Laugh now. Monday's over.

OK, it has been a seriously busy bee-otch-with-a-capital-B kind of a week here, people. Hence the lack of postage as of late. So, you get bullets. Deal.

The good news (Read--look at me. I'm an optimist. Wheee!):

• I finally got a work project from the consulting guru in the sky. Money, money, money--come to Mama! Cha-ching!


• I managed to go to a pretty darn fun and definitely fancy costume party this weekend and pulled off an almost too short go-go dress and boots. Those boots were made for walkin'...


• I finally had my son allergy tested today and he did not kill me for doing it, even after all 35 scratch tests on his back...the poor lad.


• Sunday, I pulled off a feat of epic busy mom proportions when I did the following: taught at Sunday school, came home and worked for an hour, made chocolate lava bites for later, got the daughter dressed and to a far away birthday party, drove there and back, and made it back in time for a pumpkin carving block party.


• Got lots of pictures of the costume and block party and I have a date to scrap tomorrow with a new friend. I even successfully air brushed away a second and third chin line AND whitened my teeth in one shot and they're ready to process and scrap. Yippeee

Now, the bad news (Read, oh, come ON. Don't you know me by now? Like this is any surprise, people!)

• The work project is already done and dang it if I didn't earn enough to pay for that digital SLR that I have been coveting for about 5 years now...looking into selling bone marrow for lenses soon.


• All my pictures from the costume party were blurred beyond recognition because my darn point-and-shoot-piece-of-crap camera blew it again. See the previous bullet about bone marrow, please.


• My son is now labeled "highly allergic" to, well hell...everything just about. All grasses, molds, dust mites, cats, Houston air. He now has to start shots weekly. Great. How many Sonic slushies am I going to have to buy over the next 3-5 years to make up for this to him?


• Dude! Did I really admit just that airbrush comment aloud? Note to self--buy Crest White Strips tomorrow at Wallyworld. Second note to self---lay off the damn chocolate lava bites and get on the blasted treadmill, you jabba-the-hut-necked woman!


• I just had to retype this entire blog post because stupid blogger hiccuped on me and I lost everything. It is not as funny the second time around. Sigh.

In case my self-deprecating chin humor did not make you laugh, I'm quite certain one of my longtime favorite blog reads will do the trick today. Sheryl had me in stitches with this one.

I'm going to BH, are you?

It happens every year about this time...women bloggers of every shape and form begin posting about their excitement to be attending BlogHer. Who is rooming with whom, where they will go party, all the free shit they are getting...my bloglines are filled with this stuff.

I've never been to BlogHer. And, I doubt I will ever go really.

It's not that I'm bitter. Actually, I enjoy reading some of these posts. Lindsay's at Suburban Turmoil was hilarious last year. Melissa at Suburban Bliss captured me as a loyal blog reader several years ago with her drinking stories and rubbing elbows with the mighty Dooce. No doubt, this year Kimberly at Petroville will do something crazy funny and I'll enjoy reading about that.

Every year, it reads like the party of the century, and I'm not there...AGAIN.

And, quite frankly, that bites.

So, I've decided that this year, while all you great blogging gals are partying it up at the conference and learning how to increase traffic, get more writing gigs, and just increase your fabulousity, I am going to be attending a conference of my own. It's a new one. Not many have heard of it, I'm sure. In fact, it may only exist in my mind, but I'm sure you might play along if you're stuck at home too. I'm calling it BlahHer.

We'll sit and whine on our blogs about how we're in the worst part of the summer--the most boring part when camps wrap up and the only thing you really have to look forward to is back-to-school shopping. And, did I ever mention I really hate back-to-school shopping?

Who is with me? Anyone? Anyone? Buellar? Buellar?

So, yeah. In your face, BlogHer. You are sooo yesterday...

BlahHer.
Catch the Magic!

Hot for the E-V-OO...

I'm here today to call someone out. That someone is my husband. And, what am I calling him out for?

A secret crush. One that he's trying to hide from me even, but I am SO on to him.

Hubs, I know you have one that's been slowly developed over the years. And, I'm here today to expose it for all of its glory.

I know you have a thing for Rachel Ray.

You can try to deny it all you want, but it is very obvious to me. I have watched Ray for years, but it wasn't until she got her own daytime show, that I noticed YOU watching her too. The cute outfits, the better hairdo, the bubbly persona that came out of her in this new show must have gotten your attention.

It was just small comments at first. Once when I commented on how people either love or despise her, you said you couldn't imagine why people wouldn't like her.

You never complained when I put on her show at night like you do with my scrapbooking shows.

Then, the comments on the clothes she wears...though subtle, were completely out-of-character for you. (Similar to the ones you make about Stacey London on What Not to Wear, but that's a whole other one I won't discuss today.) (grin)

And, then last night as I was watching the end of my recording from the day, you posed the question, "I wonder how old she is?" When I told you mid-thirties, you said you just couldn't believe that. Her face just looks so young. (Incidentally, she's 39, dear. Older than both of us. I just looked it up.)

So, I'm exposing your crush on all things E-V-OO. Why? Could it be because it is your birthday today and I like to give you grief??? Neh....

But, maybe it is also because it doesn't really bother me. There have been some much worse selections you've made in celebrity crushes over the years (Honesty, honey...Denise Richards? That is sooo ewwww...)

So, if you choose to like my favorite cook who likes and enjoys food, has some hutz-pah to her, and doesn't look like a plastic barbie, then it kind of pleases me actually. Enjoy it. Hell, douse yourself in Extra Virgin nightly if you want. In the meantime, I'll be trying to continue to hide my little crush on a certain American Idol winner who is a good 10 years my junior...(grin)

Oh, and HAPPY BIRTHDAY to you, oh person who will be older than me for two whole weeks. Consider yourself as getting off lucky with this silly post as there are MUCH worse things I could have written you know...
(wink)

A prayer to the appliance gods...(UPDATED)

Oh god of all things household and electrical,

I humbly beseech you to hear my truth. Two days before my 20-year high school reunion, with a full 3-4 loads of laundry in the cue, our 2-year-old washing machine went on strike. This was almost three weeks ago.

Oh heavenly guider of spin cycles, so to assist me with my laundry grace, please recognize the strain that a loss of such a fixture can be to a family.

Mr. Fix-it Husband found the secret instruction book hidden inside the machine for clueless repairmen and went to work. After much research and investigation, he opted to not pay the $300 for our appliance distributor to come out and instead ordered the part himself on Ebay. Oh, Ebay....the giver and the taker away. Ebay was not our friend as it took a week and a half for the part to finally arrive. Ebay toyed with our fragile minds once again...

After several Woolite sessions in my bathroom sink and two trips to the in-laws to take care of essentials, our part finally arrived yesterday, much to our jubilation.

Joy turned into supreme frustration when the new part did nothing to cure our washing woes. Were you laughing at us from your appliance warehouse in the sky? Although he was certain he knew what the real problem was this time, my husband bowed defeat and called the repairman.

Forgiveth us for our trespasses in trying to take repairs into our own hands and for the fib we were forced to tell with the repairman who would not have worked on our machine had he known we were the ones who tried to fix it.

My agitation is higher than my washload can handle, oh great one. Most merciful gods of modern technology, I strive to be a low maintenance gal. But, I admit I complain regularly about how the laundry and cleaning never ends and how much I despise it so. Lo, after three weeks of no washing machine, I am certain that I am just as Harry from that great 80's class movie says of Sally, I am "high maintenance, but think I am low maintenance." Yes, I am the worst kind.

I'll admit it. I can't handle any more scouring the bottom of my drawer for one more gym sock. I cannot wear any other old pairs of high-waisted "mommy" shorts that have been out of style for a good 5 years (or more). I am at my wit's end. My kids have gone mismatched for long enough and this must STOP! I must have my washer back and I must have it TODAY!

I implore you, oh supreme one, as I humbly confess my sins against laundry in thought word and deed. By what I have washed sloppily, and by what I have left unwashed. Please help us, laundry one, you are our only hope. My workout shorts and my son's basketball jersey cannot survive on Woolite rinses alone.

Your humble-and-newfound-washing-machine-appreciator and servant,

MomCat

P.S. My humble apologies to any Episcopalians out there for the sacrilegious use of worship text..and the bad movie lines intertwined!

UPDATE: Oh, appliance torturer, you are definitely laughing at us, aren't you? Our washer is not fixed today. No. In fact, our washer is officially "toast" unless we cough up $300 for a new computer board for it. Instead, we just bought a new one, but unfortunately it will not be delivered until...(dramatic pause)

...SUNDAY! But, we have learned from our mistakes, most merciless washing idol. Our new one has only dials and no electronic bells and whistles. Let's see you mess with THAT! (I kid. Please do not wipe out our dryer with a lightning bolt or something now.)

Now, excuse me while I go inventory underwear and socks to see if we can make it until the reinforcement arrives on Sunday...

Are You There, God? It's Me...MomCat...

Sorry for the silly Judy Blume reference in the ole' title, but it is the wee morning hours, so what do you expect really?

An interesting tidbit from my week:

Went to a new dentist and liked everything about my visit until it came time to leave and he attempted to shake my hand. I say attempted, because I would hardly call what he did a real handshake. It felt more like grasping on the hand of...oh, let's say a coma patient. There was no shake action on his part, no gripping, and I got the distinct feeling that someone had told him that as a dentist he had better shake a client's hand, when in fact he detested having to do so.

What is it about a handshake really that can really say something about a person? Is it is just me, or can a wimpy handshake make you want to say have someone else clean your teeth?

The irony in all of this---the guy's last name is "Handley." Seriously, people. I can't make this stuff up...

So, in honor of "Hans Handley" (OK, that's not his first name, but it was just too fitting here...don't you think?), I will now leave you with some good, old-fashioned Jack Handey humor:

Instead of having 'answers' on a math test, they should just call them 'impressions', and if you got a different 'impression', so what, can't we all be brothers?

Probably the saddest thing you'll ever see is a mosquito sucking on a mummy. Forget it little friend.

Sometimes I wish I were dead. No, wait. Not me — you.

The wise man can pick up a grain of sand and envision a whole universe. But the stupid man will just lay down on some seaweed and roll around until he's completely draped in it. Then he'll stand up and go: Hey, I'm Vine Man.

Whenever I see an old lady slip and fall on a wet sidewalk, my first instinct is to laugh. But then I think, what if I was an ant and she fell on me. Then it wouldn't seem quite so funny.

He was a cowboy, mister, and he loved the land. He loved it so much he made a woman out of dirt and married her. But when he kissed her, she disintegrated. Later, at the funeral, when the preacher said: Dust to dust, some people laughed, and the cowboy shot them. At his hanging, he told the others: I'll be waiting for you in heaven - with a gun.

I can picture in my mind a world without war, a world without hate. And I can picture us attacking that world, because they'd never expect it.

Where a Kid Can Be a Kid...and a Mom Can Lose Her Mind

I have one line to put here that will strike fear and extreme sympathy from every parent reader of this blog...

Weekend Birthday Party at Chuck E. Cheese

Today I was sucked into the abyss of hell and spit back out completely ravaged, over-stimulated, germ-ridden, and exhausted by what should have been a simple birthday party for my daughter's classmate.

Now, if you are Pro-Chuck E., I will go ahead and apologize. My stance will highly offend you. But, I should say up front that I have had an average experience at this establish only once or twice in my life EVER. And, I have two kids so I have had my share of visits to this place.

With that said, I feel like it is my civic duty to inform parents or perhaps future parents of the world of the perils of the house of the mouse, strike that...RAT...from hell.

From the smell of the crowds upon arrival, I knew we were in for the stereotypical Chuck E's trip--crowded rude parents yelling at their snot-nosed, ticket-obsessed, and ill-mannered kids; borderline disgusting food and the most impersonal birthday party you can imagine.

My biases were only reaffirmed today. And, then some.

Not only was the party completely chaotic, as much as the well-meaning mom tried to keep it from being, we barely saw my daughter's school friends and the party girl the entire time. And, when it came time for the birthday song, her song had to be shared by the 4 other huge tables of birthday parties going on at the same time. She didn't even get a special visit from the main mouse to tell her happy birthday .I tried to keep smiling, and thank the host family for inviting us.

During game time I stood strong--trying to always be within about 3-5 feet of my daughter as she flitted from half-broken ride, to let-down-because-it-is-lame-or-too-short game. Please, God, let this end soon. Oh please, let her grow bored and agree to save her tokens for another visit. Sigh...I would not be that lucky.

When it was finally time to cash out from our 1-1/2 hour party, and we had accumulated 57 tickets. This was mainly thanks to the pimple-faced teen employees who walked around throwing tickets up in the air, causing near mass hysteria among the kids, as the older ones trampled the little ones who happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

3 ticket-eating machines.

That's all there were in this entire, huge place.

So, we stood in line. In what looked like a shorter line, that turns into your basic grocery store checkout experience when you realize after about 10 minutes that the two people in front of your shorter line have between them around 700 tickets to feed through the machine. @#$@#!!!

Still, I kept my resolve. We would get our ticket tally soon, damn it. Finally, we cashed out, then another 15 minutes wait in line for the toys--which was well worth it (smirk) for a cheap plastic ring, an ugly plastic bracelet and a mini tootsie roll pop.

As tired as I was, I escorted my daughter out to our car only to find every scary person that lives within a 30-mile radius of Mouse Hell standing around our car, acting suspicious.

Then, I had a blond moment. OK, I had a couple of them back-to-back.

I kept trying to open my SUV's door and the key controller didn't work. So, I resorted to opening it by keypad and let my daughter in the front. Still perplexed by why my key remote didn't work, I got my daughter buckled in and jammed the keys in the ignition.

The key would not turn. I was certain the steering wheel must have been doing one of those lock-down things when you park and turn it too far. But, it would not release. And, the car is hot and won't start and my daughter is whining.

Another scary person pulls up and eyeballs our car. @#$@#!

Moments of panic as I think--what if someone messed with our car and they're going to jump us if we get back out of it? Even the most simple criminal mind must recognize the best time to catch a mom off guard is after a trip to this nightmare of a place!

Finally, the weight of the keys in my hand makes something trigger in my weary mind. I looked down and realize, the entire time I was jamming my husband's car keys into my ignition, and I was trying to open the car doors with them as well. In my defense, his keys resemble my own quite closely (same car maker) and they do fit all the way in the ignition. But, still. He had way more keys on his chain than my own. You'd think I'd have noticed that. Sigh.

Once the right key was in and the car had started, I noticed I had 3 unheard calls from my phone while I was in "Rob Me. Please" for the past two hours. Yes, it was my husband calling asking if I had his keys as he and my son were stranded at home unable to do what they'd planned while we were out partying it up. Whoop, whoop!

After apologizing and explaining to hubs that I would be home ASAP, I explained that I simply HAD to stop and get a drink (I wasn't offered a flat and watered down soda at the "Kill Me. Please" party) or I was certain that I would throw up right then and there.

Daughter commiserates, even though she's had two bowls of ice cream, a cupcake, a slice of pizza and lemonade--yes, she would definitely throw up if she didn't get another lemonade too.

As we pull up to the drive-thru, daughter manages to make me laugh through tired tears when she announces that we should order "diarrhea coke" instead of lemonade. What? I ask. She repeats "diarrhea coke." Then, it dawns on me that she's talking Diet Coke. I decide I like her new name better as anything other than real Coke tastes like diarrhea in my mouth usually.

Ding.

As I'm sitting in the drive-thru, awaiting my perfect drink with the perfect ice, an alarm jolts me from my drowsy-but-wanting gaze at the chocolate sundae sign. Oh, yes, that's right...I was supposed to fill up with gas on the way to the party. And, of course...I forgot.

No problem. I'll just stop and get it in a moment. I am sure I have plenty left to get us most of the way to the...

8 gallons? I have 8 gallons left?

Friendly carhop slowly strolls over with our drinks accompanied by an odd look on his face as he takes the only cash I have--the $20 bill I had not broken at Schmuck E. Sleeze. He gives me the drinks first, then as I'm putting straws in, I watch him pause and then hand me $17 with no change. The guy smiles smugly and walks away.

WTF, dude? You are stiffing me my 62 cents change back? Excuse me? What, you don't wait for the tip now--you just TAKE it?

Because of my kid party hang-over, I decide to NOT open up a can of whoop-you-know-what on the car hop for taking advantage of me for 62 cents and I pull away--with 7 gallons left in my tank.

Daughter takes two drinks of the lemonade she must have or she will also throw up and then falls into a deep coma...unable to awake until about 20 minutes before bedtime. Nice.

I barely make it to the gas station--4 gallons left. Whew! That's almost a record. Then, I remember the day that it actually went to zero and I still didn't run out. Hey, now! This gas-guzzling SUV might be environmentally un-PC, but that big tank is good for something!

Celebratory pro-SUV chanting ends in cursing as the big tank fills up and I look up to see another $82 bucks down the drain on God-forsaken fuel.

I wish I had a happy ending or maybe a funny anecdote to wrap this all up with. But, all I have to say is someone is going to have to pay me to go to that place on a weekend ever again. And, I never thought I'd be happy to almost be to Monday, but I am.

It's baaaaaack!

...that lovely cycle of insomnia brought on by working too late each night. Goodness gracious, how have I found myself here, yet again? And, why am I punishing my few readers by making them listen to my tired arse whine about it, yet again?

A good friend of mine whose father passed away from cancer at a very young age gave me a pep talk the other day about realizing what is important in your life and learning to embrace that and let the rest go. I really appreciated her sentiment and agree with it.

But, when you've always wound yourself up like a top, how do you teach yourself to function in any other way, I ask you? Do any of you know how to break THAT cycle? If so, I'd love some advice please.

Because it is well past 1 a.m. and I'm not in bed, and because I my mind is mush from staring at the computer screen for 3 hours tonight (This was, of course, after I watched The Biggest Loser. And, dang, ya'll...Kae went home!), I will leave you with this...

You know you have a serious problem with insomnia when you are quite certain that you were forcibly kept awake until 3 a.m. one night this week because the hair on your legs was too long and you couldn't stop obsessing about it.

(This will probably repulse those of you who are male or are fanatic leg shavers. But, perhaps it will also intrigue you to know that long leg hair if left unshaven does give great discomfort against the sheets. Learn from my mistakes, people...)

Updated: And, yes, in case you are wondering, I DID shave my legs the next day!

A bad case of Lipnicki...

8-years-old is a magical time, as we're learning. A young boy's mind goes from Legos to...girls...well, no, not quite. Let's try that again...

A young boy's mind goes from Legos to...

obscure trivia.

Yeah, that's right. Trivia. This condition, brought on by 2nd grade public schools classroom discussions, is affectionately referred by parents everywhere as the"Lipnicki."

You remember, Jonathan Lipnicki, don't you? He's the precocious little boy from Jerry McGuire fame who won the hearts of America with his one-lined trivia nuggets throughout an otherwise forgettable movie? Yeah, he sure was cute, wasn't he? And, didn't we all know that his 15 seconds of fame would begin and end with that movie?


But, Lipnicki can go to his grave knowing he made his mark on our society now. Yes, his name lives on in 2nd and 3rd grade classrooms throughout our fair country. Parents everywhere are becoming educated about the "Lipnicki," a condition that strikes children suddenly, leaving their families dumbfounded and speechless. Sadly, there is no cure for Lipnicki currently.

Case in point--my son's ability lately to spout out random facts at even more random moments. Here are just a few of his little "gems" he's shared with us:

Hey, guys, did you know that Queen Elizabeth, you know the Queen of England? Well, she only bathes ONCE a month!

Mom, did you know that Elvis died on the toilet? He had a heart attack ON THE TOILET!

There are 53 muscles in the face! Can you believe that?

#1 son's favorite book right now? The Guiness Book, of course. He's dressing as some crazy Guiness record holder for his book character parade this Friday even.

This is all quite amusing to us right now, but a case of Lipnicki left untreated can become a dangerous thing. My 17-year-old nephew, now in the advanced stages of Lipnicki, will argue strange facts adamantly without faltering from his viewpoint, even when proven wrong. The teen apparently has learned everything from car mechanics, to politics, to the inner workings of the human body in his short 17 years, and don't even think of questioning him on it. And no one, I said NO ONE can make him change his mind!

So, one day while we were driving in the car and my son was sharing some other tidbits, I decided to throw one back out at him,

"Hey, did you know the human head weighs 8 pounds?"

My son paused from his banter, as my husband and I giggled from the front seat. Then, he knowingly nodded, missing the joke entirely, and said,

"Yes, I actually did know that. I learned it in Ms. Griffin's class."

Darn that Lipnicki!!!

Binder clippin' it to the MAN!

It is funny the things that you miss when you walk away from a traditional office environment to stay home or work from home. I realized something significant about myself today while trying to clean through the mish-mash of work paperwork, scrapbooking stuff and random kids toys that get deposited on my office desk weekly...

I really have a thing for office supplies...

It's true. While the local office supply store employees manage to tick me off almost as much as a trip to Walmart would, I still get a little giddy walking down the aisles and aisles of paper clips, post-its, and personal organizers.

While I think my supply fetish was probably formed through my early years of going school supply shopping, I am fairly certain of when I first was fully able to embrace office accessories. Years ago, when I worked for very low pay fresh out of college, I fell in love with the office supply closet. That love affair continued for the next decade of working in a typical office environment.

When you make almost half of what your peers in the industry with similar experience and skills do, you have to have something to feel good about. Aside from the great friends I made, I loved me some office supplies. I would find reasons to collect them, actually. I guess it was my own little way of "stickin' it to the man."

Every color of highlighter you can imagine--well sure! I need that! So, I devised complex systems of highlighting reviewed documents creating a legend of highlight codes at the front of each manual on which I worked.

Tape flags coordinating with those highlighter colors? Oh, those were very necessary. It saved the developers and myself valuable time when we could just flip to the blue colored flag to review the blue highlighted changes in the documentation.

Everyone must have screen cleaner, whiteboard accessories, and lots of pens. That's as important as the air we breathe, really.

Post-its were also in plenitude. Technical writers are known for their post-it addictions. In fact, a dear chap I used to work with had quite an impressively anal system of writing his to-do tasks on systems of post-its. (If you read this, you know I kid!)

Now, I am not saying I was wasteful with my supplies, mind you. I worked with people with whom I scoffed behind their backs for their lack of appreciation of binder clips. Do you know just how many sizes of binder clips you can get? I do, my friends. And I am proud to say I've found uses for every one of them, thank you!

I recently walked through my favorite ridiculously over-priced store in the world, The Container Store, and I found myself gazing wantingly at this. $36 for a little stand with a drawer for my monitor? There is NO WAY I could justify this what-so-ever. But, oh, how I could use it! Even the argument of ergo dynamics I knew would not fly with my husband or even in my own mind for that matter.

If I worked in an office, just a week over killing myself with long hours and a few backflips and butt-kisses of the boss, might have given me the clarity to justify that kind of a purchase. Or, I'd have the kind of money that a full-time salary would bring that I wouldn't even bat an eye at that price. But, it doesn't work that way when you've stayed home for 8+ years and you're only working part-time.

And, yet, I stood there transfixed. Imagining my post-its, highlighters, and IPod perched delicately in the mini-drawer and my monitor beaming at me in the perfect viewing position. My husband scored major brownie points with me on my birthday this past summer with a gift card for this store, and I promptly bought shoe dividers. If only I'd thought about it, I could have made away with that stand. Darn those shoes!

The other day, I ventured into the office supply store for some products for a church ministry I'm coordinating. While I was just running in for a few things, I got stalled in several aisles. The thing about office supplies that is really so wonderful is that they are always changing. Next week, someone will invent a new stapler that is ten times better than the last and make a fortune on it. It's genius, really!

I reached for a colorful pack of post-its to take home when I looked at the price. $9.99 for post-its? Are you f-ing serious? Now, what kind of an IDIOT would buy....ah, well, nevermind...

This week's lessons learned

OK, here I am..another week has flown by since my last post, and I'm just now putting something together. I'm on the magazine deadline from hell and don't have any creative juice left in me to squeeze out on this post, so this is the best I could do:

Things I've Learned This Week:

• Downing a 16-ounce nonfat decaf latte right before your workout class isn't wise. There is "sloshing" that goes on with too much cardio!
  
• Silent coffee burps mid-lung in class are very unappealing, especially when they smell like latte.
  
• Latte-fest will also make you have to pee 5 times during your 1-hour class.
  
• Enough with the latte, I know!
  
• It is possible for a 3-year-old to develop a teenage-level crush on a boy.
  
• It is possible also for the boy to have as big of a crush on her. (It's too cute, people...)
  
• Your 8-yr-old will be the hit of his cub scout den meeting by bringing his collection of hot wheels, trumping the double-collection brought by his friends of bebes and Webkinz.
  
• If you don't get your hair cut soon, you will start to look like this:

• And your toenails need a manicure like 2 weeks ago. By next week, they'll resemble this:

• Never EVER do a web search on "long toenails!" The resulting websites you find, created by uber-scary folks with long toenail fetishes, will traumatize you for life
  
• Don't kill yourself for a magazine deadline EVER again. You'll stay up until 2 a.m. only to realize the next day that the designer has not even STARTED on the magazine after he whined to you to get things in early and how he had so much time to be working on it.
  
• Note to self: kill the designer. and. soon.
  
• As annoying as it is, "Double-Dutch Bus" is a great song for spin class. Seriously. I know that sounds nutty, but it is!
  
• When you get to the end of probably the lamest blog post you have ever written, just be sure to say your sorry and hope that your 4 readers come back.
  
• Ok, here goes:

I'm very SORRY! (grin)

Saran Wrappers Unite! Stop the Cycle!

I think I may have lost my desire to blog, at least to blog somewhat humorously these days. It all started when I had the coolest job fall in my lap. A part time magazine editor's job? Ideal for the at-home mom with a few free hours, you say? You're looking for someone with my credentials and know I'd be a good fit?

Well, hot durn', sign me UP!

Those of you who have read this blog for any length of time, and especially those who know me personally, know that I have this, um, issue. I sign up for too much. I'm spread out all over the place...until I spread as thin as a sheet of Sarah Wrap, and then I crumple into a little ball. And, at that point, you can just throw me in the trash just like your left over sandwich wrapper because I'm no good to anyone.

I'm quickly approaching that point, my friends. You see, I have completely lost my sense of humor. I know because an old blogging co-hort of mine decided to return from her blogging break and I have found myself laughing aloud at her post. And, then I realized. Hey...wait! I don't think I have had many funny posts in probably six months or more. What's UP with that? And, leaving comments? Well, I'm sporadic at best on that now, even though I read blogs when I can in between stress attacks.

Unfortunately, this may not be one for the laugh-o-meter either. But, like they say in 12-step program...at least I am AWARE of the problem now. And, that's the first step, right?

But, what sort of program is there for us--the Saran Wrap people, I ask you? We who run ourselves into the ground over and over again and just don't know how to stop the vicious cycle?

Some would say, quit the job! Stop volunteering at church! Tell your minister you aren't available! Give up that website support you continue to do now that the fun design part is done!

But...I like it, y'all. I just don't know how to balance my crazy life. And, so, because of this, a majority of my summer evenings have spent in front of the computer, not blogging, not surfing, but editing, researching, and writing about happy, fluffy stories from my area of the 'burbs. Most nights it is about 12 to 1 a.m. before I hit the sack and I wake up feeling more drained than the next.

So, that is where I am now. Facing a heinous magazine deadline, and a trip to the museum with 4 kids and my husband's birthday tomorrow. Oh, and did I mention that looming deadline?

Until I find my sense of humor, which must be somewhere down about my ankles now from all this sitting at the computer, I will try to enjoy YOUR humor on YOUR fun blogs. And, I will just apologize for now, and hope I can make it up to you soon.

Lookout world, it's the return of....

...Insomnia Girl!

Back from a fresh stint of weeks of late hours but enough sleep to function, I-Girl has her mojo on tonight!

On the list for this evening's wee hours, a complete cleaning of her scrapbooking/blogging/computer vegetating space, late night catching up on blog reading, and a uber-lame blog post. Ka-BLAM! Take that blog readers!!!

Stay tuned for the next I-Girl adventure whereby I decorate a guest room from top to bottom in one single night! Don't tell me I can't do it...I have my unstoppable insomnia power.

Sha-ZAM!!!
(my goodness, me thinks it is time to sleep now...grin)

My Cousin Vinny

It is so easy to rock my world, people. I don't mean that how it sounds, if you have a nasty mind. But, seriously, I am learning that the older I get, the easier I get to please.

Like today, when after reading a great tip on my favorite of all tip blogs, Rocks in My Dryer's Works for Me Wednesday, I gave it a try. Oh, goodness...this will sound all June Cleaver of me to blog about this, but I'm going to go ahead and tell you. I have had a bonafide laundry miracle. Right here in River City! (grin)

We have a nice set of dark green towels that we've had for a few years. We are ones to wear our towels out around these parts, I guess because we're cheapskates, or maybe because we're too lazy to go buy new towels every couple of years like most people probably do. But, these towels have been the bane of my existence because they were left one weekend in the washer wet and got mildewed. No amount of washing or bleach could rid them of that smell and so I avoid using them at all cost. I have a sensitive sniffer and I HATE the smell of mildewy towels more than almost anything. My husband, who has a much lazier sniffer and will tolerate a lot, admitted the other day that he'd had enough of the towels too and we needed to buy new ones.

Then, I read on Works for Me that someone recommended washing with your detergent and 1/2 cup of white vinegar to remove odors from clothes.

And. Oh. My. Gawd. It. Freaking. Worked!

My towels don't have the faintest trace of mildew smell. And, I am too happy for words!

Now, let's talk about how truly pathetic it is that I chose to post about this. But, I just felt that if I could save one nostril from smelling that putrid mildewy smell on their linens, well I had done my job in life. And, what else could this work on, I ask you? Smelly gym clothes are next in my list. If I dipped a sweaty little 7 -year-old in it after soccer practice, might it erase the smell? Is vinegar the Magic Smell Eraser and I have never known this? What will it do for a stinky Labrador retriever who sheds too much? How about my husband after he spends an evening in our hot garage working on his muscle car?

Oh, the opportunities are endless! Vinegar is my friend, people. Yes, Vinny and I will conquer the evil smells of the world!

Top 5 Reasons This MomCat is M.I.A.

So, for those of you who haven't completely taken me off your list of blogs to read after my fluffy and meaningless lists of two weeks ago--followed up by an entire week without posting, here's my top five excuses (uh, I mean reasons) for not posting:

1. The hissy cat ate my blog post...then threw it up with about five hairballs on my already cat-ruined carpet. Damn senior citizen kitty!

2. My kids are in complete, drive-MomCat-crazy-this-summer mode. And, it is working...

3. I drowned in the flood of urine that is my daughter's potty accidents...it was a horrible (and smelly) way to go.

4. I won't even mention the other type of accidents from my wee girl that I've had to clean up. Let's just say sometimes princess panties just need to go to that garbage can in the sky because Mommy can only clean up so much ca-ca in one week.

5. I lost 50 pounds, got a much needed tummy tuck, and was crowned the winner of America's Next Top Model: the Mommy Edition. Next stop, the White House.

Seriously, though folks. I have been to potty-training hell and back again. And, knock on wood, we're starting to see a light. For awhile there though, I could be found skirting around my suburbs in an unrecognizable get-up of dark sunglasses, unwashed hair shellacked into a George Washington-like ponytail, a stained t-shirt, and large black wading boots. Oh, and I think there were pants on, but I can't be held to that. (grin)

The checker at the grocery store did not know why I continued to ask her if she was sure she didn't need to go poo-poo in the potty, but it just came out of me uncontrollably, much like my daughter's urine seems to this week. How much pee can be contained ONE petite three-year-old, I ask you???

Thankfully, she IS getting better. And, my fairly new washer and dryer are thankful for that too. But, no amount of toy bribery can convince her to let loose with the poo in the potty, but at least a majority of the time she's making it with the liquid stuff. And, for five days of focus, that's not too bad, I don't think. (Please, don't regal me here with stories of your 15-month-old's potty training excellence, I don't think I could handle it right now.)

Excuse me, I'm off for another potty and laundry cycle run. Hopefully, by NEXT Saturday I can post of way more intellectually stimulating things, and maybe get a shower in-between camping out in my bathroom with toddler books, a sticker chart and enough M&Ms to make any under three year old O.D. on candy.


Oh, and guess what? ALL next week, we get to drive my son downtown to and from his museum camp, which takes about 30 to 45 minutes without traffic. And, all I can think is...how many car accidents will it take to get to the center of MomCat's insanity? Let's find out....ah-one...ah-two....

Monday Mumblings brought to you in Muzak

Dang, has it been that many days since I last posted? Sorry, guys. I'm afraid this post may not rock your world either. Oh well, here goes:

Startling Confession of the Day:

My name is Crazy MomCat, and I pack my laundry loads too tight.

Brilliant Musical Observations of the Day:

Kenny Chesney is the new Jimmy Buffet,

Brad Paisley is the new George Straight,

and Mandy Moore's new song "Extraordinary" is the new muzak (and hardly lives up to its title either).

Aimless Wondering of the Day:
Is it just me, or has anyone noticed that it now seems completely socially unacceptable to be a female and not have a fresh pedicure if you're wearing open-toed shoes?

Gone are the days of simple, nicely self-groomed and trimmed toenails. No, now toes must be sparkly or French-tipped, in shades of plum, black and even neon green or orange. And, I can't keep up with this, my friends. I am officially uncool and unfashionable--right down to my chipped old standard pink toenails.

More interesting is that teens seem to be fueling this trend. The last time I got a pedicure (too long ago), I was amazed that about 2/3 of the toes in the salon belonged to girls under the age of 18. How on EARTH do these people's parents afford pedicures for teens, I ask you. There has to be a whole cult of gnarly-toed moms out there just hiding them away in Crocs waiting for their girls to get a job already!

Cute Kid Sayings of the Day:
From my son, age 7, complaining about his little sister:

"Mom, she bees mean to me all the time. It's the baddest she's ever bees."

From my daughter, age 3, when I mistakenly missed her little toe while trying to shove on her sandals.

"Oh, no! Mom! My piglet!!!"

That's all I've got folks! And, with that, MomCat has left the catbox...scratch, scratch...

In the Thicke of Something...

What is the deal with Robin Thicke, people? This guy is ALL OVER THE PLACE. And, I have a problem with this. Yes, I'm going to step out there and go against a coveted "Oprah" pick to say that I just don't get what all the fuss is about with this guy.

OK, he's decent looking enough. But, the first time I saw him, all I could do was thinking about his Dad, Alan Thicke. You know, Jason Seaver on Growing Pains? Kurt Cameron's slightly nerdy therapist Dad? He looks way too much like him, if you asked me. And, as a child of the 80s, I loved me some Kurt Cameron. I'll admit it. And, I totally wanted Joanna Kerns hair. But, Jason Seavers was not my bag, baby.

Then, there's his voice, which sounds a little too much like he's been sucking helium for me to take it seriously. The first comment my husband made when he saw the guy on the t.v. the other day was "what is wrong with his voice?"

Finally, the little Hitler-stache has GOT to go. I'm telling you, I just don't get what all the hub-bub is here. Maybe I'm missing something though...

I do have to give him some props however. Because I found THIS publicity photo of him from his first album.

Ok, now that IS some kind of evolution. One that might even impress the Geiko caveman! Well, after seeing that, I guess I can put up with the mini 'stache. And, who knows? Maybe he'll finally go through the voice change and sound like Barry White by his third album!

Give me an "I" or better yet some "Zs"

I've mentioned on here before that I battle chronic insomnia. It's in my genes. My grandmother kept the hours of a vampire most of her life. My mother was known to stay up until 3 in the morning grading school papers. And, I manage to go through cycles of this every 3-4 months that seem never-ending. Nothing seems to make it better.

Lately, I have been trying to go to sleep at a reasonable hour. Some nights I give it an full hour of laying in bed before I give up and get up. Other nights, I just throw my hands up after about 20 minutes and get up because I know it is a lost cause. As much as I want to sleep, I cannot.

But, last night I had the sign that I've really been in this non-sleeping mode for too long. Because, last night, I did my ritual of trying to sleep and then getting up quietly, so as not to wake my husband. I tip-toed up the stairs to copy some CDs over for my iPod when I noticed...

my little kitty was perched right at the top of the stairs by my computer nook, waiting on me.

Typically, she sleeps at my feet most nights. But, obviously, she's now into my new routine so much so that she's two steps ahead of me each night. She, like you after reading this post, obviously thinks I am certifiable. Lest you question that, here's a little list off odd things I've done over the years in the wee hours of the morning:

Clean out all the kitchen cabinets and reorganize them.
Clean out the pantry, refrigerator, etc.
Send strange emails that I find funny, only later to realize they aren't funny at all.
Read a bazillion blogs, and comment a bazillion times.
Worry that people think I'm a freak for leaving a bizarre comment on their blog at 2 a.m.
Yoga.
Clean out my purse.
Sudoku
Mentally redecorate my home.
Mentally clean and redecorate my parents' home. (The first one takes awhile.)
Watch really bad early morning TV.
Make massive lists of things to do the next day.
Pray that someday I will sleep.
Cry
Laugh for no reason, and then do the previous item.
Decide what I'd do if I won the lottery, which I never play.
Google people I haven't seen in 10-20 years.

So, tell me. What do you do when you can't sleep?

We interrupt this regularly scheduled blog vacation...

You might think your spring break vacation is a good time to also take a break from blogging for a week.

You might have several fun and wonderful experiences in the beautiful city of San Diego and think, ahh...I could blog about that.

You might decide to wait until you get back home.

You might find yourself in a situation that just cannot go without an immediate blog post and find yourself rushing to post it while your husband is in the bathroom.

That situation might involve a ridiculously designed parking garage with ridiculously skinny parking spots at the hotel in which you are staying. It might also have to do with the really red (and in your opinion ugly) Magnum over-sized rented station wagon, which your husband continues to argue is NOT a station wagon but a "sports" wagon.

You might find yourself nearly wetting your pants as you watch him spend 20 minutes trying to shimmy himself out of the window of said "sports" wagon because the only available parking spots are too narrow to exit normally. You might heartily chuckle to the point of tears when as he's trying to "Fonzie" it out the window he hits the windshield wipers and spritzes himself in the chest as he's finally breaking free of said wagon.

Yeah, you might find that a good reason to post on vacation...

A list of "do nots"...

Do NOT think just going on an interview for a cool sounding job is not a big deal. You will then torture yourself if it is your dream job and you know you don't have the time in your life to do it.

Do NOT volunteer to take on your church's website as your means of giving back. This job is way too much for someone like you. Dude, just volunteer at a bake sale or something...

Do NOT not think that not sleeping for several weeks on end will not catch up to you.

Do NOT cut back on working out and start eating out more during this time...the weight will come back on amazingly quickly.

Most of all...

Do NOT attempt to demonstrate the "duck walk" to tell a story while wearing your favorite pair of Docker slacks. Even if the slacks fit loosely, this sort of sudden jerk and pressure as you squat down will, in fact, rip the whole back seam of the pants, from back to crotch and you will be left with automatic air conditioning for your fanny.

And, finally a DO...

Do be glad that your pants splitting duck walk was at home, with no one else present other than your seven-year-old son and husband, who thought it was the most hilarious thing they'd ever seen and ran to get the digital camera for photographic evidence.

A really long resolution review...

One year and one day ago today, I posted a very long and obnoxious list on this blog. It was a sad attempt at resolutions mixed with ranting and humor that, quite frankly as I reread it, must have fallen flatter than a pancake. Perhaps you remember this? But, did my resolutions fall as flat as my bad jokes? Let's do a little review of my 2006 resolutions, shall we?

My 2006 Resolutions and Rants
(A Mixed Up List of Real Hopes and Even More Real Aggravations)

1. Lose weight and keep it off. (Working on this one already...more on that soon.)
Oddly, the answer to this is yes, and no. Mostly no. According to my trainer, I lost 8 inches around my body and yet because of my ability to put on muscle quickly I gained 8 pounds of muscle. Does this sound like trainer BS? Yes, when you read it, it does. But, the tape measure told a different story. Now, since the holidays, have I probably put BACK on the 8 pounds I lost? Well, most certainly..

2. Never have to put lose weight on my resolutions list again because it is SO overdone, isn't it?
Uh, I haven't really MADE an official nit-picky sort of resolutions list yet, so I guess I haven't broken this one. But, I'm a third generation list-maker, so it is only a matter of time my friends...

3. Teach my daughter how to "go potty" so I can be DONE with the damn diapers.
Oh, HELL no! My daughter isn't even three yet though. What was I thinking? At 18 months she was going to be fully p-trained? Hello? Can we say unrealistic parenting people? And, for the record, she wears pull-ups but has such a fascination with the princess pull ups that my only chances of potty training her are if I can produce Ariel or Cinderella in the bathroom AND they crown her the best princess of all if she goes potty. (And, they must throw in M&Ms too. Princess colored M&Ms.)

4. Reteach my six-year-old son how to HIT the potty. (Note to kid: hitting the wallpaper, back of the toilet, in the trashcan, or on the pipes or floor does NOT constitute getting it in.)
Hey, this one has gotten better! No more bleach-wiped pee clean ups in quite awhile. Woo! Hoo!

5. Teach my CAT how to go in her potty. (Notice a theme here?)
Yeah, and this one...not so much.

6. Give up on the cat and just wait for her to head to the great meowing beyond.
Still waiting on this one too. Damn cat.

7. Order all new carpet once number 6 is complete.
Please, don't make me keep thinking about this. It is too traumatic...

8. Do my best to only write witty and interesting things on my blog, and not become a boring list blog of what I did today and what my kid's poop schedule is.
To date, I have not published a poop schedule. As a stereo-typical "mommy blogger" (did I just say that?), I consider that a really fine accomplishment.

9. To complete 8, delete this list.
Yeah, yeah...enough with the lousy humor. Man, 1 year older and wiser, eh?

10. Tell a few potty humor jokes to the six-year-old so he thinks his mom is SO funny and cool.
Alrighty, then! Now we're in business. I am really great at potty humor. I attribute this to the fact that my father's two greatest t.v. heroes were Al Bundy and Archie Bunker. Just ask my son...and all his friends. I can roll out the best of the fart jokes. And, don't get me started on vomit ones...

11. Figure out what is wrong with my hair and FIX it already.
Oh lord no...let's not go there. It is even worse now than it was before. I find myself obsessing over the latest in lovely hair styles of soap opera stars. You know, from that that soap that I swear the DVR has not been recording, because I am not that immature and ridiculous.

12. Give husband a crash course in pop rock ballads of the 70s, 80s, and 90s. Anyone who can't tell the difference between Bruce Springsteen and Billy Joel needs some serious help.
He still needs help. I'm looking for some sort of 12-step program for the musically-challenged, but have yet to find it. But, I give him credit for teaching my son the finer side of classic rock music. He's seven and he has developed really pretty decent taste in tunes.

13. Somehow find a way to get a good Ipod without paying the $300 plus for it to get the one I want.
YES! I found a way! It is called "Christmas money from the in-laws!" That, and Nano prices came down a bit. Thanks to a work deadline, I've yet to play with it, but that's on my list for tomorrow. Yippeeee!

14. Ditto with getting my house interior painted only add about $1000 to that number.
We also did most of this! It made SUCH a difference. Tomorrow is paint day for my son's new room. I found cheap labor. The only problem with him is that he thinks Don Henley only OPENED for the Eagles. (wink)

15. Find a way to pay for a maid. Consider donating plasma monthly, because it is SO worth it.
Never found a way to do this. But, thanks to a big ole' check about to hit my mailbox, I may not have to lose the plasma just yet.

16. Learn to live with my gas-guzzling, road-hogging, environment-polluting SUV that everyone hates. We've only had it a few years and it runs great. My next car will be politically correct and a normal size, I promise. (Unless I run out of money doing 13, 14, and 15. In which case, I will be living in my gas-guzzling, road-hogging, environment-polluting SUV.)
I'm still driving it, and less begrudgingly. It is a wonderful car that has given us no trouble and is so comfortable and luxurious and yadda, yadda. I will kick myself when it does finally go and I scale back, but I still want to do something a little more environmentally-conscious.

17. Ignore family member's idea to buy and bring a karaoke machine to family gatherings. If the family member does go through with this, do NOT sing no matter what! As much as I'd like that talent, I don't have it. As my nephew says, the real fun time to be had is in bringing the machine, then sitting back and making fun of everyone else as they try and sing. Smart kid...
My family rests easy at night because I have NOT karaoked. I was mulling over a voice class for people who think they can't sing today in a magazine. But, I'm afraid I'll wind up on a reality show or something, so I will probably stick to belting out car tunes...much to my children's chagrin.

18. Go to sleep earlier so that I don't turn into a real Crankcopatumus each morning as I have to force myself up from bed.
This is my biggest failure to date. Just check out the time on this entry. And, this is EARLY for me the past few weeks.

19. Stop obsessing with how many stars my son is getting on his star chart at school and realize he is not going to be like I was when it comes to over-achieving in class.
I've relaxed on this. Now, I'm obsessing that my son is too sensitive and avoids conflict to the point that he's going to get pushed around and called a cry-baby. Ah, parenting...good times.

20. Note to self: make my OWN a star chart for my accomplishments as a SAHM to get over number. Announce to family: "When MomCat earns her 10 stars, she WILL be getting a manicure/pedicure and maybe a massage." Hmmm...I think I'm on to something here!
I never did this. But, I also have less of a chip on my shoulder this year. So, I've decided I'm making "Don't be a SAH Martyr" my new motto for 2007.

So, what do you think? Did I pass the grade? Or do I have to try them all over again for 2007?