could've played better than them. Horrible would be a compliment. 44-6. There are no words for it. It was freaking terrible.

Anyway that was my last few days. Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!