I am totally ghetto. Totally.

Sometimes, I totally feel like I am reenacting that scene from Office Space. You know the one from the opening credits.



Here I am this little white girl in a Honda with car seats in the back, and, you know, my after market radio with a 12 inch sub and amp. Holla.

I was pulling out of the grocery store parking lot, some ghetto song that I would never play with my kids in the car playing loudly on the radio, when a guy walks out of the store. His pants were practically around his ankles, and I have never seen such a swagger. Although, technically, I think he was walking like that to hold up his pants. As I turned in front of him, I immediately switched the CD on.

"Romeo save me..." I sang along to Jill's Taylor Swift CD at the top of my lungs like a good little girl. That is until I was out of the parking lot.

User error.

My TomTom decided I live in Guam. I can't get it to undecide I live in Guam. For awhile, I lived in Texas. Then boom. Guam. What the hell? I've had this thing for all of three minutes, and already I am screaming at it.

The best part was when Kenny's turned on right away, and mine didn't. So, of course, I called Amazon. They immediately offered to ship a new one. With overnight shipping. I think I might have even said, "I know it isn't user error, because I got the other one to work." Then I sit down to read the manual, and see the part in bold that says, "If the device does not start, press the reset button." User. Error.

It was fun calling Amazon back to admit I am an idiot.

Now I get to call TomTom customer service and ask them how to move back to Texas.

Out of the mouths of babes...

I love when my neighbors' kids come over and tell me about all of the plastic surgery their moms have had. Remind me to coach my child not to tell those stories when I get around to buying myself new boobies.

Oops. And what rules.

A long time ago Sheri tagged me for the one where you are supposed to write six things about yourself. I never did it, because, well, I couldn't come up with six random things you A. cared to know B. I hadn't already told you C. wouldn't embarrass me. So it sat undone. Today, as I walked around the house, I kept finding things that made me say, "Huh, I wonder...?" So I decided, instead of six things about me, I am going to post six unsolved mysteries/things around my home that confuse me/things that make me want to put my kids on leashes.

1. How is that neither one of my children is taller than four feet, yet this morning a new (that's right, this has happened more than once) hand print has appeared in the entry hallway approximately ten feet up?

2. How can a kid get pee on her socks, but not her underwear? And why can't they tell me how the socks "got wet" BEFORE they hand them to me.

3. Why is it that my kid insists on having a hot dog and cheese cubes for breakfast and, then, wants cereal and milk packed in her school lunch? That makes me look like a good mom.

4. How come I am the only person in the house that can see anything? "I've looked everywhere and I can't find my hat/jeans/car keys/backpack." Amazingly, I am always able to find hat/jeans/car keys/backpack in plain sight.

5. Why is it that our dishwasher didn't come with a quiet feature (really, try watching TV with that thing on), yet it came with finger print recognition? I am the only person that can open it. I am assuming this is due to the finger print recognition feature that must be installed on it. Why else would we walk all the way from, let's say, the gameroom upstairs or the bedroom into the kitchen, rinse the cup out, and then not take that one teeny tiny extra step to actually put the cup into the dishwasher? Finger. Print. Recognition. It locks them out.

6. And last. Why when my dog is standing half on the rug half on the wood floor, must she puke on the rug? Really? You couldn't puke on the wood floor where a little paper towels and antibacterial cleaner would do the trick? You even turned your damn little doggie head so that you could better aim onto the rug.

So there you have it. Not six things about me, but six things I just can't figure out around here. Maybe you can solve them. Especially that hand print thing.

Dogs love fish food. But fish don't eat dog food.

One of our dogs has a bad habit of grabbing things off the countertop. We never catch her doing it, but we know which naughty dog is responsible. Anyway, she is particularly fond of the fish food. Many times she has eaten the whole container of fish food. I do mean food inside plus most of the container. She loves to eat the fish food. Problem is, that leaves the poor fish without food. And? This last time Kenny and I kept forgetting to by the fish food. We could not go any longer, even though it was late and we were tired and we just wanted to veg in front of the TV. Instead, we went to CVS for fish food.

After looking around and not seeing any fish food, Kenny goes to the girl at the check out counter. "Do you have any fish food?"

She looks at him. She thinks. "Uh. No. But we have dog and cat food."

"Uh, I am pretty sure my fish won't eat that."

Well, Kenny. I just don't know why. After all, the dog did eat the fish food. Maybe fish really like Pedigree, even if one kibble is bigger than them.

Kids. Sick.

I think my kids know when I make plans. They purposely get sick.

See, I have had a gift for Sheri (okay, actually for Violet..the present isn't for Sheri at all. She would look a little ridiculous in it.) for a LONG time. So long that I had to exchange it, because kids have a nasty habit of growing larger. I was determined to get over to Sheri's house and give her the gift before Violet graduates from high school. Although, if I wait long enough, I could give it to Violet for her first baby.... Anyway, today is the one day I made plans all week. So of course, my kid wakes up with what I am pretty sure is another kidney infection. Yay.

And you know, of course, this ruins my real plans...which involves a certain cupcake bakery near Sheri's house. What? Sheri, you didn't think this trip was all about you, did you?

What? Where's the chicken?

I often do really smart things. Really smart. Like email my mom for her chicken tetrazzini recipe, make myself a grocery list, go to the store, come home, start cooking the meal, and realize I never put CHICKEN on the grocery list.

We had a skillet meal, instead.

It's the thought that counts, right?

One, five, ten, crap, where was I?

Look, I am all for teaching our kiddies the value of a dollar and capitalism and commercialism and materialism and how the Target checkout line works and all, but seriously, must we do it on a busy Saturday morning with all FOUR of your children who happen to be under the age of five?

I set out today to exchange a gift that was no longer useful (you know, cause the kid I bought it for is no longer a newborn....yeah, Sheri that would be your kid....and I better give you the new gift before I have to go exchange it!). After that, I really wanted a book or magazine or something to pass the day. Since I was headed the opposite direction from the bookstore, I settled for Target for my book. By the time I made it there, I was slightly in a hurry. I thought it was good luck when there were only two people in line in front of me, despite the fact that only one lane was open at a busy time. By the time I plunked my purchases down, a line had already formed behind me. Thank goodness the family in front of me only had four little animal figurines to purchase.

The checker scans the first animal, and reaches for the second. The mother stops her.

"Oh, they will each be paying individually." She waves her hand in the direction of her four children. Her four children who are all under the age of five. Her four children who are all under the age of five, each with their own bag of coins.

As the screen flashes the total of $1.57, the oldest of the children begins counting out coins. "Five, ten, fifteen, twenty....uh...oh no I lost my place. Five, ten fifteen..."

After a few tries, he finally gets it correct. The line seemed to grow with each coin he counted. The people in line behind me begin to shift uncomfortably. This really can't go on much longer. Surely the mother will speed the next one up.

But no. Child number two, slowly counts out two nickels, then I watch as if in slow motion, as the bag of coins drops from her hands. Coins scatter. She bends to pick up the coins, while mom stands there, watching. Watching, while the line grows longer.

I begin to fume. The cashier loses patience. She turns to the other two children.

"All of your animals will be $1.57. Start counting now!"

Mom gets mad. This is not how she wants to work it. She doesn't want them to have their money ready. She wants them to each see the damn screen, and each take their sweet ass time counting out the coins. And miscounting coins. And dropping coins.

Finally the guy behind me says, "Hey lady. I'd like to teach your children a lesson in generosity. I am going to pay for those animals." And with that, he hands over his debit card, and the grateful cashier swipes it before the mother can protest.

And probably it was wrong that everyone in the line started to giggle, because this mom was just trying to teach her kids a lesson.

At a horribly busy time on a Saturday morning when only one line was open.

A little side note, I myself have done the same thing with Jill. I took her to a Starbucks at two in the afternoon, when I knew there would not likely be a line. When there was another customer, I had them go in front of us. I had called ahead to find out the exact costs of the item she would order, and had her practice counting out the amount (which was not all coins when it was OVER a dollar). I did all of this because I know that not everyone finds my kids counting out change as adorable as I do. There are ways to do things while being considerate of others.

How to spot a HO.

I can't wait until Jill is old enough to understand inappropriate jokes. Especially the ones she inadvertently makes.

Her obsession with the word "Ho" began shortly after Christmas. It started with a piece of Christmas scrapbook paper with "Ho, Ho, Ho" printed across it over and over. She cut the paper into small pieces, and handed one to me.

"That's for you, mama." She slipped me a piece of paper that simply said, "Ho." She giggled. "It's funny, huh?"

I was a little taken aback. How did she know that was funny? She is seven! But alas, she had no clue. She went on to explain how it was funny, 'cause it was no longer Christmas. I still got called a ho several more times that day, and the paper is proudly tucked into the corner of our dry erase board by the desk. I imagine that I will frame it, and give it to her for graduation or some such with something along the lines of "As you go out into the world, don't be a Ho." It would be a little joke between us, but for now, it is just her favorite thing to say and incorporate into games.

Today, Kenny came home with the trailer instead of going to the shop. I walked out front with him while he unloaded some tools. Meanwhile, inside the house the girls got involved in some game that somewhat resembled leapfrog. One person crawled under the other person's legs. They were mid-turn when I walked back into the house.

"Hey mama! Watch us! We are playing Limbo Hos!"

I giggled. This only egged her on. "One person is the limbo-er and the other is the ho. The person with their legs spread is the ho!"

No! Really?! At least I won't have to teach her that lesson when she gets older.

Google. Offering stalkers better ways to stalk.

Does this scare the shit out of anyone else?



Google Offers New Program To Track People
Latitude Software Released Today
POSTED: Wednesday, February 4, 2009



Google
SAN FRANCISCO -- There's a new people tracker out there.
Google Latitude
A software program being released by Google on Wednesday will let just about anybody with a cell phone or other wireless device find out instantly where they are. Other people can find out where they are too -- say, parents who want to keep tabs on junior.
The program is an upgrade to Google's mobile maps. It's being marketed as a way to know exactly where you are and share your whereabouts with family and friends. Google's product manager said it "adds a social flavor" to Google maps and makes them "more fun."
In a concession to snooping concerns, it's easy for the user to switch off the tracking device. It's also possible to set it up so it will identify only the city where you are, not the exact location.
And Google promises it won't be retaining information on users' movements.
Copyright 2009 by The Associated Press. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.

Cupcakes

You know I am obsessed with cupcakes? Or really anything that contains chocolate. And coffee. Although, not the two combined. I like to keep my coffee and my cupcakes seperate. Except, Starbucks now sells cupcakes, and they are the shit. I might have had two today. I might eat two more later.

Strippers and hos, I mean, holes.

The kids were both gone this weekend, and I woke up Sunday morning craving donuts. Kenny obliged by driving me to Shipley's. Mmmm...Bullseyes. The best donut ever invented. It was packed in the donut store, as usual. I waited patiently for my turn to order my pile of donuts and donut holes. Meanwhile, I dug through my purse seeing what cash I could find, because I was sure I had spotted a dollar or two in there. Somehow, I managed to find about fifteen dollar bills. Odd, because I never have cash. I pulled them all out, and showed Kenny.

"Where did all these dollars come from," I asked him.

He matter-of-factly and loudly replied, "Well, you did work last night."

Several people turn around.

He keeps going. "I told you to trade those dollar bills in at the end of the night, but you never listen to me."

If I had thought quicker, I would have replied with something like, "Well, if you would pay for my boob job, then I would make more than single dollar bills." But I hadn't had coffee yet.

Instead, I giggled, ordered my donuts, and playfully smacked Kenny on the way out the door cause some old lady now thinks I am a stripper.